Chapter Five Maren
Maren Brooks had three rules for handling criticism.
Smile first.
Read later.
Never, under any circumstance, let a man with concerned eyes watch the words land.
Unfortunately, Griffin Hayes had the reflexes of a goalie, the focus of a tax auditor, and the personal timing of a man placed on earth to ruin her emotional privacy.
He had seen Paige’s text.
Of course he had.
Because apparently the night had taken one look at Maren and decided the best way to improve it was public almost-kissing, viral comments, and a family member reducing her actual work to flirting with a good jawline.
Cute photo. Very on-brand for you. Just don’t let people confuse flirting with actual work.
Maren felt the message behind her ribs, small and sharp.
She kept smiling.
That was the trick. People trusted a smile. It made them think nothing had gotten in. It turned bruises into lighting choices.
Griffin did not trust it.
This was becoming one of his most inconvenient traits.
His gaze stayed on her face, steady and serious, with the kind of attention that made lying feel like trying to sneak a marching band through a library.
“Maren,” he said.
“No,” she said brightly.
His brows drew together. “I did not ask anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was.”
“I respect your honesty and reject your direction.”
Behind them, opening night roared on. The Lake Briar lawn had tipped fully into Challenge Weekend chaos.
Players raced between stations under string lights.
Families clustered along the rope line. The snack shack window glowed warm and busy, Ava moving behind it with terrifying command of fries and lemonade.
Someone had started chanting Miles’s name because Miles was attempting to throw a cornhole bag while balanced on one foot, which seemed less like athletic skill and more like an audition for regret.
Maren should have been filming.
That was her job.
The official Lake Briar account was exploding. Challenge One had already become the biggest post of the summer. The almost-kiss photo had crossed from cute to dangerous in the comments, and people were picking it apart like it was a crime scene with cheekbones.
She needed to capitalize on that momentum.
She needed behind-the-scenes clips. Crowd reactions.
Team banter. A clean transition reel from Tyler’s dock disaster to the photo booth.
A caption for tomorrow morning’s Challenge Two poll.
She needed to check lighting near the scoreboard before the Lake Briar Cup intro ceremony, make sure the alumni welcome post had the correct names, and avoid thinking about the exact second Griffin’s gaze had dropped to her mouth.
Easy.
So easy.
Especially with him standing close enough to make the air feel crowded.
“You do not have to talk about the text,” Griffin said.
“Great. Conversation complete.”
“But you should not pretend it was nothing.”
Maren laughed.
It came out too bright.
Even she heard it.
Griffin’s expression did not change, which was somehow worse than if he had looked sympathetic. Sympathy made her want to bite. Steadiness made her want to tell the truth, which was obviously unacceptable.
“It was a text from Paige,” Maren said. “Paige texts like she was raised by passive aggression and mineral water. It is a family tradition.”
“Family?”
“Cousin.”
His jaw flexed. “She talks to you like that often?”
“Oh, good. We did reach the interrogation portion.”
“That was one question.”
“It came wearing boots.”
“I am trying to understand.”
“Why?”
The word came out sharper than she meant.
Griffin did not flinch.
Also inconvenient.
Maren adjusted her grip on her phone, hating that her hand still felt tight around it. “Sorry. That sounded mean.”
“It sounded like a boundary.”
She looked at him then.
Really looked.
String lights threw gold across his face. He stood with his shoulders squared but not aggressive, hands loose at his sides like he was deliberately not reaching for her phone, not fixing, not managing.
Just staying.
That was worse than fixing.
“You love boundaries,” she said.
“I respect them.”
“Very spiritual khakis of you.”
“I am not wearing khakis.”
“Spiritually, you have a full drawer.”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Maren wanted that smile more than she had any right to.
So she turned away before wanting could become visible.
“Come on,” she said. “If I miss Tyler’s next crime, Denise will ask me why the event account suddenly became tasteful.”
She stepped around him and headed toward the lawn.
Griffin fell into step beside her.
Naturally.
Maren glanced sideways. “Are you escorting me?”
“I am walking in the same direction.”
“Is that the official statement?”
“Yes.”
“Do I look like I need supervision?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Too firmly.
Maren hated how much she liked it.
He did not say she looked fine. He did not say she seemed okay. He did not make that soft, patronizing face people made when they wanted to comfort a woman by turning her into something fragile.
Just no.
Like needing supervision was not even up for debate.
That should not have mattered.
It did.
They reached the edge of the main lawn, where the Lake Briar Cup scoreboard stood between two posts wrapped in lights. Someone had drawn three team columns in chalk paint: Team Dock, Team Sand, Team Snack Shack. Tyler had already added an unofficial fourth column labeled Team Vibes.
