Griffin, however, was power. He was strength. He was enough to break through the walls she’d so carefully constructed over the years. “He makes me laugh, Astrid.”
“Oh...” Astrid put her hand over her heart, her brown eyes softening with understanding. “Really?”
“Yes. I didn’t realize how much I missed laughing.” Between the water fight and the baking, the afternoon with Griffin and Katie had been one of the most magical days she’d had in what felt like forever. He was such a flirt with both of them, and his humor had been so contagious. Part of the joy of the experience had been the unexpectedness of his sense of humor. She still marveled at the sight of that dimple whenever she saw it, so incongruous with the serious businessman he presented to the world.
Griffin looked over at her as he pulled the shirt over his head, and he tossed her a cheeky grin. She smiled back and gave him a small wave. “He’s leaving me,” she told Astrid, recalling his answer when she’d asked him whether he’d consider moving up to Maine to be with Brooke. “He’s already promised he is.”
Astrid sighed with understanding. “And how do you feel about that?”
She met her friend’s gaze. “I don’t think that’s going to be enough to stop me.”
Astrid gave her a long look. “You’re willing to cope with the consequences if you sleep with him, knowing that he won’t stay with you?”
“I know the facts, so I’m not lying to myself about what could happen between us long term. So, I guess, yes, I’m willing to accept the consequences.” Oh, God. Was she really thinking about sleeping with him? Had she made her decision? Nervousness tingled down her spine, but at the same time, it felt right. So right. How could she walk away from the way he made her feel? Whether it was for a minute, or a day, or a week, didn’t she deserve to enjoy it for however long she could have it? Her life had been so planned and so careful for fifteen years that the idea of releasing all the stringent constraints for a few moments was so exhilarating. What would it feel like to breathe freely again? To laugh with giddiness? To forget about rules and responsibility and obligations, and to simply live in the moment?
Astrid smiled and took her hands. “Then you must, without a doubt, let your spirit fly.”
Clare’s heart began to race, searching her friend’s face for reassurance. “You really think so?”
Astrid nodded. “You’ll survive whatever happens. You always do.” She put her arm around Clare and squeezed. “And we’ll be here to pick you up if it’s harder than you think.”
“You don’t think I’m being crazy?”
“Of course you’re crazy,” Emma announced as she hurried up, towing a cart laden with paintings and display stands. Since it was a work day, her blonde hair was blown out and beautiful, reminding Clare of the confident, sensual woman she’d been before she’d left town. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic was awful out of Portland, and I got off work late. What’s Clare being crazy about?”
“The man on the mound,” Astrid said, nodding at the softball field.
Emma turned to look at the game as Griffin jogged across the infield. “He’s playing for the Pirates?” She dropped the handle of the cart onto the grass and set her hands on her hips as she watched him. “That’s really sweet. I wouldn’t have thought he’s that type.”
“I know.” Clare looked around the ball field at all the people still arriving, and those who had already set up blankets and beach chairs. Two towns of supporters, all cheering for the players. People were shouting Griffin’s name, and he doffed his cap toward the crowd. His shoulders were relaxed as he lined up toward home plate, and he looked great in his black sweats and bright red tee shirt.
“He’s like a chameleon,” Emma said as she set up an easel. “He looks like he grew up here, and I bet he fits in just as well with his suit and fancy restaurants.”
Clare pictured Griffin looking dashing for a night on the town, and she sighed. “I bet he looks great in a suit.”
“Hard to believe that’s the Slipper King.” Astrid handed Clare a gold and silver peace necklace to wear. Astrid always had them well-adorned with her wares, claiming that it helped sell them if people saw them being worn. “I always thought the Slipper King should be old and fat, wearing a velour leisure suit and a toupee.”
“Not a sexy, lean, muscle-bound hottie?” Emma set a painting of a loon and its baby on an easel, but Clare knew that the nature scenes weren’t what really drove Emma. Somewhere in that wagon were the paintings where Emma poured her soul out, the bright colors, the angry lines, the confusion and the fear that leapt off the canvas and consumed anyone who saw them.
