“Souls?” Phillip set down the champagne, giving him a strange look. “Since when is business about the soul?”
“I think maybe it always is.” Griffin never thought about it before, and up until about a week ago, he would have thought it was insane. Business was about forecasts, balance sheets, good product, and smart management. But now he knew there was more involved. To get this company where they wanted to go, they had to go deeper. “We need them. They’re our fire.”
“I don’t know what this talk is about souls, but if you feel like we need them...” Phillip studied him for minute, then shrugged. “I wouldn’t be where I am today without listening to your gut. We’ll keep them on.” Phillip raised his glass. “To In Your Face.”
Hot damn. They were really going to run this business from the soul? It was totally out of character for Griffin, but at the same time, it felt right, so completely right. Immense satisfaction rolled through Griffin and he raised his champagne. “To In Your Face.”
They clinked glasses, and Griffin let the bubbly liquid slide down his throat. It was a lot smoother than Birch’s Best, that was for sure. Weird, but he almost missed the feeling of his head getting blown off by Birch’s.
Apparently not suffering the same issue, Phillip drained his glass and slammed it down on the linen table cloth. “Good thing my wife’s getting tired of me being around, because we’re going to be busy as hell once this thing closes.”
Eighteen-hour days again. Griffin remembered all too well the energy it took to get a company off the ground. They’d been working hundred and twenty hour weeks for the first several years of Free Love, before it had taken off, and it had eased off to one hundred or so once things had started to roll.
“You need to take care of the Brooke situation and get down here by early next week,” Phillip said. “Brooke will be so excited about it. Have you told her yet?”
“No. Not until it’s done.” Shit, he hoped she was excited. If she wasn’t involved, she’d never buy into his long work days. How was he going to start a business and pull off the single dad as well? “Does Pamela give you grief when you work the long hours?”
“Hell no. We have an understanding,” Phillip said. “She spends the money and goes to the kids’ ball games, and they make themselves available when I can be around.” Phillip’s eyes narrowed. “You getting grief from Hillary again?”
Griffin shrugged. “It’s come up.”
“Okay, here’s the deal.” Phillip grabbed a roll and pulled it apart. “Fuck ‘em.”
“Phil—”
“No, really. She wants to make you into a man you’re not. You go with that, and you die.” Phillip shoved a large piece of roll into his mouth. “In business, do you capitulate when someone tells you to go against your gut? Hell no. So, why give it up for your ex-wife?” Phillip gestured to the splendor surrounding them. “This is your world, Griff. If you weren’t working twenty hours a day, you’d be lost. Screw Hillary. She found her dream, so go live yours and don’t worry about it.”
Griffin didn’t even bother to look around at their luxurious surroundings. He knew what it looked like. He’d been there a thousand times, and at this point, it was just sparkles and baubles, and it didn’t mean anything. Not like the smells emanating from Clare’s kitchen, or the coziness of her bedroom. “But Brooke feels the same way—”
“She’s been poisoned by Hillary. What fifteen-year-old needs her dad around all the time? Get her out of there, and it’ll be fine. You ever have problems getting along with her before Hillary left?”
“Well, no,” Griffin admitted. “She was always happy to see me.” Wasn’t she? But as he thought back to it, he wasn’t so sure anymore...
“See? It’s all good. It’s just Hillary.”
Wasn’t that what Norm had said? That the protests weren’t Brooke’s, but Hillary and Dan’s? So, yeah, okay, maybe Phillip was right. Maybe it had been Hillary who’d hated his life and his work, not Brooke. “She’ll be so fired-up about In Your Face,” he admitted.
“You bet she will. The owners were all over having her involved. They loved the idea of their target consumer having an active role.”
Yes, yes, that was true. “They were excited, weren’t they?” He’d broached that subject early on, and they had thought it was brilliant. “There’s room for Brooke to get involved.” He’d liked the owners. He’d liked their passion and their ethics, and it would be great for Brooke to have them as role models, people who believed in working hard for the love of it.
“Hello? Teen girl on the cutting edge of fashion? She’ll be the most popular kid in her class.”
“True.” Griffin began to warm to the idea, and his hesitation began to fade. “We could even create a line of clothing with her name on it. From one teen to another.”
“Yes!” Phillip grabbed his computer out of his briefcase and started typing. “That gives us street cred. Keep the ideas coming, Griffin.” He pointed at him. “Brooke is going to be our secret key. You are going to rock her world.”
Griffin leaned back in his chair with his champagne glass, pleasure pulsing through him as plans began to roll through his mind about how to turn In Your Face into a father-daughter legacy. It was all coming together. He’d done it. He’d really done it. He was getting it all.
And damn, it felt good.
But hell. How was he going to tell Clare?
* * *
“Katie, we need to talk about this summer,” Clare cornered her daughter as the teenager tried to sneak up the stairs to her bedroom after school.
Clare had been in her room, trying to pick out the right outfit for her date when she’d heard the front door open. She’d hurried right out to see Katie, and had still almost missed her.
