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She shook out her hand, seeming as shocked by her reaction as he was. His cheek stung, although he figured he deserved that snap of pain and so much more.
“You kissed me.” The words were an accusation and he had the good sense to realize how out of line he’d been.
“I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
She made a noise in the back of her throat that might have been a growl. “Are you crazy?”
“About you?” He flashed a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I—Oof.” He stumbled when she pushed on his chest. Hard.
“No, no, no,” she said, her voice low, almost a snarl. Each exclamation was punctuated with another shove. “You don’t get to do this, Griffin Stone.”
He’d seen many sides of Maggie, but never had he seen her so angry. Color stained her cheeks and her breath was coming out in ragged puffs. “I’m not—”
“You rejected me.” She jabbed one finger into his chest. “You said horrible things about my sister and my family.”
“I was angry.” He wrapped his fingers around hers, pulled it away from his body. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I’ve moved on,” she announced, yanking her hand from his. “Just like you.”
“Like me?”
“The woman you introduced me to. The one who calls you Grif. Oh, Grif...” She gave an overly girlish laugh. “You’re so handsome, Grif. So strong, Grif. Oh, Griffy-poo.”
“Cassie has never called me ‘Griffy-poo’ in her life.”
“Not the point,” Maggie ground out.
Right. 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 of marionberry pie before bed?” her dad asked. “Your grandmother brought one over earlier.”
Morgan’s stomach rumbled. Grammy’s pie was her favorite. “Do we have ice cream?”
“Vanilla bean,” he confirmed with his lopsided smile.
“Yum.”
Maggie came home while Morgan was slicing the pie. Her sister joined them for a late-night snack, dutifully reporting on what they’d missed at Fall Fest, which wasn’t much in Morgan’s opinion.
Of course, she didn’t ask if Cole had been there. He spent almost all his free time working at Harvest, so Morgan suspected he was behind the scenes at the winery’s expansive booth. She’d seen little of him over the summer. He’d been avoiding her and now that they were back in school, he pretty much ignored her completely. It was awful.
“Are you okay?” she asked Maggie as they washed the plates after eating.
“Sure,” Maggie said. “Just tired.”
“Oh.” Morgan studied her nearly perfect sister from the corner of her eye. Maggie had haphazardly wiped away the butterfly painted on her cheek, and her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair mussed like she’d been running anxious fingers through it. “Was Griffin at Fall Fest?”
Maggie stilled, then flipped off the faucet. “He was there with a woman. A date, I think.”
“I’m sorry.” One more thing for Morgan to feel guilty about. Her sister’s relationship with Griffin had gone off the rails after the fire. Apparently Griffin had said some unkind things about Morgan, most of them probably true. But Maggie was loyal, so they’d fought and that was the end of it.
“Me, too,” Maggie whispered.
“Fries before guys,” Morgan teased, hoping to make her sister smile. Needing Maggie to smile.
She did, and Morgan breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m heading to bed.” Maggie draped the towel she’d been using to dry the dishes over the handle of the stove. Dad had gone to the family room as soon as he’d finished his pie. He’d watch The Tonight Show, Morgan knew, and fall asleep in the tattered recliner he loved.
“Good night.” She hugged Maggie.
“Foods before dudes,” Maggie told her.
Morgan groaned. “So bad, Mags.”
“’Night, Mo-Mo.”
Morgan went up to her room and pulled the phone from her desk drawer. She was supposed to be grounded from it, too, but she’d placed her case upside down on the shelf in Dad’s bedroom and he hadn’t noticed the phone wasn’t in it.
She responded to the flurry of text messages she’d received during her family bonding time, then tucked a pillow under her covers in the shape of a sleeping body and opened the window to her second-story bedroom. A huge maple tree grew just in front of it. Trying to keep her heartbeat steady, she reached for a branch, swung onto it, then shimmied down the trunk.
A car was waiting at the end of the driveway, headlights turned off. With one look over her shoulder at her darkened house, she ran toward it through the shadows, pretending the guilt that flared inside her was excitement instead.
Chapter Three (#u40edd0c4-b0d6-5bbc-bed3-2348bde592cc)
Monday morning, Maggie turned her car up the winding drive that led to Harvest Vineyards for the first time since she and her father had brought Morgan to the Stone family home after the fire.
With less than two weeks until the hospital fund-raiser, she couldn’t avoid it any longer. She’d managed to hold the gala committee meetings at the hospital or at her office in town. Jana Stone, Griffin’s mother, had attended all of them. She either hadn’t noticed—or was polite enough not to comment—on Maggie’s reluctance to make an appearance at the winery.
Today they were meeting to discuss decorations and a seating chart, so it couldn’t be avoided any longer. Although that was exactly what Maggie wanted to do after her run-in with Griffin at Fall Fest. She felt branded by the unexpected kiss, all of the emotions she’d locked up tightly now spilling forth, like a dam had broken inside her.
The vineyard seemed almost fallow now that harvest season was over. As she drove closer to the heart of the operations, she could see the rows of vines spread out along acres of land, the leaves turning colors of burnished orange and yellow with the change of seasons.
In contrast to the serenity of the fields, activity bustled outside the new tasting room. Several cars and trucks were parked in front of the building, although Maggie didn’t see Griffin’s Land Cruiser. That wasn’t a guarantee of his absence, so why did disappointment spear through her for a quick moment? It would be easier if she didn’t see him today, she reminded herself. She didn’t want to see him after the kiss. Better for both of them.
The building had a rustic farmhouse exterior with a stone veneer covering the bottom half. There were two chimneys and rough-hewn trusses that spanned the length of the building. A covered patio area took advantage of the expansive views of the vineyard below, and she could imagine tourists and locals alike enjoying long summer evenings around the built-in fire pit. The space was incredible and would definitely attract new visitors to the winery.
She took a deep breath as she exited her Volkswagen. The earthy scent of decaying leaves filled the air and although the vineyard was only twenty minutes from downtown, it felt like a world away. Had the property seemed this magical when it had been a regular farm, before Griffin’s late father, Dave, had planted the first grapes that would transform the land and his family’s fortunes?
“Hey, Maggie.”
She turned to see her former fiancé moving toward her. It had only been four months since her runaway-bride move at the local church, where half the town had been waiting to see the powerful Spencer and Stone families united, but to her it felt like ages since she’d been with Trevor.
Well, ages wasn’t too far off since the bedroom had never played a big role in their relationship. Theirs had been a union of convenience and practicality. Despite what he’d done to her and the price her reputation had paid for not revealing his betrayal, no emotion pinged through Maggie at the sight of him. Unlike with Griffin.
Trevor was safe, which was part of the reason she’d been with him in the first place.
“Hi, Trevor.” She smiled and allowed him to give her a quick hug. “The building looks great.”
