What was the point? Why had he pulled her away from the festival in the first place? It certainly hadn’t been to kiss her. If he’d been thinking about anything other than how much he missed her, he would have known that was a horrible idea.
He’d wanted to talk to her about Cassie. She’d misinterpreted and—
“I’m dating someone.”
The statement jolted him back to the present moment.
“No.” The word came out as a puff of breath.
Her eyes narrowed again. “Yes. Well, not yet exactly. I’m going to date someone.”
“Hypothetically?” he demanded, feeling a muscle tick in his jaw. “Or in real life?”
“Real life. The man you saw.” She paused as if searching for a detail she’d forgotten. “James. He’s a doctor.”
“Bully for him.”
“For both of us,” she agreed. “I met him working on the hospital fund-raiser.”
“The one I’m hosting at the tasting room?”
“Your mother is the official host,” she pointed out, not very helpfully in his opinion.
“It’s my vineyard.”
“Your family’s vin—”
“You know what I mean,” he interrupted.
“I know...” She blew out a long breath. “We are not together. Your choice, Griffin. Has something changed?”
Panic spiked through him. He wanted to say yes, but it wasn’t true. He was as messed up as he’d been four months ago. Their past was messy, the present just as complicated. He’d told her he didn’t do complicated. He’d hurt her. The pain he’d caused still reflected in her gaze and he hated himself for it.
He’d grown so damn tired of hating himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, then shook his head.
She gave him a sad smile. “So many apologies between us.”
“I want it to be different.” As if that mattered when he was too much of a coward to do anything about it.
The smile faded from her face. “Me, too.”
“Maggie—”
“I need to get back to the festival.” She straightened her fitted red turtleneck sweater. The bottom edge of the butterfly on her cheek had smeared slightly where his thumb had grazed her face. “Brenna will be wondering about me.”
He nodded. “Have a good night, Maggie May.”
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, a small diamond stud glimmering in her lobe. She had beautiful ears. Every inch of her was beautiful to him.
“Have fun with Cassie,” she said, then whirled and hurried away.
He wanted to call after her, to explain there was nothing between him and his ex-girlfriend. But what good would that do? Would it change everything that prevented him from committing to Maggie?
No. It felt like nothing ever changed in Stonecreek.
Cassie had told him the noise around them didn’t matter, but it was all Griffin could hear, drowning out even the beat of his own heart.
* * *
Morgan Spencer shoved her phone into the top drawer of her desk when she heard her father’s footsteps on the creaky staircase of the house where she’d been born. Literally born in the bathtub down the hall.
This home and town were all she’d ever known. Her perfect life and her perfect family and she didn’t fit in at all.
There was a soft knock on the door and then her dad entered.
“Hey, Mo-Mo. No Fall Fest for you this year?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m grounded. Remember?”
Her father grimaced, looking slightly sheepish. “Of course. I remember. Fire at Harvest Vineyards. You and a toppled candle.”
“It was an accident,” she said, shame pulsing through her at the reminder of her stupidity.
“I understand, but there are still consequences to your actions, young lady.”
“I’m not so young,” she shot back.
“You’re sixteen.”
“Duh. It’s a wonder you even remember.”
“Attitude isn’t going to help, Morgan.” Her dad’s tone had turned abnormally disapproving. Jim Spencer was a big man. At fifty-one, his shoulders remained broad and only a sprinkling of silver darted his thick brown hair. Tonight he wore faded jeans and a ratty sweatshirt. From the earthy scent emanating from him, Morgan knew he’d spent the evening in his art studio. He spent most of his time there, immersed in the casts and sculptures that seemed dearer to him than his own children.
Morgan was probably the only one who cared about inattentiveness. Maggie had been fifteen when their mother died. She’d grown up quickly, stepping in to help raise Morgan and their younger brother, Ben, who was fourteen now and taller than Morgan. Ben had always been easy—‘the Buddha baby,’ Dad had called him. As long as he had snacks and video games, that boy was happy. Grammy had helped with all of them, but Maggie had always been the apple of Vivian Spencer’s eye. Morgan’s sister was smart and driven, polished and self-possessed in a way Morgan could never be.
Had never tried to be. She was the black sheep of the family, more so now that she was in high school and her inclination toward rebellion had found an outlet with the fast kids at her high school. She tended to fade into the background in the face of Maggie’s perfection and Ben’s affable nature. So when she’d discovered that she could get attention from the popular kids at school just by doing stupid things like playing chicken on the train tracks or toilet papering the principal’s house, it had been fun. It made her feel like she belonged for the first time in her life. Who wouldn’t want to belong?
But apparently she couldn’t ignore her father when he decided to come out of his studio and play at being a responsible parent.
“I know,” she relented with a shrug. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m trying.”
“You are,” he agreed, and she knew he meant it.
Guilt washed over her in response.
She hadn’t meant to damage the building out at Harvest Vineyards. She’d been over the moon for a stupid boy, earning herself months of grounding and a one-way ticket to working the whole summer to pay for repairs to the tasting room building. She’d also lost her chance with Cole Maren, not that she’d ever really had him.
A boy like Cole wouldn’t have time for a girl like her.
“Want a piece
