Chapter Fifteen Maren
Maren Brooks had never trusted mornings after good kisses.
They were suspicious.
Too bright. Too quiet. Too full of opportunities for a person to remember exactly what she had done the night before and then act normal in public while her mouth knew secrets.
Lake Briar did not respect that kind of emotional recovery.
By eight-thirteen Saturday morning, the old rental dock was already crowded with Ridgeview players, alumni, volunteers, families, and one child wearing swim goggles on his forehead while informing anyone who would listen that he was “available for emergencies.”
Maren respected his branding.
She also envied his confidence.
Because Griffin Hayes stood twenty feet away near the paddleboard rack, arms crossed, white T-shirt stretched across shoulders that had become personally problematic, listening to Coach Doyle explain the Lake Briar Cup standings.
And Maren was supposed to look at him like a colleague.
A fellow event professional.
A responsible hockey boy she had not kissed twice.
Once in the trees after Truth Toss.
Once on the dock with his hand at her waist, her fingers in his shirt, and the lake making quiet little sounds beneath them like it had agreed to keep the secret.
Except the lake had not kept the secret.
Denise knew.
Tyler knew enough to text about hydration.
Cooper probably knew because Cooper seemed spiritually connected to secrets he claimed to hate.
Ava definitely knew because when Maren arrived that morning, Ava had slid an iced coffee across the snack shack counter and said, “You look hydrated,” with the face of a woman who had chosen violence before breakfast.
Maren had taken the coffee and said, “I am reporting you to human resources.”
Ava had smiled. “Denise is human resources.”
“Denise would side with me.”
“Denise texted me the word finally last night with no punctuation.”
Maren had left immediately.
For her own safety.
Now she stood at the edge of the dock with her phone in one hand, camera strap over her shoulder, and the official Lake Briar schedule open on her screen.
Saturday was the big one.
Lake Briar Cup day.
The weekend’s center point.
Three rounds before the final Sunday showcase. Alumni skills contest. Team lake relay. Fan-voted skills challenges. Evening dock party. Plenty of content. Plenty of ways to prove her work had value beyond a romance storyline.
And plenty of ways for people to watch her and Griffin like they were waiting for the next episode.
Maren checked the official account.
Mistake.
The pinned safety segment was still performing beautifully.
The Truth Toss recap had gone up early, carefully edited to include her consent reminder, Tyler’s “consent is also for content” line, a few funny team answers, and absolutely no stolen kiss footage.
Good.
Professional.
Controlled.
Then there was the latest morning poll Denise had approved:
LAKE brIAR CUP DAY.
Team Dock, Team Sand, Team Snack Shack, or Team Vibes?
The comments had immediately turned into chaos.
Team Vibes because Tyler has suffered enough.
Team Snack Shack because Ava scares me.
Team Dock because Griffin looks strongest near water and I am not explaining further.
Where is Team Maren and Griffin Finally Admit It?
Maren locked the phone.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
She had work.
She had a portfolio to update.
She had a possible lead from Carter Vale, who had already sent her an email that morning with the subject line “Portfolio Follow-Up” and not a single winking emoji, which made him the most professional man currently alive.
She had not answered yet because she wanted the email to sound calm, polished, and not like she had shouted into a pillow for forty-five seconds.
She had also not answered Paige’s last text.
The trying one.
The one that was almost an apology if you tilted your head and lowered your expectations.
Maren was not ready.
She had decided that was allowed.
Growth.
Terrible, inconvenient growth.
“Maren.”
Her name moved through the morning before she saw him.
Of course it did.
Griffin had developed an unfair relationship with her name. Last night, it had sounded like warning, permission, apology, want. This morning, it sounded careful.
She looked up.
He stood a few feet away, hands loose at his sides, gaze steady but not demanding.
As if he had walked over and then stopped himself from coming any closer than she chose.
That should not have made her chest ache.
It did.
“Hayes,” she said. “You look awake and devastatingly responsible.”
His mouth twitched.
There it was.
Almost smile.
Her favorite disaster.
“You look busy,” he said.
“I am.”
“Good busy?”
Maren narrowed her eyes. “Is this a trick question?”
“No.”
“Because if I say yes, are you going to tell me to eat breakfast?”
“Have you?”
“Emotionally.”
“Maren.”
“I had coffee.”
“That is not breakfast.”
“It had oat milk.”
His eyes closed briefly.
She grinned.
The grin was too easy.
Too much like last night had not changed anything and too much like it had changed everything.
Griffin opened his eyes. “Ava told me you had one bite of a muffin and then called it a scheduling conflict.”
“Betrayal is everywhere today.”
“She also gave me this.”
He held out a wrapped breakfast sandwich.
