5. Griffin

5

GRIFFIN

I check my reflection in Betty’s rearview mirror one more time, tugging at the collar of my dark blue button-down. The fabric feels stiff and foreign against my skin after months of wearing nothing but work shirts and t-shirts. Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered changing. Jordana didn’t say anything about dressing up for dinner, and now I’m worried it looks like I think this is a date.

But tonight is definitely not a date. It’s just another attempt at showing the town I’m not the monster they think I am.

Out on the street, Fairhope bustles with evening activity, locals enjoying the mild spring weather. String lights twinkle between buildings, casting a warm glow over couples and families strolling the sidewalks. A few people glance my way as I step out of the truck, but their looks feel less hostile than usual. Progress, maybe.

I head up the narrow stairs to Jordana’s apartment, each step bringing me closer to her. My hand hesitates before knocking, remembering the last time I was here, and how close we came to kissing that night. For a moment, all I can think of is the warmth that was in her eyes. The invitation in her parted lips. The infatuation I felt for her.

I push the memory away and knock.

Her door opens, and every coherent thought vanishes from my mind. Jordana stands before me in a dark green jumpsuit that hugs her curves, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The sight of her hits me square in the chest.

“Hi.” Her voice carries a hint of shyness I’ve never heard before.

“Hi.” I clear my throat. “You look beautiful.”

Pink colors her cheeks. “Thanks. You clean up pretty nice yourself.”

Her eyes trail down my chest and arms, lingering on where I’ve rolled up my sleeves. The air between us crackles with the same electricity from the other night.

It would be so easy to step forward, to finish what we started.

But that’s not why we’re here.

We walk to the restaurant side by side, our arms nearly touching. As townspeople pass by, their gazes seem more curious rather than condemning. One elderly woman even offers a hesitant smile.

When we reach the restaurant, the hostess gives us an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but we’re completely booked. There’s about an hour wait for tables.”

“The bar’s open,” Jordana says, glancing up at me. “If you’re okay with that?”

I nod, following her to two empty seats. As we settle in, her knee brushes against mine. The contact sends heat racing through my body, and I shift in my seat, trying to give her more space. But she doesn’t move away.

“So.” She picks up a menu. “What looks good to you?”

“The meatloaf.” I barely need to look at the options. “Simple. Reliable.”

She studies her menu, and I find myself watching her profile, the way she bites her lower lip in concentration. “Let me guess,” she says. “You’re the type who orders the same thing at every restaurant?”

“I like knowing what I’m getting. What looks good to you?”

“Hmm.” Her eyes meet mine, a quiet challenge in them. “I’m considering the squid ink pasta with uni butter.”

I can’t hide my grimace. “That sounds...”

“Exciting?” A smile plays at her lips.

“Terrifying,” I admit.

She laughs softly, the sound doing dangerous things to my pulse. “Tell you what. I’ll let you try a bite of mine if you let me try your safe, boring meatloaf.”

The playful challenge in her voice makes me want to prove her wrong about me. “Deal.”

When our food arrives, Jordana takes a bite of my meatloaf, and I try not to stare at the way her lips wrap around her fork. “This is actually really good.” She watches me methodically cut into my meal. “You’re very precise with everything, aren’t you?”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Says the woman who just lined up her knife and fork perfectly straight.”

She smiles. “You noticed that?”

“I notice a lot about you,” I say before I can stop myself.

She holds my gaze for a moment too long, then loads her fork with pasta. “Your turn.”

I eye the black noodles warily.

“Trust me,” she says.

Something in her voice makes it impossible to refuse. I lean in and let her feed me the bite, extremely aware of our proximity. The rich, briny flavor surprises me.

“Well?” She watches my face, and I realize how close we still are.

“It’s...not terrible.”

She grins in triumph. “Can I have one more little bite of your meatloaf?”

I cut off a perfect bite and hold out my fork. She wraps her lips around it, maintaining eye contact as she pulls back. My cock throbs at the sight. Jesus, the effect this woman has on me…

“See?” I manage to say, ignoring what’s going on in my lap. “Simple can be good.”

“It is good.” She swipes a napkin over her lips. “Almost as good as comfort food gets. Though nothing beats a full day of working on cars.”

“I prefer chopping wood.”

“Let me guess—shirtless, like every romance novel hero ever?”

“Romance novels, huh? That’s what you’re into?”

“Yep. I’m a lifelong devotee.”

I study her, fascinated by all the layers of this woman. “What was little Jordana like?”

She smiles at my question. “I was the kid who dismantled everything I could get my hands on. My dad found it amusing, but it drove my grandmother crazy. She bought me a frilly dress for Christmas when I was eight, thinking it would make me more ladylike…and I cut it up and used the fabric to make new seat covers for my bicycle.”