Clare fastened the necklace, as the Slipper King looked back over his shoulder and nodded right at her, publicly acknowledging her from his spot on center stage. “He’s going to get me in such hot water with Eppie.”
“So? Maybe a little hot water will be good for you.” Astrid gave Emma two brooches to put on her shirt. One was engraved with the word “believe,” and the other said “dream.”
“Did you see who’s up at bat?” Emma fastened the “believe” pin to her shirt, but handed the “dream” one to Clare. “Didn’t that guy hit four home runs off Bruce last year?”
“I think so.” Clare pinned the brooch on as Griffin reared back for the first pitch. His body was so lithe and athletic, positively rippling with energy and control. It reminded her of how he’d seemed that night on the mountain. All male. So in control. So powerful.
The softball spun toward the plate, and the batter took a hard swing at it. The bat connected, and suddenly the ball exploded, throwing white shreds and remnants all over the batter, the catcher and the infield.
“Oh my God!” Clare burst out laughing. “He threw a grapefruit!”
The crowd erupted into roars of delight as Griffin pointed at Jackson, who was on second base. People leapt to their feet, cheering, as Jackson took a bow, and then pointed at Griffin, who did the same.
“That’s so funny!” Astrid laughed. “I can’t believe he did that! That was beautiful!”
“That’s hilarious,” Emma said. “We need more of that kind of thing up here.” She grinned at Clare. “Okay the man has my vote. Do him, enjoy him and have a great time. Worry about the future later.”
Clare grinned, her heart dancing with joy and excited nervousness. How could she fear a man who would throw a citrus fruit instead of a softball? “I agree.” And she did. She really did! Terrifying, but oh, so liberating.
Griffin jogged to home plate and high-fived the batter, who was picking grapefruit off his face. They gave a manly hug with some fist pounding on each other’s backs, and then Griffin waved his cap to the still-roaring crowd as he loped back to the mound. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, and held up his glove as the catcher threw another ball to him.
The batter gestured for the ball, and Griffin tossed it to him. The batter looked at it, nodded, then threw it back, apparently satisfied that it was a real ball this time.
“Game on,” the ump shouted.
Clare was still laughing as she pulled another tray of cupcakes out of the box.
“That was so cool!” Katie came racing up, wearing a Pirates cap and a hot pink tee shirt with the Pirates logo on it. “Did you see that? The grapefruit was my idea. I told him to do it. I can’t believe he did it! He promised me he would, but I didn’t think he would, you know? Because this is such a big game. But he did it for me! He threw a grapefruit for me.”
Clare laughed at her daughter’s antics, delighted by how happy she seemed. Thank you, Griffin, for giving her that joy. “You’re a troublemaker, my dear.”
“I know!” Katie skipped off, shouting at Sara, who was across the field, yelling that it was her idea.
“Well, well.” Eppie walked up, sporting a Pirates visor that had been accented with two fresh violets across the bill. “A grapefruit? On the biggest game of the season?”
Clare grinned at the older lady, too happy to let Eppie bring
her down. “He did it for Katie. Isn’t that sweet?”
Eppie frowned at her. “Clare—”
“Oh, lighten up, Eppie.” She handed the older woman a cupcake. “He’s just playing softball. Give him a break.”
She saw Astrid and Emma exchange surprised looks, and she smiled to herself. How had she been so scared of Eppie for so long? Right now, she just looked like a little old lady with a life so empty that she filled it by interfering in other people’s lives.
“I saw him kiss you,” Eppie accused.
Clare grinned. “And it was amazing.”
“Clare!” Eppie looked shocked. “You aren’t thinking—”
“Eppie. The man throws grapefruits. How bad can he be?”
Eppie set her hands on her hips, tossing her head so fiercely she dislodged one of the violets, and it fluttered to the grass. “I’m just looking out for you and Katie.”
