Chapter One Maren #3
And Maren, who had been called impulsive by people with no imagination, did what she always did when the room expected her to retreat into a joke.
She smiled prettier.
“You would not know a bad idea if it kissed you.”
The sentence landed.
Hard.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then Tyler Donovan slowly rose from the dock like a prophecy in swim trunks.
“Oh,” he said.
Griffin did not look away from Maren. “Do not.”
Tyler’s grin widened. “Oh, absolutely.”
“Tyler.”
“No, no, no. Let the room breathe.”
“We are outside,” Cooper said.
“Let the dock breathe.”
Beckett was already on his feet, popsicles forgotten. “I heard a challenge.”
“You heard a sentence,” Griffin said.
“A sentence wearing a challenge outfit.”
Maren’s stomach dipped.
Not with regret.
Not exactly.
More like the first sharp drop of a roller coaster when the cart has already clicked too high and pretending you can get off would be embarrassing for everyone.
“Tyler,” Griffin said, voice low.
Tyler backed away, both hands lifted. “I am simply observing that Lake Briar Summer Challenge Weekend has been lacking a signature event.”
“No.”
“A narrative centerpiece.”
“No.”
“A romance-coded competitiveness opportunity.”
Maren blinked. “A what?”
Tyler pointed at her. “You get it.”
“I do not want to get it.”
“You started it.”
“I said one sentence.”
“So did the Declaration of Independence, probably.”
Cooper’s voice drifted from the canoe. “That is not accurate.”
“Emotionally,” Tyler said.
Griffin took one step toward him.
Tyler took two steps back, nearly tripped over the shark fin, recovered, and spun toward the beach.
“Attention, Ridgeview and emotionally invested bystanders!”
“Do not yell,” Griffin said.
Tyler yelled louder. “We have our first unofficial Lake Briar Challenge Weekend bet.”
Nate, waist-deep in water, looked over. “Why does that sentence make me tired?”
Ava laughed. “Because you know him.”
Maren should have stopped this.
Probably.
She was the professional here. The content lead. The woman trying to prove she could run a high-visibility event without anyone calling it cute and patting her on the head.
But the dock had energy now.
Real energy.
People turned from the beach. Players drifted closer. Someone cut the music. The string lights flickered on overhead, soft gold bulbs blinking awake as if even the electricity wanted to see what happened next.
And Griffin Hayes, controlled and careful and too steady for her peace, looked at Maren like she had just become the most dangerous thing at the lake.
Her pulse answered like an idiot.
Tyler spread his arms wide.
“Can Griffin Hayes survive one weekend of bad ideas?”
“No,” Griffin said.
Tyler continued, “Can Maren Brooks make the human safety manual loosen up?”
“I hate that phrasing,” Griffin said.
“Can responsibility defeat chaos?”
Beckett clutched his chest. “Can love defeat scheduling?”
“There is no love,” Griffin snapped.
The beach went, “Ooooooh.”
Maren’s cheeks warmed.
Not because of the word love.
That was ridiculous.
Because Griffin had reacted too fast.
Because his eyes had flashed.
Because Maren had suddenly imagined what it would feel like if a man like that stopped controlling every thought and let one reckless truth out.
Dangerous.
Very bad idea.
Perfect title, unfortunately.
Tyler pointed toward Maren and Griffin like he was announcing a championship bout. “The Bad Idea Bet.”
The words hit the dock.
Maren knew instantly they would stick.
She could see the posts. The captions. The fan votes.
The team chaos. The weekend finally having the pulse it needed.
She could see the numbers climbing, the comments rolling in, the kind of messy, addictive story people followed because it felt like they were watching something happen in real time.
And she could see Griffin realizing the same thing.
His jaw tightened.
“You are not putting that on the official account,” he said.
Maren lifted one eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
Behind him, Ava called, “It is already a good title.”
Nate winced. “Babe.”
“What? It is.”
Beckett cupped his hands around his mouth. “I volunteer as creative director.”
“No one asked you,” Griffin said.
“Artists are rarely invited before they are needed.”
Cooper held up his phone from the canoe. “The group chat has been informed.”
Griffin turned very slowly. “Why?”
Cooper looked at the screen. “Because Tyler texted us thirty seconds ago.”
Tyler beamed. “Efficiency.”
Griffin closed his eyes.
Maren should not have enjoyed that.
She really should not have.
But Griffin Hayes looked a little less like a wall when the wall had cracks. And Maren had always loved light through cracks.
Her phone buzzed.