“What’s there to talk about?” Katie had her hands on her hips and was sporting the same attitude as she’d left the house with ten hours ago. So much for a day at school giving her some perspective. “You want me to go to MIT. I don’t want to go.”
Clare tried again to explain, to help her daughter understand. “The festival will be there for years and years. MIT won’t. Go to MIT this summer, and try the Shakespeare thing another time.”
“Mom!” Katie made a noise of frustration. “You aren’t listening to me! I don’t want to go to MIT! Not ever!”
“I don’t care.” Clare steeled herself against the guilt of forcing her daughter. She didn’t want to be the kind of autocratic mother who demanded adherence, but if she couldn’t gain consensus, what other choice was there? Katie couldn’t stay here and do the festival. She just couldn’t. “You’re going to MIT anyway.”
“Dad wouldn’t make me!” Katie snapped. “Dad believed in following his dreams!’
“Dad died,” Clare snapped. For God’s sake! She was so tired of Katie deifying Ed. The man had betrayed them all and left Clare to do all the hard work and all the sacrificing.
“Maybe Dad died because you wouldn’t let him live his dreams,” Katie retorted. “Did you ever think of that?”
Clare stared at her daughter in shock at the accusation. “Katie—”
“Think about it, Mom. Dad came to town as an actor.” Katie came down several steps, getting closer as the accusation rose in her voice. “He wasn’t planning to stay, was he? But he tried to give up his dream for you. And when he did that, a part of him died. Who killed my dad, huh? Was it a slippery road? Or was it you?”
Clare was too shocked to refute it. Dear God. Her daughter was right. Ed had been on that road that night because he’d had to escape from her. The storm had been raging, the tires on the car old, and she’d begged him to stay the night, to wait until morning, but he’d refused. He’d said he couldn’t stay in the town with his spirit dying for one more minute, and he’d left, driving right to his death. “Oh, God.”
Katie froze, her face stricken. “I’m right? I’m actually right?”
Clare slumped down on a chair. “Oh, God.”
Katie leapt off the s
tairs and came over. “What happened that night, Mom? What haven’t you told me?”
Clare looked up into her daughter’s desperate eyes. And for the first time, she saw the pain etched so deeply in them. A child who had grown up with a void in her past, a father who’d never been there. Her sweet little girl was just an innocent being who’d spent a lifetime trying to piece together facts to create an image of the man who’d given her life.
Katie knelt before Clare and took her hands. “Mom,” she begged. “Tell me what really happened. Tell me about my father. I need to know. You never talk about him. Not ever. You’re the only one who really knew him.”
Clare set her hand on her daughter’s head, and she felt her heart break for her. For the need for answers. For closure. But how could she destroy Katie by telling her that the man she’d idolized and defended her whole life had actually been walking out on her? He’d left Clare, yes, but he’d also left behind a two-month-old daughter who had been the final impetus that drove him out of Birch Crossing.
“Mom?”
Clare couldn’t do it. She couldn’t put that burden on her daughter. Not even to defend herself. Not even to preserve her relationship with her. She couldn’t destroy her daughter’s spirit like that. She just couldn’t. “I’m sorry, Katie. There’s nothing more to tell.”
“Argh!” Katie groaned in disgust and lurched to her feet. “You drive me insane! I’m going to sleep at Sara’s tonight. I can’t deal with you!”
“Maybe that’s best.” Clare had no idea what to say, or how to bridge the chasm growing between them. If only Griffin was there. Somehow, he seemed to connect with Katie in a way that she couldn’t.
Suddenly, she felt the burden of being a single parent. Of not having anyone else to turn to for help or advice. She’d never felt that loss before, but seeing Griffin deal with Katie had made her realize that she wasn’t perfect, that she couldn’t do it all. And that was just not a good thing to realize when that new support system was going to go back to Boston all too soon. She had to find her strength again. Figure it out. Maybe Eppie could help.
But right now, she needed space from Katie before she damaged the relationship permanently. She needed time to figure out how to handle this before she caused more harm. Katie was her light, her life, and she couldn’t bear the idea of causing her more pain, or of their bond cracking. “Do you need a ride?”
“No. Sara and her brother are waiting for me outside.” Katie started up the stairs. “I just came home to get clothes for tomorrow.”
Clare waited while her daughter retrieved her belongings, and she walked Katie to the door. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I do love you, you know.”
Katie’s jaw jutted out. “You just love the image you have of me.”
“What? That’s not true—”
“Yes, it is.” Katie’s eyes were glistening with tears, and Clare knew hers were reflecting the same. “You love the daughter who will go to MIT and make tons of money. The one you can brag about, a daughter who isn’t an embarrassment like your husband was.”
Clare felt like a knife had just been plunged into her heart. Did her daughter really believe that? “That’s not true. I love you no matter what—”
“Are you so sure about that?” Katie challenged.
“Of course I am! How can you even doubt that? I love you!”
Katie held up her hand in dismissal. “I can’t deal with this. I’ll see you tomorrow. I have physics club after school, so I’ll be home late. I’m sure that will be fine with you, given that it’s physics and all.”
