Chapter 29
Ellie
Tori: Definitely double booked myself, forgot I was meeting with the caterer today. You think you can handle the walkthrough on your own?
Of course Tori overcommitted–fork found in kitchen.
Margo: Kid emergency! Can’t make it, but the contractor will be there, he’ll show you around. Sorry!!!!
The second text came through right as I pulled up to the old barn.
Tori and I had scheduled a walkthrough of the venue today.
I’m hoping that my vision for this reunion is possible.
I looked at the photos on the website, but I’m too familiar with real estate photography to trust the space just on pictures alone.
Margo, the on-staff event coordinator, was meant to meet us here and show me around, but given the fact that she has five children, I’m not shocked she also had to cancel at the last minute.
Thank God the contractor is here, the last thing I want is to reschedule this.
I’m starting to feel the familiar nerves that come when approaching a project deadline–even if this is just a high school reunion and not the high-stakes commercial projects I’m normally running.
My footsteps echo in the enormous ballroom area as I weave through the main building looking for my new tour guide.
Sophia wasn’t kidding–this place looks amazing.
My memories of the barn mostly involve Yeti coolers full of Smirnoff Ice and drunken teenagers tripping over the broken beams scattered across a hay-covered dirt floor.
Now it could pass for the type of coveted wedding venue that books out three years in advance.
The dusty floor has been replaced by stunning hardwood, with a checkerboard dancefloor installed in the center of the room.
The high ceilings have been expertly restored, the exposed beams maintaining the rustic charm without looking like the roof might collapse at any moment.
Twinkle lights have been strung between the beams, with a wagon wheel chandelier providing the majority of the warm glow basking the room.
In short, it’s every southern belle’s dream.
Through the doors at the far end of the main room is the winding red brick walkway that leads to the grounds. As I approach the final curve, I hear a deep male voice. “Yeah, I’m meeting some event planner here for a walkthrough, one of Margo’s kids shoved a dime up their nose. Again.”
Surely this is a joke. That can’t possibly be the voice I think it is. But when the owner of the voice finally comes into view, I freeze–and nearly fall flat on my face. The contractor is none other than Griffin Hart.
Engrossed in his phone call, he didn’t hear me approach, and I let myself take him in the way I wanted to at the coffee shop. This is the closest I’ve been to him since we were twenty three, and good lord has time has been good to him.
In addition to the brown locks and broad shoulders that grabbed my attention a few days ago, I’m close enough now to see the way his arms have only gotten stronger and more toned through years of manual labor.
I swear if he sneezes wrong he’s going to rip right out of that t-shirt.
My eyes rake slowly down his body, as if I’m subconsciously trying to memorize every slope of taut muscle, every place the fabric of his shirt clings to him, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
Even though I can only see his back, there’s no doubt in my mind that his chest muscles are straining against his shirt the same way his biceps are.
Traveling further south, I suck in a sharp breath when I get a glimpse of what has always been my favorite part of him to ogle–that tight ass in those damn Wranglers.
Thank God that some things never change.
I can feel the critical thinking leaving my brain as memories of deep kisses and hastily removed clothing surface, followed by the alarming thought that I’d like to rip those clothes off him in the middle of this barn and see if he feels as good as he used to.
I take a small step forward, desperately wanting to be closer even as the last sane brain cell in my head is imploring me to get it together.
My foot finds a rogue pebble, a scraping noise on the brick finally alerting Griffin to my presence.
He turns around, jaw dropping at the same time as his phone goes clattering to the ground.
I can hear the voice on the other line yelling “Bro what was that? Hello? Griffin?” and recognize it as David’s.
We stare at each other in silence for a few moments, his jaw still hanging open as I give a tentative smile and wave. Without taking his eyes off me, he bends down to grab his phone, bringing it to his ear and quickly saying, “I gotta go,” before slipping it into his back pocket.
“Hi, Griffin,” I say with a nervous laugh.
No response. Clearly I’m the last person he was expecting, and his brain seems to have short circuited with the shock.
“Um, I’m the walkthrough. I guess they didn’t give you a name.”
He shakes his head twice, still unable to get words out.
After another few seconds of silence, he manages to clear his throat and say, “No, they sure didn’t.
” Besides shock, the other emotions on his face are indecipherable.
It hits me like a freight train that not only am I the last person he expected, but I might also be the last person he wants to see.
“I can come back when Margo is here,” I stammer, cheeks heating with embarrassment. “You didn’t sign up for this.”
I turn on my heel, ready to get out of here like a bat outta hell, but he says, “No, it’s okay, really. I was just surprised is all.”
Spinning back around, I force myself to look directly into the dark eyes I spent so much time getting lost in. There’s no anger or bitterness–a bit of wariness, but they’re still just as warm as they were the first day I met him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Eleanor, I’m sure.”
My heart skips a beat hearing my name in that familiar southern drawl. It’s been years since anyone has called me Eleanor, let alone Griffin Hart.
“Okay,” I say in a near whisper.