Then buzzed again.
And again.
The Ridgeview group chat she had been added to strictly for event content began exploding so fast the notifications blurred.
TYLER: BAD IDEA BET.
BECKETT: I require theme music.
COOPER: No.
MILES: What happened?
NATE: Tyler happened.
AVA: Maren happened a little.
TYLER: Griffin has to survive bad ideas all weekend.
GRIFFIN: No, he does not.
TYLER: He is already speaking in third person. Pressure is working.
BECKETT: First challenge should involve kissing.
GRIFFIN: Absolutely not.
COOPER: I have muted this.
NATE: No you have not.
COOPER: Spiritually.
Maren stared at the messages.
Then at Griffin.
Then at the lake, glowing behind him like a terrible accomplice.
This was not the plan.
The plan had been simple. Make the weekend unforgettable. Prove she was more than fun. Get clean content. Build a portfolio strong enough that nobody could dismiss her work as cute again.
It had not included becoming half of the weekend’s main event.
It had definitely not included Griffin Hayes looking at her with the kind of quiet intensity that made her wonder what he would do if he stopped saying no.
He stepped closer.
The dock noise faded a little.
“Maren,” he said.
Not Brooks.
Maren.
That was worse.
Her name sounded different in his mouth. Less like a label. More like a warning he had not decided whether to give himself or her.
“This is not a good idea,” he said.
She tilted her head. “That does seem to be the point.”
“I am serious.”
“I noticed. It is kind of your brand.”
His gaze flicked over her face, and for one wild second, she thought he might smile.
He did not.
Of course he did not.
Griffin Hayes probably scheduled his smiles for approved emotional windows.
“This weekend matters,” he said.
“So does making it interesting.”
“I am responsible for keeping the team focused.”
“I am responsible for making people care.”
“They already care.”
“No,” she said, softer now. “They know the team exists. That is not the same thing.”
Something shifted in his expression.
There.
He had heard that.
Not the joke. Not the challenge. The truth underneath it.
Maren looked away first this time because she did not like how good it felt to be understood by accident.
Around them, the team was still arguing. Tyler was pitching challenge ideas. Beckett wanted lighting. Cooper wanted distance. Ava and Nate were pretending not to watch. The beach had turned back into noise, but the energy had changed.
The weekend had found its spark.
Unfortunately, the spark was standing directly in front of her, damp at the hem of his shorts, handsome in the golden light, and looking like he wanted to shut the whole thing down before it burned him.
Maren lifted her phone.
Griffin’s eyes dropped to it.
“What are you doing?”
She opened the official Lake Briar weekend account.
“Maren.”
She selected the clip.
The almost-jump. Griffin stepping in. The pool noodle slap. Tyler’s goose noise. Griffin’s murder face. Her own voice in the background, laughing once before she caught herself.
It was perfect.
She typed the caption before she could overthink it.
Day one of Lake Briar Summer Challenge Weekend and Griffin Hayes has already saved us from one bad idea.
Or did he?
Comments open. Should Griffin survive one weekend of bad ideas?
She added a poll.
YES, HAYES CAN HANDLE IT.
NO, HE FEARS JOY.
Griffin stared at the screen.
Then at her.
“Maren.”
The way he said her name this time should not have touched the back of her neck.
It did.
She hit post.
For one beautiful second, nothing happened.
Then Tyler screamed from three feet away.
“SHE POSTED IT!”
The dock erupted.
Griffin did not move.
He just looked at her.
Maren smiled because that was what people expected her to do. Smile when she had done something bold. Smile when she was not sure whether she had just made a genius move or stepped directly into her own disaster. Smile before anyone could tell the difference between confidence and panic.
Griffin leaned in.
Not close enough to touch.
Close enough that she caught the clean scent of lake water, sunscreen, and something warm that was only him.
His voice dropped so low only she could hear it.
“You realize,” he said, “that if this goes wrong, I am blaming you.”
Maren’s smile sharpened.
“Hayes,” she said, “if this goes right, you will still blame me.”
For the first time all evening, Griffin Hayes smiled.
Barely.
A small, reluctant curve at one corner of his mouth.
It lasted half a second.
It ruined her entire plan.
Then her phone buzzed again.
The poll had already hit two hundred votes.
Ninety-one percent for: NO, HE FEARS JOY.
Maren turned the screen toward him.
Griffin read it.
His smile vanished.
The forehead vein returned.
And Maren realized, with a bright, sinking rush, that the best content of her summer might also be the worst idea of her life.