Maren stared at it.
Then at him.
“You are delivering food now?”
“Temporarily.”
“Is this part of your responsible-man charm offensive?”
“No.”
“Because it is very offensive.”
His eyes warmed. “Eat.”
“Bossy.”
“Yes.”
That should not have done anything for her.
It did.
So much for recovery.
Maren took the sandwich, careful not to let their fingers brush because she was trying to maintain dignity in front of children, alumni, and whatever spiritual surveillance system Denise had installed around the lake.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You are welcome.”
They stood there.
A dangerous amount of silence opened.
Not awkward.
Worse.
Aware.
A breeze came off the lake and lifted a strand of hair across Maren’s mouth. Before she could push it back, Griffin’s gaze tracked the movement.
Not touching.
Just seeing.
Her pulse tripped.
Ridiculous.
A man looked at one piece of windblown hair and suddenly her nervous system behaved like it had received a handwritten invitation.
Maren tucked the hair behind her ear herself.
Griffin looked away first.
Good.
Smart.
Coward.
No, responsible.
Probably.
“About last night,” he said.
Her stomach flipped.
“Nope,” she said immediately.
His brows lifted.
“Not nope forever,” she clarified. “Just nope before breakfast sandwich.”
“That is fair.”
“I am very mature.”
“Obviously.”
She pointed the sandwich at him. “Watch it.”
His mouth curved again.
More than almost this time.
Small, real, and devastating because he did not hide it.
Maren forgot what she was holding.
Griffin glanced at the sandwich. “You are supposed to eat that.”
“You are supposed to not smile like that without warning.”
His smile faded into surprise.
Maren’s face went hot.
Excellent.
Perfect.
She had said that out loud.
The lake could open now.
Anytime.
Griffin’s eyes stayed on hers, the warmth in them deepening into something that made the entire dock feel too public.
“Like what?” he asked.
Very softly.
Very unfairly.
Maren swallowed.
“Oh, no.” She stepped back. “Do not do the voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one where you say two words and make them sound like a bad idea with a pension.”
His smile returned.
Worse.
Fuller.
Still quiet, because Griffin Hayes did not do anything loudly except disapprove of Tyler’s survival choices, but real enough that Maren could feel it in her knees.
“You are avoiding the question,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I value my sanity.”
His eyes dropped to the sandwich again. “Eat.”
“See? Responsible again. Thank goodness. I was worried you had become fun.”
“I had a moment.”
“I witnessed it.”
“Eat, Maren.”
Fine.
The man brought breakfast and said her name like that. She was only human.
She unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite.
Griffin looked satisfied.
“Do not look victorious,” she said around the bite.
“You are eating.”
“I am not a raccoon you lured with protein.”
“No.”
A pause.
“More like a fox,” he said.
Maren almost choked.
Griffin’s eyes widened. “Are you okay?”
She waved him off, swallowed, and stared at him. “Did you just flirt?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I made a wildlife comparison.”
“You called me a fox.”
“In the animal sense.”
“Too late. I have already perceived it.”
His ears turned slightly red.
Maren’s delight was immediate and probably visible from space.
“Oh my gosh,” she said. “Griffin Hayes flirted before nine a.m.”
“I did not.”
“You did. Badly, but with heart.”
“I am leaving.”
“No, stay. I want to document this for science.”
He took one step back.
She lifted her phone.
He pointed at her. “Do not post my accidental fox comment.”
“Accidental fox comment,” she repeated, grinning. “It has a title.”
“Maren.”
“And emotional range.”
“Maren.”
“And potential merch.”
He turned away, but not before she saw the smile he was trying to hide.
It hit her softer this time.
Not like a spark.
Like warmth.
That was dangerous in a whole new way.
Before she could decide what to do with it, Tyler Donovan sprinted onto the dock holding a stack of laminated cards.
No props with authority.
No ominous office energy.
Just cards.
Technically safer.
Maren gave the sky a warning look anyway.
Tyler skidded to a stop between them, chest heaving, hair wild, eyes too bright for a man trusted with information.
“Emergency,” he said.
Griffin straightened. “What happened?”
“Emotional emergency.”
Griffin relaxed by one millimeter. “That is not the same thing.”
“It is to Beckett.”
“What did Beckett do?”
“He has rewritten the Lake Briar Cup player intros.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Tyler looked at Maren. “For narrative impact.”
Maren held up her free hand. “Do not put this on me.”
“You inspired us.”
“I inspired consent and better framing, not theatrical player bios.”
“Art evolves.”
Griffin took the top card from Tyler.
His face changed.
Maren leaned closer before she could stop herself.
The card read:
GRIFFIN HAYES
Position: Forward