4. Jordana

4

JORDANA

T wo seconds ago, Griffin was close enough that I could breathe in the alluring woodsy scent of him, my whole body alive with anticipation. Two seconds ago, nothing existed beyond his storm-gray eyes and the way they fixed on my lips.

But the knock on my door has just yanked us back to reality, instantly killing the moment.

“Jordana!” Esther’s voice calls out from outside my apartment. “Are you ready?”

“Shit,” I murmur, forcing myself to step back. Griffin’s intense gaze sends electricity through my body, and I hate that I have to pull away from him. “I’m so sorry. Give me a second.”

I smooth my hair as I rush over to answer the door. Esther bursts in wearing a glittery top, ready for a night out.

Her smile vanishes as she looks at my clothes. “Did you forget?”

Shit. It’s girls’ night out. “Sorry, I still need to get ready. I can meet you there.”

“No worries, I can wait while you—” Her words cut off when she spots Griffin. Her body goes rigid. “Um. Am I interrupting?”

My cheeks heat. “Yeah, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

Esther’s nails dig into my arm as she pulls me closer. “Are you in danger?” she whispers. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m not in danger, Esther.” I pull my arm free. “I’ll meet you at the bar, okay?”

She examines my face for a long moment before stepping back. “Okay. See you soon.”

I close the door behind her and return to Griffin. His expression has closed off, all the earlier warmth gone.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I completely forgot about tonight.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I should head out anyway.” His voice is careful, measured.

Walking him to the door feels like the longest ten steps of my life. The kiss-that-wasn’t hangs between us, unfinished. Part of me thinks Esther’s interruption might be for the best—kissing Griffin would complicate things. But I can’t forget how right it felt when he leaned in.

“So we’ll plan something soon?” I ask as he steps into the hallway.

One corner of his mouth lifts. “For Project Win-Over-the-Town?”

“Exactly.” Relief eases through me at his smile.

“Sure.”

“Great,” I say. “I’ll give you a call soon.”

After he leaves, I press my forehead against the door. Everything that just happened swirls through my head—our conversation, our almost-kiss, Esther’s interruption.

Without a doubt, as soon as Esther shows up at the bar, she’s going to tell the girls what she saw.

Twenty minutes later, when I walk into the bar, three heads turn toward me at once. My friends sit at our usual high-top, concern written across their faces. I order a beer before joining them.

“What was Griffin doing in your apartment?” Lia asks the moment I sit down.

I take a long drink. “He found my library card. I dropped it at the grocery store.”

“And you invited him in?” Caroline’s eyebrows rise. “Alone?”

“He’s not dangerous.” I set my glass down harder than I mean to. “You don’t know him.”

“And you do?” Esther leans forward. “How well can you really know someone who lives like a hermit and has a history of violence?”

“That’s not—” My fingers tighten around my glass. “Look, I know what happened the day all the rumors started. He told me the real story.”

“Of course he did.” Lia shakes her head. “Men like that always have explanations.”

“He was having an anxiety attack.” I meet each of their eyes. “He’s a veteran who counsels other veterans through trauma. One of his client's stories triggered his own memories.”

Caroline looks skeptical. “That might explain that one incident. What about the rest?”

“It’s just gossip that snowballed out of control. Think about it, Caroline. Do you know anyone who witnessed any of those stories firsthand?”

“Well…no…”

Esther shakes her head. “I don’t buy it. He could easily be lying to your face.”

The unlabeled pill bottle and burner phones flash through my mind. My stomach knots. I push the memory aside and think instead of the genuine hurt in Griffin’s eyes when he told me about how all of this started. “I trust my instincts about people. My dad always said?—”

“Your dad would want you to be careful,” Lia says. “To protect yourself.”

“I am being careful.” The lie sits heavy in my throat as I remember wanting to kiss Griffin. “But I’m also not going to judge someone based on gossip.”

“We’re just worried about you,” Caroline says quietly.

“I know.” My shoulders drop. “I appreciate you guys looking out for me. But I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

They exchange glances but let it drop. The conversation shifts to safer topics—Lia’s latest dating disaster, Caroline’s promotion at work. I try to focus, but my thoughts keep returning to Griffin. The way he carefully held my library card out to me. His voice when he talked about helping other veterans. The charge in the air before Esther knocked.

My friends have a valid point. I do need to be careful. I should have asked Griffin about the pills and the phones instead of getting lost in his eyes. But that moment also felt so right, and I can’t deny how much I wanted him to kiss me.

I want to trust him. And I want everyone else to see what I see: a good man who’s been misunderstood. A man who deserves a second chance.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Griffin asks, studying the yoga studio we’re standing in front of. I’m sure this is the last place he expected me to take him, but what he doesn’t realize is that many of Fairhope’s most gossipy residents frequent these classes, and it’s the perfect opportunity to show them the gentle giant they've been so wrong about.

