Chapter Eighteen Griffin #2
The path behind the snack shack went quieter.
Not actually.
The crowd still made noise. Music still played. Someone yelled for Tyler to stop stacking towels on his head.
But the space between Griffin and Maren narrowed until it felt separate from the rest of the weekend.
“I do not want to sell it either,” she said.
He nodded.
That should have been enough.
It was not.
Because the kiss from the night before still existed between them. The private one. The one that had happened because the bet had fallen away and both of them had stepped closer anyway. The one that had almost been stolen by a camera, then protected by a choice.
Griffin had spent the morning telling himself the kiss could wait.
Then Maren had stood on a dock and told everyone it belonged to them.
Now waiting felt less like discipline and more like cowardice.
He took one step closer.
Maren’s breath caught.
“Griffin,” she said.
Not a warning.
Not exactly.
He stopped anyway.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth, then back up so quickly he almost missed it.
He absolutely did not miss it.
“What?” he asked.
She gave him a look. “Do not ask that in your steady voice while standing there looking like wet responsibility and poor decisions.”
His mouth twitched. “Wet responsibility?”
“It is a working phrase.”
“Needs revision.”
“So do most men. Tragic industry.”
He smiled before he could stop himself.
Her eyes softened.
There.
That was the dangerous part.
Not the banter. Not the chemistry. Not the public comments or the team watching them like an ongoing sports documentary with romantic subplots.
This.
The quiet after.
The part where Maren looked at him and forgot to hide for half a second.
“We should talk to Carter,” she said.
“We should.”
“Together.”
“Yes.”
“And if we do any kind of live or post about the offer, we control the questions. No private stuff. No kissing bait. No open access to anything we have not chosen.”
Griffin’s shoulders loosened.
She noticed.
Her smile was gentle this time. “Look at that. Boundaries in a cute outfit.”
“I approve this outfit.”
Maren blinked.
Color rose in her cheeks.
Griffin realized what he had said.
He did not take it back.
Her smile turned slow. “Hayes.”
“What?”
“That was flirting.”
“No.”
“Lying is bad for team culture.”
“I said I approved an outfit. That is not flirting.”
“You approved it with your face.”
“My face is neutral.”
“Your face is many things. Neutral is rarely one of them.”
He took another step closer.
Just one.
Enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to keep eye contact.
“Then what is it now?” he asked.
Her mouth parted.
For once, no answer came immediately.
The victory should have been satisfying.
It was terrifying.
Because Griffin did not want to win the moment if winning meant making her feel cornered.
So he stepped back.
Her eyes flicked with something like disappointment.
Good.
Not good.
Very good.
He was losing his mind.
Before either of them could say anything, Tyler’s voice carried around the corner.
“Important announcement. I have been trusted with towels, and I am treating that trust as sacred.”
Cooper answered, “You are wearing six of them.”
“Sainthood is layered.”
Maren pressed a hand over her mouth.
Griffin exhaled through his nose.
The moment broke, but not badly.
Some moments shattered.
This one folded itself away.
Saved.
Maren looked down at her phone when it buzzed again. “Carter wants to do the conversation before sunset.”
“Good.”
“He also says no pressure, which is starting to feel like a phrase people say while applying pressure.”
“That is because it is.”
She turned the screen toward him.
CARTER: Totally your call. If you both feel comfortable, a short sunset live could frame the campaign conversation publicly without promising anything. Behind the Bet. Five minutes. Boundaried questions only.
Griffin read it twice.
A sunset live.
Public.
Boundaried.
Optional, technically.
He could say no.
Maren would accept it.
He knew that now.
That should have made it easier.
Instead, it made the yes matter more.
“I can do five minutes,” Griffin said.
Maren stared. “You can?”
“With screened questions. Denise moderates. Ava holds your phone if you want. Nate can stand near Tyler in case he needs physical relocation.”
Her lips twitched. “Tyler containment is important.”
“No questions about the private clip. No questions about whether we are dating. No answer required if either of us says skip.”
“Skip is always allowed,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And we are not announcing a campaign.”
“No. We are saying we are talking about one.”
She looked at him for a long second.
“You are very good at making scary things sound structured.”
“You are very good at making structured things sound alive.”
That landed.
He saw it.
She looked away, but not before he caught the softness in her face.
“I am going to text Carter yes to a private meeting and maybe to the live if Denise approves the guardrails,” she said.
“Okay.”
She typed.
Griffin watched the hydrangeas instead of her thumbs because he was not a lunatic.
Mostly.
A second later, her phone buzzed again.
Then his did.
Then the air behind the snack shack changed.
Not because of Carter.
Because of the group chat.
Griffin pulled out his phone.
The official Lake Briar account had posted a new story.
A graphic, bright and messy and very clearly not made by Maren.
BAD IDEA BET LIVE CONFESSIONAL TONIGHT.ASK GRIFFIN AND MAREN ANYTHING.NOTHING OFF LIMITS.
For one second, Griffin could not hear the lake.
Could not hear Tyler.
Could not hear Maren saying his name.
All he could see was the sentence.
Nothing off limits.
Maren stepped beside him and looked at the screen.
Her face went white-hot with shock.
Then anger.
Real anger.
“Griffin,” she said.
He looked at her.
Everyone had been watching the door.
Now someone had shoved it open.
And neither of them had chosen it.