Griffin stared at it. “No.”
Maren lifted her phone. “Yes.”
“No.”
“It is already there.”
“It is not an approved team.”
“Neither is spiritual khakis, but it has a fan base now.”
His head turned slowly. “What?”
She showed him the comments.
Someone had screenshotted her earlier line and turned it into a quote graphic.
SPIRITUAL KHAKIS: WHEN A MAN IS NOT WEARING KHAKIS, BUT HIS SOUL HAS PLEATS.
It had been shared twelve times.
Griffin looked personally wounded.
Maren’s laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Real this time.
His eyes shifted to her.
That was the problem with real laughter. It opened windows.
Maren shut hers immediately and angled the phone toward the scoreboard. “Content first. Emotional devastation later.”
“Is that your motto?”
“One of many.”
“What are the others?”
“Hydrate before making accusations. Never trust a man with an acoustic guitar after ten p.m. Always film before asking whether anyone is okay.”
Griffin’s brows lifted. “That last one is concerning.”
“That last one is how I got your pool noodle clip.”
“It was not a pool noodle clip.”
“It became one when the noodle slapped you.”
“Temporary contact.”
“Assault with flotation.”
“Maren.”
She grinned despite herself.
Then the crowd near the scoreboard cheered, and she lifted her phone to film.
Nate stepped onto a wooden bench to explain the opening night relay while Ava stood below him, shaking her head like she could not believe she loved someone who voluntarily spoke to crowds.
The teams gathered around, each in different colored wristbands.
Tyler bounced beside Beckett, both on Team Vibes despite Griffin’s immediate objection.
Cooper stood at the edge of Team Dock wearing the expression of a man wrongly convicted of participation.
Maren filmed the sweep of it.
The lake behind them.
The string lights.
Nate’s easy captain smile.
Ava mouthing no cheating at Tyler.
Beckett looking directly into her camera and giving a dramatic wink.
The crowd laughing.
Good.
This was good.
No, better than good.
Alive.
The kind of footage that sold a feeling. Not the event schedule. Not the official version. The real one. The one people wanted to step into.
Her chest loosened.
This was what Paige never understood.
It was not flirting.
It was not being cute.
It was translation.
Maren saw the spark in a room, the reason people looked twice, the tiny moments that made strangers care. She could take a weekend and make it feel like a story. She could take chaos and give it shape.
That was work.
Real work.
Griffin leaned closer, eyes on her screen. “That shot is good.”
Maren’s thumb stilled.
She did not look at him.
Compliments were dangerous when they named the right thing.
“It is fine,” she said.
“It is not fine.”
“Wow. Rude.”
“It is excellent.”
Her throat tightened.
So stupid.
Such a tiny word to have that much weight.
Excellent.
Not cute.
Not fun.
Not perfect for you.
Excellent.
Maren kept filming because stopping would reveal too much.
“You say that like it physically hurt you,” she said.
“Admitting when something works is not painful.”
“You sure? Your face is very brave.”
“It is painful when you make me say it twice.”
She smiled down at the screen.
He saw.
She knew he saw because he did not comment.
That was another inconvenient thing about Griffin. He knew when not to push.
At least until he did not.
Nate blew a whistle from the bench.
“Opening Night Relay,” he called. “Three rounds. Each team completes one lake task, one hockey task, and one public-introduction task. Winner gets ten points toward the Lake Briar Cup.”
Tyler raised both hands. “What does Team Vibes get?”
Griffin answered from beside Maren. “Dissolved.”
Tyler pointed at him. “Oppression.”
Cooper said, “Accuracy.”
Nate continued like this was normal because apparently it was. “Round one: paddle pass. Round two: stick-handling cones on sand.”
A collective groan came from the players.
Nate smiled. “Round three: each team introduces one teammate to the crowd using three facts, one compliment, and one lie. Crowd guesses the lie.”
Beckett put a hand over his heart. “Emotional chaos.”
Ava called, “Keep it clean.”
“Emotionally or verbally?” Tyler asked.
“Yes,” Ava said.
Maren moved to capture the teams spreading out.
Griffin stayed beside her.
Not in the way, exactly. More like a shadow with biceps and opinions.
She looked over. “You do realize your job is not to stand near me and scowl at fun.”
“I am watching the relay.”
“You are watching me watch the relay.”
“I can multitask.”
“Dangerous. Next you’ll develop a personality.”
“I have one.”
“Rules are not a personality.”
“Neither is provocation.”
Maren lowered her phone just enough to look at him.