I closed the app, but the feeling stayed—the particular pain of being someone’s secret, of knowing that the person you were with had to pretend you didn’t exist.
I’d felt this way with Charles too. But somehow it stung more with Griffin. Maybe because I’d known better this time. Maybe because the attraction I felt was stronger, more complicated than just physical. Maybe because I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do this again, and here I was, reading comments from fans who didn’t know Griffin was gay while I sat alone in my apartment.
I set my phone down and stared at my ceiling, trying to sort through the mess of emotions.
I cared about Griffin despite every logical reason not to. That was certain.
But caring didn’t make it hurt less to be sidelined. Caring didn’t change the fact that I was risking everything—my career, my reputation, my hard-won sense of self—for a relationship that had to stay hidden. Caring didn’t erase the fear.
Was it worth it?
The answer should have been clear. The answer should have been no—no relationship was worth this much risk or pain.
But when I thought about Griffin—his rare smile, his vulnerability, the way he looked at me like I was someone who mattered—the answer wasn’t so simple.
Maybe this kind of connection was supposed to be terrifying and risky and completely illogical.
Or maybe I was just repeating old patterns and calling it something meaningful.
I didn’t know. I didn’t have answers.
All I knew was that despite everything, I wasn’t ready to end this yet.
I’d made my choice when I said yes to Griffin. This afternoon had just forced me to confront what that choice actually meant.
I chose to hope, even when hope felt foolish.
That was who I was—an optimist, someone who kept choosing possibility over safety.
And maybe that was going to destroy me eventually. Because I didn’t know how to protect myself from this. Didn’t know how to guard my heart while also being present in whatever this relationship was becoming.
I’d already jumped. Now I just had to hope I didn’t crash before figuring out how to land safely.
Or that Griffin would be there if I did.
Either way, I was committed now.
For better or worse, I was in this.
I didn’t pick up my phone again. Griffin needed rest, and so did I. We’d talk tomorrow, make a plan, figure out how to be more careful.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.
I cared about Griffin Lapierre, and that was both terrifying and the most honest thing I’d felt in years.
I just hoped we’d both survive it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Griffin
I pushed open the door to Beaverton Beans at four thirty Monday afternoon, scanning the space with what I hoped looked like casual interest rather than targeted searching. The coffee shop was moderately busy—a handful of people working on laptops, a group of students clustered around a corner table, the typical late-afternoon crowd seeking caffeine and atmosphere.
I ordered my usual cold brew and climbed the stairs to the loft.
And there, at his regular table by the window, was Wesley.
He sat with his laptop open, a cup beside him, his expression focused as he typed. The early October sun slanted through the window, highlighting the dark brown of his hair and the concentration in his brown eyes. He looked completely absorbed in his work, professional and contained in ways that made my chest ache with wanting to take him somewhere private and loosen him up.