“I know, and I appreciate it, but right now, I’m going to look out for myself all on my own, okay?” She picked up the flower and held it out to the older woman. “You can pick up my shattered remains after he breaks my heart, okay?”
Eppie snatched the violet from her hand. “He will, you know.”
Clare looked across the field as Griffin jogged back to the bench, chatting with Jackson and a couple of the other guys. Some of her elation faded. “I know.”
“And you’re okay with it?” Eppie challenged.
She met Eppie’s gaze. “I think I am, yes.”
The older woman frowned, and some of her hostility faded. “But why?” she asked, with genuine curiosity. “I don’t understand.”
Griffin nodded at Clare again, keeping contact with her, and she waved back. “Because he makes me laugh.”
“Ah...” Eppie followed her gaze and studied Griffin, a thoughtful gleam in her eyes. “Does he, indeed?”
“He does.”
“Well, that’s something, I suppose.” But she didn’t sound all that impressed. “I need a beer.” She helped herself to two more cupcakes and then sauntered off to the beer tent, abandoning her job of haranguing Clare surprisingly quickly. It was so unlike Eppie to just cut herself off like that. What was going on in Eppie’s mind now?
“Hot damn,” Astrid said, her hands on her hips. “You actually stood up to Eppie.”
Clare grinned. “I did, didn’t I?”
“How do you feel?” Emma asked.
“Great, actually.” Great...and a little terrified, confused and uncertain. But definitely, there was a sliver of great in there, and she would take it.
“Wow.” Emma gazed out at the field. “I think I need to get myself a Griffin. Who knew a man could actually make you feel better, instead of worse?”
“Well, you can’t have this one.” Smiling to herself, Clare resumed unloading the cupcakes from the box. “This one is mine.”
And he was.
Astrid looked at her with concern. “He’s leaving, Clare. Remember that.”
“I know.” A ripple of fear tugged at her heart, penetrating her good mood. “I know.”
* * *
An hour later, Clare was taking a shortcut behind the ice cream truck with some bottles of water for Astrid and Emma when strong arms caught her around the waist and yanked her against the side of the truck.
She yelped as Griffin pinned her against the rainbow-colored metal panels, giving her a predatory look. Sweat was beading on his forehead, his muscles straining against the tee shirt, his whiskers rugged and untamed on his jaw. He grinned, his eyes dark with a burning desire that went straight to her belly as he braced his palms on either side of her head, trapping her. “You trying to hide from me, woman?”
“Nice home run,” she said, viscerally aware of the cold metal panels against her back and the raw strength of his body as he leaned in toward her.
“You promised me a kiss.” His voice was husky and low, vibrating with such heat that her belly clenched. “A kiss for the homerun. I came to claim it.”
She flattened her palms against his chest to push him away, but instead her fingers dug into the hard muscle, as if she could draw him closer. “I never promised anything.” Was she really getting accosted behind the ice cream truck? She felt like she was sixteen again, and it was a heady, delicious sensation.
“Huh. I’m slipping then. I can’t believe I forgot to get a commitment on that.” His eyes flashing with wicked intent, he came at her anyway, taking her mouth in a kiss that was hot, demanding and burning with decadent promise.
All her resistance melted, and she threw her arms around his neck, kissing him back just as fiercely. He growled and locked his arms around her waist, hauling her against him as he turned up the assault, kissing her with such ferocity her whole body came alive with the need for him, for his kiss, for his touch—
A loud roar went up from the crowd, reminding Clare of where they were. What was she doing? Desperately, she pulled back, shoving at him. “Stop it.” Breathless, Clare leaned her head back against the metal truck, trying to regroup. “Don’t you have to get back to the game?”
He nuzzled her neck and pressed his hips even more tightly against hers. “We’re at bat, and I was just up last inning. I have a minute.” He growled softly and bit her shoulder. “I forgot how sports get me worked up. Sports, beer, and male bonding do wonders for a guy’s libido.”
