Page 77 of Love Felt Like This

For the next week, Griffin and I work together writing songs and scripts. We’ve started recording our sessions so that we keep Griffin’s random strokes of inspiration. I always feel energized afterward, immediately heading back to my room to work on the next script. My sleep has never been better. My creativity has never thrived more.

The other night, I put my work aside at a reasonable hour—because I promised Griffin I would—then lay in bed, staring at my ceiling with leftover glow-in-the-dark stars, replaying songs and scenes through my mind. I almost texted Griffin to get his opinion but decided not to. We’re coworkers—not friends that randomly send texts.

And yet…he feels more familiar with each passing day. I see it in him, too—the ease with which he falls onto the couch, how he reaches for his guitar and starts recording without hesitation, and the way he laughs when I do puppet voices. Griffin has this low, rumbling laugh, deep in the pit of his stomach. It’s the only time he laughs like that.

I wonder what it would be like to be friends with Griffin Patrick Harvey. Is he different from the Griffin I know now? What is his normal routine? Is his musician lifestyle as all-consuming as Beau’s became? I wonder if Griffin gets bored here. Writing children’s songs and having family dinners must look ridiculous beside parties, bourbon, and one-night stands.

One-night stands.

The thought makes my limbs fidgety. I know that’s likely how Ava was conceived, just based on passing comments here and there, like how he didn’t know her mom for a long time or that they weren’t very close. But I try not to think about that too much.

Ava sits in front of me, playing with Barbies and sifting through doll-sized clothes, always blissfully unaware of how her dad invades my thoughts.

“You like this one?” I ask, lifting a small fringed vest.

Ava nods with a shy smile.

“That’s my style too,” I whisper like it’s a secret, just between us girls. She giggles, jerking the Barbie toward me. It’s an unspoken demand to dress her.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. I find Griffin’s gaze. He stares at me, watching Ava crawl into my lap while I dress her doll. He smiles. I can’t help but smile back.

Griffin Harv-E.

Friends with mE?

“That child needs more clothes,” Nana says from the recliner. “That’s the same sweater she wore three days ago.”

“I do laundry,” Griffin counters, sitting on the floor next to us with his back against the couch. His long legs stretch across the rug, inches from my own. “We weren’t prepared for this weather.”

To his credit, the temperatures have dropped dramatically. We’re nearing the end of January, and snow is bound to pop up again any day. You can feel it in the wind’s bite, nipping at your ankles like a threat.

“She’s gonna need a heavier coat soon,” Nana says.

“I could get her some clothes out of town,” I offer. “Nothing is open up here. And it’s not like Griffin can show up at a mall or something.”

Despite Elk Grove knowing about him, we try not to get out too much. Just in case.

Nana looks between us. “Or I think Taylor is doing inventory at the thrift store. She can let you two stop by.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Let me check with her momma. See what they’re up to.”

I bite my bottom lip as if to say Can we?

He hitches up the corner of his lips, shining a sliver of those white teeth through his beard. “Sounds fun.”

Griffin’s smile does too much to me; it’s a live wire to my chest. I feel silly. Ridiculous. We’re just working together. My family is hosting him for a couple of months. That’s all this is.

And, most of all, I’m just me. A small-town mountain girl with a love for puppetry. Friends with a big musician? Tried that already. They don’t have time for girls like me.

That night, I search our town’s thrift-store repository to prep for our shopping day. I find a cute pink jacket for Ava. I almost text him, but I decide not to.

Griffin steers his SUV into the gravel parking spot in front of our three-brick-building downtown block. Puffs from the engine’s exhale still permeate the cold as he unbuckles Ava from the back seat. He sets her on his hip and wraps her into his jacket. His shoulders hunch as he tries to fight off the whipping breeze tangling through their hair.

“And it’s open?” he asks, peering up at Elk Grove Thrift.

“Supposedly,” I answer.