He motions his head to the entrance of the grounds, and I fall in step next to him, unsure how to ease the unbearably awkward tension.
“So you’re the contractor, huh?”
Sneaking a glance at him, I see him nod his head, features still unreadable. I wish he’d say something–literally anything would be better than this silence. Conversation used to be so easy between us. How did we get here?
You know exactly how, Ellie.
“I took up my old job again when I came home from Tech,” he says. “The old man is basically retired, I run most of the major projects now. This was my first big one.”
“I didn’t know you went to Tech,” I blurt, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.
“Only for two years. And that was one and a half years too many. Wasn’t for me.”
“Oh,” I say. “I don’t know why I thought you stayed in Larkspur the whole time. I guess I just assumed.”
“Don’t know why you’d think otherwise,” he says, tone taking on a bitter edge. “I told you that’s what I wanted, and never told you I tried any different. Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
I’ve got no response to that. Does it matter? If I had known he was willing to try venturing out of Larkspur, would things have worked out differently?
My thoughts echo his own words–doesn’t really matter now, does it?
“Well, here it is,” he says, arm sweeping across the view. “Fountain and terrace to the right, rose garden to the left. Lighting out here is all solar-powered, first space in Larkspur to do that.”
The corners of my mouth turn upwards at the gruff pride in his voice. He’s playing nonchalant, but I know this is probably a huge deal to him.
“It looks phenomenal, Griffin,” I say emphatically. “Seriously, I can’t believe you managed this. I never would have guessed this place had so much potential.”
“A far cry from its barn party days, huh?” he says, an amused smirk fighting its way onto his face. “C’mon, let me show you the garden. Margo said you have something special planned for the reunion?”
“I think so,” I shrug. “Who knows if it’ll turn out, but I think I’ve got a pretty solid plan.”
“I’m sure any idea of yours is going to be perfect, darlin’.”
He stiffens, and my stomach drops at the slip of the old pet name.
He clears his throat, then continues forward as if nothing happened.
“It’s a loop, but not a perfect circle. It’s easy to get lost in it, in a good way.
When there’s a party going, the noise doesn’t break through the hedges, so it’s easy to pretend it’s just you out here. ”
“Sounds peaceful,” I murmur, stopping to sniff one of the yellow flowers. “What kind of roses are they?”
“Yellow rose of Texas, wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says with a half-smile. “There are other flowers around the fountain, but I wanted a true rose garden over here. The landscaper wanted a variety, but I dug my heels in.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I laugh, bumping his shoulder with mine. I hear his breath catch at the contact, and immediately step away, worried it was too much for him.
He looks down at me, then grins and bumps my shoulder back. “I learned how to be stubborn from the very best.”
“I’m not stubborn,” I grumble, crossing my arms in front of my chest. He lets out a loud laugh, throwing his head back at the bald faced lie.
“Sure, and David’s not a moron,” he says, still laughing. “And Jack doesn’t iron his khakis nightly.”
This sends us both into a fit of laughter, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this light. The initial awkwardness has faded completely, replaced by the comfortable companionship of two people who’ve known each other for nearly fourteen years.
Well, if you count the five we went without speaking, which I don’t know that you can.
We finally stop long enough to catch our breaths, his grin knocking the wind out of me all over again. With all the people I’ve encountered across the years, I’ve never found someone with a smile that lights me up the way his does.
We finish the loops through the garden and head in the direction of the fountain.
It’s nothing ostentatious, but adds a tranquil beauty that makes the expansive grounds feel intimate.
He paints a picture of cocktail tables and candles, pointing out where the outdoor bar gets set up and where additional seating can be added if necessary.
From there, the rest of the walkthrough is all business. We talk logistics and lighting, sounds systems and catering tables, and every possible disaster and contingency in place.
It’s perfect–I couldn’t have dreamed up a better place to execute my vision. Despite all my bitching and moaning, I’m excited to add “best reunion this town has ever seen” to my resumé right under “best wedding.”
The tour comes to close as we reach the front door, lingering even though there’s nothing else to go over.
I don’t think either of us are ready to break this spell.
For the past hour, it’s been like none of the misery and heartbreak happened.
We’re just Ellie and Griffin, the way it was when we were teenagers, head over heels for each other with no inkling of the turmoil the future would have for us.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” I say, even though that’s the last thing I want to do. “It was good to see you, Griffin.”
“You too, Eleanor,” he says in a quiet voice. “I’ve missed you. I do miss you. More than you know.”
I think about you every day. I miss you so much it hurts to breathe. I promise I know.
But I don’t say that, because I’m a coward. It’s been a long time since I was brave enough to give big, emotional, grand-gesture monologues. Instead, I leave without another word, waving one more time before I get into my car.
That went a lot better than it could have, Ellie. Who knows what could happen.
A twinge of hope ripples through me, until I remember that Griffin is with Madison now. Silent tears stream down my face as I force myself to accept that nothing is ever going to happen again for Ellie Turner and Griffin Hart.