“Yes, it’s fine.” Clare touched her daughter’s arm. “I have one request.”
Katie looked at her impatiently. “What?”
“Tonight, while you’re away from here, take some time to think about everything. Listen to your heart, not your anger, when you think about whether I love you. Will you do that?”
To her relief, some of the anger on her daughter’s face faded, and she nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Clare held out her arms. “Hug?”
Katie sighed, but she quickly hugged her. Clare crushed her daughter to her, and she suddenly knew why her mother had always hugged her so tightly. Because sometimes, words weren’t enough.
* * *
By the time Griffin drove up to Clare’s house, his anticipation and excitement about In Your Face had morphed into tension about telling Clare.
Phillip had finalized the paperwork and sent the initial offer over to the owners, and they’d responded with excitement. Things were happening, and they were happening fast. What had felt great and right when Griffin had been in Boston had turned into tension the closer he’d gotten to Clare’s house.
But when he’d rounded the corner and seen that old rambling farmhouse with its peeling paint, he realized he was glad to be home, even if he was going to have to create conflict.
He pulled into the driveway and turned off the truck. But he didn’t get out. Should he tell her right away? Or later? Or—
The door opened and Clare came out onto the back step. She was wearing a pair of jeans that hugged her hips perfectly. A soft blue tank top floated over her torso like the breeze had been harnessed and turned into fabric. Her auburn hair was loose, tumbling down around her shoulders, catching the light of the bulb by the door so it appeared almost golden. She looked beautiful, feminine and radiant—
Then he noticed that her arms were folded across her chest. How many times had he caught that pose from Hillary when he’d arrived home late? Shit. He knew he was late, but he’d changed their reservation and he’d left Clare a message.
But there was no mistaking that body language. She was upset, and he hadn’t even told her about the deal yet.
Then he remembered Phillip’s advice, and he narrowed his eyes. She had no right to judge him. He’d busted his ass to get back here this early, and he should have gotten at least ten speeding tickets on his way. And she was pissed at him?
Well, screw that. He’d had enough of that.
He shoved the door open and stepped outside, bristling. “Clare—”
“Griffin!” She erupted into sudden movement, racing down the stairs and running at him.
He had a split second to brace himself before she flung herself into his arms and hugged him as if he’d been gone for a thousand years and a day. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do, and he awkwardly fumbled in the air, not sure whether to hold her. Wasn’t she mad at him?
Then he felt the warmth of her body sinking against him, the tightness of her arms around his neck and the intimacy of her face buried in his chest, and everything was all right. “It’s okay, Clare.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “I’m home.”
“I know.” Her voice was muffled. “I’m so happy you’re back.”
Griffin kissed her hair and hugged her more tightly. There was no recrimination from Clare, no anger, no judgment. Just pure welcome. “Me, too.” He caught her under the chin and lifted her head. “I need to kiss you.”
She smiled and nodded.
He kissed her then, right in the driveway, in front of anyone who might drive by, and she kissed him back. And it was, he was sure, the best kiss he’d ever had. And within about two minutes, he was ready to forego dinner, toss her over his shoulder, and play the caveman role with his cupcake goddess.
But she deserved more than that. She deserved to be honored...and then tossed into bed. So, he forced himself to end the kiss. They were both breathing hard, and Clare was smiling.
“Damn, you’re beautiful,” Griffin mused. “A man could look at you every day for his whole life, and still want more.”
Clare’s smile brightened. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that tonight.”
His smile faded at the pain in her voice. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “I’ll tell you at dinner. I just want to get out of the house.”
“Okay.” He kissed her again, then opened the door for her
. “Your chariot, my dear.”
She ran her hand over the dashboard as she climbed in. “I haven’t been in here since that night on the mountain.”
Griffin leaned on the door. “The best night of my life.”
She gave him a flirty look that woke certain parts of him right up. “What about last night?”
“Hmm... good point. I’ll have to think about that one. I really like rainstorms though, so I think the mud might trump.”
“Mud? Hey—”
He shut the door on her protest. Laughing, he jogged around the truck to his side. Two minutes with Clare, and all the tension of the day had left. He felt like a new man again.
As he pulled open his door, he made his decision.
He would tell her about the business later.
Right now was about them.
Chapter Twenty-One
Clare was glowing tonight, Griffin decided. There was no other way to describe her. Maybe it was the dark beams and the lake view of the quaint little restaurant perched on the northern point of the lake. Maybe it was the intimate table for two. Maybe it was the brightly colored, mismatched dishes and glasses that befitted the casual restaurant. Maybe it was the open flame grill roasting some mouth-watering steaks. Or maybe, it was just him, seeing her exactly as she really was.
He didn’t know what it was, but the moment they’d arrived at the Finch Grill and been seated in the corner by the fire as he’d requested, the burden in Clare’s eyes had appeared to subside. She’d been animated and happy, telling him about Eppie and her mother. The story had touched a chord in his heart he hadn’t realized he had. “You never talked about your mom before.”
“I know.” Clare filched an olive from his plate with a mischievous expression. “It’s hard to talk about her. I always felt that I was letting her down.”
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