She started giggling, desire leaping through her. Damn the man for being so irresistible! How could he be getting her this worked up at a family picnic? “What are you, eighteen?”
“I feel like it.” He kissed her again, and her whole body trembled with longing as he tore through her defenses, stopping only when she was hopelessly tangled around him and panting for more.
He grinned, resting his forehead against hers while they both tried to catch their breath. “Tonight, Clare,” he said quietly. “If your door is shut, I’m coming in anyway.”
Her belly tightened with sudden desire, raw terror and giddy anticipation. “That’s rather presumptuous of you.”
He pulled back, looking steadily into her eyes. “If you don’t want me to come in, lock the door. Otherwise, I’m coming in. Get it?”
She swallowed. Here was her chance to tell him she wasn’t going to get involved. To deflect his advances before he consumed her good sense. “Griffin—”
“Dad?”
Griffin jerked away from Clare so quickly she almost fell down.
Standing ten feet away, a chocolate ice cream cone in her hand, was a girl Katie’s age. She had a shocked look on her face, and her eyes were the deep, dark brown of Griffin’s.
His daughter.
Chapter Fifteen
Griffin couldn’t believe how tall Brooke was. How grown-up. How beautiful. Her brown hair was long now, tossed over her shoulders. She was wearing crisp new jeans, ones bearing the logo of In Your Face’s stiffest competitor. Her shirt was like Katie’s, a little too snug, and she was wearing blue eye shadow. She was almost a woman, this girl. This amazing girl. His daughter. For a split second, his throat tightened and his chest constricted, and all he wanted to do was tear across the grass and scoop her up in his arms like he’d done so many times when she was little.
He even took a step toward her, and she stiffened, freezing him right where he was. “Brooke,” he said. He had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to scare her, or drive her away. Could he hug her? Tell her he missed her? He hadn’t devised a plan yet. He had no strategy. Just an ache in his chest. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked, at a loss of how to approach her, how to bridge the void.
“Dan’s brother plays for the Angels,” Brooke said. She stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. “You threw a grapefruit.”
Griffin hesitated. Was that bad? “Um... yeah...”
“But you would never throw a grapefruit. You would never even play softball.” Brooke’s brow was furrowed. “All you do is work. I don’t understand why you’re here. Playing softball.” Her gaze slithered to Cl
are. “Kissing a woman in public.”
Was that good or bad? Griffin swore under his breath. He had no idea what to say. How to respond.
“Your dad is changing,” Clare said gently. “He doesn’t always work anymore.”
“Really?” Brooke looked at Clare. “So, he changed for you? And not for us?”
“No.” Griffin stepped forward. He had to take control of the conversation. He had to take advantage of this moment, this chance to talk to her. “Listen, Brooke, I miss you. I’m up here because I want you to come home with me. Back to Boston.”
Brooke gave him a look of disgusted disbelief. “And do what all day while you work? Who will do my homework with me? Who will come to my school play? Will you?”
Griffin ground his jaw. “I’ll try—”
“You always try.” Brooke’s jaw jutted out in that familiar look he’d seen so many times, and suddenly she didn’t look like a young woman anymore. She looked like the little girl he’d held on his knee and read stories to. Young. Breakable. Fragile. “But work always comes first with you. The softball is a lie.” She looked at Clare, anger flashing in her eyes. “Don’t believe it. He’ll burn you.”
“Brooke!” Griffin reached for her, but she sidestepped his attempt.
“Dad.” Brooke took a deep breath. “I want to change my name.”
Griffin frowned, trying to adjust to the change in topic. “You don’t like Brooke?”
“No, I don’t like Friesé.” She lifted her chin. “I want to change my last name to Burwell. I want to be Brooke Burwell.”
Griffin felt like something sharp had just been plunged into his chest, and he gripped his ribs against the sudden pain. He was barely aware of Clare moving closer, but when she slipped her hand in his, he gripped it tightly, as if she could keep the world from tipping over right in front of him. “Did Mom tell you to say that?”
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