Chapter 51 Griffin
Griffin
Griffin is confused at first when he hears Aria’s voice on the microphone.
He wonders momentarily if Michaela, his event lead, planned a surprise performance from her as a bonus for the guests, but undoubtedly she would’ve needed his personal connection to make the booking.
Since he disconnected—mostly—from the online world and the snarky remarks from commentators, the rambling about his career or lack thereof, Griffin has been feeling more grounded and in no rush to get back online.
Only now does he realize that he also hasn’t heard about any new song from Aria.
She didn’t send it to him directly or he would’ve checked it out.
He remembers not answering her call, and his gut drops. In his stewing, he never called her back, promising once he got himself to a better place he would. Of course she wouldn’t continue to reach out when all she got in response was silence.
The music plays, the lyrics sung in a voice so very Aria—not the one overly synthesized or drowned out by the special effects of the stage—one perfectly accompanied by a simple guitar, simply her. She is everything she spoke about wanting her music to be: real and true. Aria, herself.
Then her words unwind and with them a delightful understanding. Griffin is flooded by a sudden impulse to hold her, to kiss her, to love her.
While Griffin was holed up feeling sorry for himself and berating himself for not being enough for this woman, she was writing a song about the inspiration he brought to her.
While he is consumed with improving himself for her, Aria says he’s already enough.
While the world hypothesizes about his next steps, examines the hit that blew out his knee in slow motion, monitors his appearance in public, she says he’s transformed her world.
Aria Wilder says she wants him as is. After the injury. Before the foundation. The mess in between.
When Aria completes her song, she sounds flustered as she introduces him.
All Griffin wants is to rush to her, pull her into his arms, and tell her everything.
But he has to stick to the script for the event, the foundation, and even for Aria.
They deserve to talk things out in private, a cherished rarity for both of them.
Griffin pushes himself to remember what he planned to say.
He fumbles words, forgets things, and backtracks more than once, but he can’t help it.
Pictures of Aria and all their moments together dance through his mind.
Griffin knows how to buckle down and perform, and he’s grateful for the muscle memory.
Without it, he might’ve jogged down those stairs, picked Aria up into his arms, and carried her out of here, event and all forgotten.
At the end of his comments, he makes a clear ask for donations as Beverly coached him to do.
“Be real clear about what you want. People will come expecting to make a donation—especially the wealthy ones—but they won’t come asking you how if you don’t make it nice and clear for them.
QR code on the tabletops. Have a help table for the older generations where they can handwrite a check and chat with a friendly representative of the organization. ”
Guests take out their phones and begin scanning the codes, and within moments the band is back. From the balcony, Griffin scans the crowd in search of Aria, whom he spots slipping out onto the back patio where there are firepits set up.
Griffin barrels down the stairs, his focus so keenly locked on Aria that he slides through the crowd efficiently, to the back doors, and onto the patio. Outside, surrounded by the dark night, the noise of the party fades. Aria and Bailey are huddled together beside a firepit, head-to-head, talking.
Griffin clears his throat as he approaches to signal his arrival. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says as the pair turn to look at him in unison.
“Oh no, no,” Bailey says. “In fact, I was just saying how much I wanted a second cocktail, so I’m going to head inside and grab that. Anyone want something from the bar?”
“No thanks, but I appreciate it,” Griffin says.
“I’m good, sis,” Aria says. “Watch out for number 99. I think he has the hots for you.”
Griffin laughs. “AJ? He’s harmless.”
“We already bonded over a shared love of macramé and Antiques Roadshow earlier, so I think we’ll be just fine.”
Bailey slips inside, and Griffin and Aria are left alone in the light of the fire. Maybe it’s the afterglow of the song, but Aria looks even more stunning tonight, her skin glowing.
“The song,” Griffin says. The words come out in a deep rumble that falls out of him like a confession.
“I’m sorry if it was too much. I tried to call you to talk to you. I showed up before, and I needed—”
“It was perfect.”
Griffin steps closer, and Aria looks up into his eyes. “I wanted to tell you how I felt for a while now, but I also wanted to give you the space you wanted.”
“I was an idiot.” Griffin looks to the dark sky for support, then back to Aria. “I was so focused on my injury, on how it left me with nothing—as nothing—that I shut you out. Things got dark. I worried that you would think less of me all beat up and incapable.”
“So is this you beat up?” Aria looks him over methodically as if searching for something elusive.
“This is me well on my way to recovered. This is me finally seeing the bigger picture.” Griffin reaches down, puts a finger under Aria’s chin, and raises her head gently.
“This is me saying I’m really sorry for leaving you hanging.
I meant that kiss in the studio, and I never really wanted friendship only.
I was willing to settle for it because it made sense—and because that was what you wanted—but what I wanted was more. All of you.”
“I was too scared to go for it—like I was with so many things—but now I’m here. I’m ready.”
“Well, let’s not waste any more time.”
Griffin presses his lips to Aria’s, and he slides his hands down to the small of her back. She falls into him, and he pulls her close. Aria pulls back after a breath, then she kisses him again, her fingers in his hair sending a sensation like fireworks down his back.
Aria holds his face between her hands and hovers right before Griffin. His legs are like jelly.
“I love you, Griffin. I have for a while now.”
His lips curl into a grin. He’s known it too. Probably for longer than she has. “I love you too.”