I adjust my mat under my arm. “Trust me. This class is super chill. No headstands required.”

Griffin blows out a slow breath and reaches for the door, pulling it open for me. The movement makes the muscles in his forearm flex, and my eyes linger on the strong lines there before I catch myself and quickly force my eyes away. This is not the time to be distracted by how criminally hot Griffin is.

Inside, sandalwood incense subtly fills the air. Every head turns our way. The studio goes quiet as the group of women take in Griffin’s massive frame. I lift my chin and walk to the front desk, where the receptionist’s gaze keeps jumping between us.

“Hey, Melissa. Griffin is my guest today,” I say with a smile.

“Right.” Melissa clears her throat as she glances again at Griffin. “The first class is free for guests.”

I guide Griffin through the pre-class routine, aware of the whispers following us. His boots, caked with mountain mud, stand out against the neat rows of clean shoes by the door. When we enter the main yoga room, he moves carefully, like he’s trying to take up less space despite being the kind of man who naturally fills a room.

“There’s extra mats here,” I say, pointing to a cubby.

His eyes scan the room, lingering on the mirrors. “Can we grab spots in the back?”

“Of course. We can set up wherever you want to.”

We unroll our mats in the back corner. Griffin practically spills off the sides of his. I catch him looking over at the exit just as our yoga instructor, Colleen, glides in from the other side of the studio.

“Welcome, everyone.” Her usual calm wavers for a moment when she spots Griffin. “Today’s practice will be gentle and restorative. For our new students, just follow along and listen to your body. There’s no wrong way to move.”

I glance again at Griffin. Despite looking completely out of place, he meets my eyes with a small smile that shows the slight dimple in his right cheek. My pulse jumps harder than it should, and I look away. I need to focus on why we’re here.

As we begin, I split my focus between my practice and periodically glancing over at Griffin to make sure he’s doing okay. His muscled frame fights against the poses, but he approaches each one with steady concentration. During a particularly awkward twist, he gives me such a long-suffering look that I have to bite back a laugh. At other times, the way his t-shirt clings to his chest is incredibly distracting—so distracting that I almost lose my balance.

In the final pose, Colleen invites us to lay flat on our backs, eyes closed. Before I close my eyes, I peek over at Griffin one last time. The tension has fully left his face, softening his strong features. My heart thrums at how different he looks like this, how peaceful.

After class, as we gather our things, all the other women are caught up in post-yoga conversations. No one seems to care about Griffin’s presence anymore.

“So?” I ask him as we roll up our mats. “What’d you think?”

“I never thought I’d say this, but...” He meets my eyes, a gentle smile on his face. “It was nice. Really nice.”

My heart speeds up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t try to talk me into buying a punchcard, though.”

I laugh as we step into the reception area to put on our shoes. “Fair enough. Hey, I usually grab a bite after class. Want to join me?”

He only takes a beat to think it over. “Sure, if it helps with our little project.”

Right. The project. The reminder settles soberly in my stomach. We’re doing this to change the town’s mind about him—nothing more. There’s a reason he didn’t try to kiss me again after we were interrupted the other night.

We step out into the sunshine and start to walk up the street. The morning is perfectly warm with just a hint of breeze, and we walk side by side at a comfortable pace. For a few moments, it feels easy and normal, like we're just two friends enjoying each other's company.

Then everything happens at once. A flash of movement catches my eye. A little boy chases a toy car toward the street, straight into traffic. Griffin lunges forward, catching the child's arm and pulling him back from the curb.

“Let go of my son!” A woman’s scream cuts through the air. The little boy starts crying as his mother runs toward us. Other people stop to stare.

Griffin releases the boy instantly, hands up. “He was running into traffic.”

The mother spots the toy car in the street. Her face shifts from anger to horror at her own reaction. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. Thank you. You saved him. I’m so sorry I assumed?—”

But it’s too late. The crowd whispers and points. Griffin’s shoulders pull in, his jaw tight.

Instinctively, I slip my hand into Griffin’s. His skin is warm and a little rough. He tenses at the physical contact, then meets my eyes.

“Jesus.” His voice is rough. “I can’t catch a break in this town.”

“Everything’s fine,” I tell him, squeezing his hand.

“Everyone’s staring.”

I scan the sidewalk. “Not anymore. See? They’re already moving on.”

The defeat in his eyes hits me hard. “I don’t know if they’re ever going to change their minds about me.”

“They will, Griffin. It’s just going to take time.”

But even as I reassure him, I wonder if he’s right.