Page 6 of Griffen the Mountain Man
Griffen and I share a look of commiseration before he asks, “What kind of photography?”
“Mostly nature. Landscapes. I thought about asking Kent Moreland if I could intern or be an assistant, since he used to be a photojournalist in another life, but now that he's transitioned to people and events, I’m not sure he'd go for it.”
“I bet he’s still taking those types of photos, though, even if they’re not for a job. It couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“You’ve got a point. Maybe I should reach out to him.” It’s not like all of his knowledge has dried up. I make a mental note to draft an email to send about potentially learning from him.
The conversation shifts to other topics as we eat.
There’s a brief moment of self-consciousness after Griffen remarks on the glitter on my cheeks, and I realize I didn’t scrub all the evidence of my fight with that ribbon away, but overall, we’re strangely comfortable together.
Griffen is the perfect gentleman, and despite the introverted nature I observed in the past, he’s easy to talk to. Not too many silences to make things awkward.
“Maybe we should thank Greta and your grandpa for their meddling,” I tease as we pack up the empty food containers. “Lunch was fun.”
“It was good… Do you need any help carrying that inside?” He points to the much lighter basket in my hand.
“Nah, I’ve got it. Thanks, though.”
We stand there waiting for the other to say something more, but rather than ask for my number or suggest seeing each other again, Griffen steps back with a sigh.
“Guess I’ll see you around. Thanks again for lunch.” He offers a stiff wave then spins on his heel and hurries back to the senior center.
“Yeah, see you around,” I say softly to his broad back as he walks away.
Guess it was too much to hope that a little matchmaking might actually work.
So much for Suitor’s Crossingheart sparks.
CHAPTER FIVE
GRIFFEN
Gramps is nowhere to be found after my picnic with Heidi.
Probably off with Greta giggling over their little scheme.
I text to let him know I’m leaving, figuring Greta will give him a ride home, then drive out to the lodge. The aftermath of my afternoon with Heidi tingles in my veins, heightening the need for something to do with my hands.
The urge to release this pent-up energy.
“Why did you have to interfere, Gramps?” I groan to myself, scrubbing a hand down my bearded cheek.
Before the picnic, Heidi was a fantasy. A pretty daydream while I hung out at the senior center.
Now, she’s real. I know how easy she is to talk to and how much I’d like to spend more time with her.
But that’s a recipe for disaster.
We can’t be more than friends, andmoreis exactly what I’m craving after one afternoon together.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
The first and only time I tried to have sex, the girl laughed and called me a ‘freak’ because I was so big. Prom night is supposed to be momentous. Losing your virginity is practically a rite of passage.
Instead, it scarred me for life.
Because I never want to experience anything like that again.