I laugh, not surprised by her story.

“What about you?” Jordana asks. “What were you like?”

“I was a scrawny kid who couldn’t stay out of trouble. Authority figures and I didn’t mix well.”

“What changed?”

“The military. Gave me structure, purpose. Something bigger than myself to focus on.” I stare down at my plate. “Though it left its own scars.”

Her hand finds mine under the bar, squeezing gently. The touch centers me.

“The mountain helps,” I continue. “It’s peaceful, living up there.”

“Does it ever get lonely?”

“Sure. Sometimes. But after everything…I don’t know. I guess lonely feels safer.”

She studies my face. “When was the last time you let someone get close?”

“Before my service. You?”

“I’ve dated, but nothing serious.” She takes a sip of water. “Though not for lack of trying on some people’s parts. Like Trey.”

My jaw tightens at his name. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, just this guy I went out with once. He keeps asking me out again, but he’s not...” She meets my eyes. “He’s not what I’m looking for.”

The way she holds my gaze makes my heart thunder. “What are you looking for?”

“Someone real. Someone who sees me, not just what I can do for them.” She traces the rim of her glass. “After my dad died, I had to grow up fast. Take over the shop, be the responsible one. The guys I've dated never seem to understand that. They either want to fix my life or use it to their advantage.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Thanks. It was sudden—a heart attack. My mom wasn’t in the picture, so...” She shrugs, but I see the pain she’s trying to hide. “The shop became my whole world. Sometimes I wonder if that’s healthy. But I love it. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Why should you? You’re damn good at what you do.”

Her demeanor shifts as she gives me a teasing smile. “You say that now. Wait until you get my bill.”

A laugh rumbles out of me. Then we fall into comfortable silence, and I realize I’ve completely forgotten about the other diners, about the town’s judgment. In this moment, it’s just us.

Jordana's knee presses against mine again, and I don't pull away. That tiny point of contact makes my heart slam against my ribs. Stealing a glance at her, the truth hits me all at once: I'm falling for this woman. Hard.

A waiter comes by to clear our plates, and Jordana fidgets with her water glass. Something shifts in her posture, tension creeping into her shoulders.

“Griffin.” Her voice carries a weight that makes my skin prickle. “I need to ask you something.”

I set down my napkin. “Okay.”

“When I first started working on your truck, I had to go into the glove box for your owner’s manual.” She pauses to clear her throat. “There was an empty prescription bottle with the label scratched off. And some phones.”

Ice floods my veins. The warm intimacy of our evening shatters, replaced by a hollow coldness. Of course she went looking. Of course she found reasons to doubt me.

“The bottle was anxiety medication.” My voice comes out hard, clipped. “I scratched off the label because it’s no one’s business what meds I take.”

She gives a slight nod.

“And the phones are for veterans who can’t afford phone plans.” My jaw clenches. “I keep them for guys who need a lifeline but can't handle bills. Sometimes having a prepaid phone makes the difference in whether they reach out for help.”

Relief softens her features, and that simple expression twists my gut. She needed proof. Just like everyone else in this town, she’d been looking for evidence of who I really am.

The waiter approaches with dessert menus. I wave him off.

“I’ve got the bill.” I pull out my wallet, avoiding her eyes.

“Griffin? What’s wrong?”

“I should get back to the mountain.”

I throw enough cash on the bar and push away from my seat. She follows me outside, her heels clicking rapidly on the sidewalk. “Hey. What just happened? Talk to me.”

I spin to face her, my anger boiling over. “You don’t trust me. This whole time, you’ve been looking for proof that the rumors are true.”

“That’s not?—”

“Then why question me about what you found?” My voice rises. “Why are we even doing this? Trying to win over a town that’s already made up its mind about me?”

“We’re making progress. People are starting to see the real you.”

“They’re not seeing anything, Jordana. And neither are you.” The hurt in her eyes should make me stop, but I can’t. “You’re just like everyone else. Looking for reasons to be afraid of me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” I back away from her. “Thanks for having dinner with me. And for trying to fix my reputation. But I’m done pretending this is going to work.”

I leave her standing there on the sidewalk, every instinct screaming at me to get out of this town where I don't belong. My feet carry me back to the truck, past whispers and stares I can't stomach right now. It feels like what little progress we made is unraveling with every step I take. But fuck it. Our little plan was never going to work anyway.

The drive out of town passes in a haze of regret and anger—at her, at myself, at this whole situation. I trusted her. Let myself believe she saw past the rumors. Thought she actually believed in me.

What a fool I’ve been.

The woods grow denser as I climb the mountain, branches creating a tunnel of darkness that mirrors the hollowness in my chest. When I finally park in front of my cabin, I yank the parking brake up with far more force than necessary.