Chapter Five Maren #3
“I am trying.”
“Stop trying like the phone owes you money.”
He glanced down at her, and there it was.
The smile.
Small.
Real.
Gone almost immediately.
But Maren saw it.
The world did the most annoying thing and softened around the edges.
She stepped behind him without thinking and reached around to adjust the angle of the phone.
Bad idea.
Immediate bad idea.
Her chest brushed his back.
His body went still.
So did hers.
The phone screen showed the players running cones, but neither of them moved.
Maren became aware of everything at once. The warmth of him. The firm line of his shoulder under her hand. The faint scent of sunscreen and lake air. The way his breath changed, almost imperceptibly, when her fingers slid over his to correct the frame.
She should step back.
Obviously.
This was work.
This was not a romance reel.
This was not the almost-kiss photo booth.
This was worse because no one was chanting, no one was voting, no one was making it a joke.
Just the two of them behind a camera, her hands over his, creating a shot together.
Griffin’s voice was low. “Like this?”
Maren swallowed.
“Yes.”
The word came out softer than she wanted.
His thumb shifted under hers.
Not touching more.
Not exactly.
But not moving away either.
The shot on the screen steadied.
The cones lined up. The players crossed through the frame. Tyler nearly tripped, recovered, bowed, and kept running. It was good footage. Better than she wanted it to be.
Maren stepped back because staying there one second longer would have required honesty, and she was not dressed for that.
Griffin handed her phone over without comment.
Their fingers did not touch this time.
She did not know whether to be relieved or offended.
“Not terrible,” she said.
“High praise.”
“Do not get addicted.”
“To filming cones?”
“To being useful.”
His expression shifted.
She realized the mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.
Being useful.
Griffin Hayes, who kept putting himself between disaster and everyone else, who looked tired when he thought nobody noticed, who probably did not know what to do with himself if no one needed him to fix something.
His gaze held hers.
“That is usually not the problem,” he said.
Quiet.
Honest.
There he went again.
Maren’s chest pinched.
She wanted to ask.
She did not.
Because asking would mean staying in the quiet with him. It would mean admitting there was a quiet. It would mean this thing between them had edges bigger than content and jokes and polls.
So she did what she did best.
She made it light.
“Good. Because I might need you to film more cones later if my hands get emotionally caffeinated.”
Griffin’s eyes stayed on her face for one more beat.
Then he let her have the escape.
“Your framing notes need work,” he said.
“My framing is art.”
“Your instructions were hostile.”
“You responded to them beautifully.”
“Did I?”
The question was too soft.
Maren looked at him.
He looked back.
The phone buzzed in her hand.
They both glanced down.
For one terrifying second, she thought it was Paige again.
It was worse.
The official account notification.
Challenge One photo had crossed ten thousand views.
The top comment read:
That was not an almost-kiss. That was a warning label.
Maren stared at it.
Then laughed, because what else could she do?
Griffin read over her shoulder.
His mouth tightened.
“Do not say it,” she warned.
“I was not going to.”
“You were going to say this is getting out of control.”
“It is.”
“Hayes.”
“But maybe,” he said slowly, like the words were fighting him on the way out, “not all the way.”
Maren looked up.
Her heartbeat did something embarrassing.
“That almost sounded flexible.”
“Do not get used to it.”
“Too late. I am making a graphic.”
“No.”
“SPIRITUAL KHAKIS BENDS.”
“Absolutely not.”
She smiled.
He smiled back.
Barely.
But enough.
Then the crowd erupted again, louder than before.
Maren turned.
Tyler stood on the bench near the scoreboard with a microphone he absolutely should not have had, one arm raised over his head.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and people invested in Griffin Hayes’s emotional development!”
Griffin went very still.
Maren’s stomach dropped.
“Oh no,” she said.
Tyler pointed directly at them.
“For Challenge Two tomorrow morning, the public has spoken early. They want something bigger. Something bolder. Something that asks the important question.”
“Tyler,” Griffin said, voice deadly calm.
Tyler grinned into the microphone.
“Can the king of control survive a full Maren Brooks bad-idea makeover day?”
The lawn screamed.
Maren froze.
Griffin turned his head toward her slowly.
His expression was unreadable.
Hers probably was not.
Because a full day with Griffin Hayes sounded dangerous.
Not for the weekend.
For her.
Tyler lifted the microphone again.
“Twenty-four hours,” he shouted. “Maren makes the plan. Griffin has to say yes.”
Griffin looked at Maren.
The air between them changed.
Her pulse kicked hard.
And for once, Maren Brooks could not tell whether the worst part was that Griffin might say no.
Or that he might not.