fine.” Maggie shook her head. “You can’t worry about every little thing, Grammy. You’ve retired. The town isn’t your responsibility anymore.”
Vivian clasped a hand to her chest, her index finger gliding up to the pearl necklace she’d worn since Maggie could remember. “You’re going to break my heart with that kind of talk, Mary Margaret. You know this town means everything to me.”
“I know,” Maggie whispered, hugging her grandmother. She hated feeling at odds with anyone, especially Grammy, who Maggie loved with her whole heart. But Vivian Spencer was part of the old guard, with ideas and plans for the town that didn’t necessarily benefit the diversity and enterprise Maggie wanted Stonecreek to be known for. She had to find a way to minimize her grandmother’s influence while still showing the older woman the respect she deserved. “I love you, Grammy.”
“You, too, sweetheart.” Vivian drew back. “I’m going to head home. I’ll see you tomorrow for Sunday dinner?”
“Of course.”
Maggie watched her grandmother walk away, then turned for the bustling town square. Booths lined the perimeter with local artisans selling jewelry and gifts and local restaurants serving a variety of tasting options. Maggie had put in countless hours with the festival committee to make this year’s Fall Fest a success.
Despite what she’d told her grandma, she did have concerns about the upcoming election. Jason Stone had been running a subtle smear campaign, a portion of it reflecting on her decision to walk away from her wedding without outing Trevor as the rat fink cheater he was.
But the more insidious digs at her came from her relationship with her grandmother. Her opponent was insinuating exactly what Grammy had just stated out loud: that Maggie had been elected because of nepotism and not on her own merits. She hated giving any credence to the idea, but the doubts pinging through her head made it even more essential that she win the election.
She sighed and started forward toward the bustling midway. Unfortunately right now, schmoozing and socializing seemed about as appealing as downing a bowl of cockroaches. Maggie was working overtime on the overtime she normally put in to prove her dedication to her job. She was tired, so the thought of making small talk for a couple of hours had her stomach tightening.
“You look like you’re walking into a gathering of flesh-eating zombies,” a voice called from behind her.
She turned to see her best friend, Brenna Apria, and Brenna’s young daughter, Ellie, walking toward her.
“All zombies eat flesh,” Ellie announced as they got closer.
“Aren’t you too young to know that, squirt?” Maggie asked, crouching down and holding her arms wide. Ellie ran forward, wrapping her thin arms around Maggie’s neck.
“I’m either going to be a zombie or a vampire cheerleader for Halloween,” Ellie told her matter-of-factly, “so I’m doing research on both of them.”
“She loves to be scared.” Brenna gave a mock shudder. “I don’t know where she gets it.”
“Marcus and I watched Gremlins last weekend,” Ellie reported. “It was PG but still Mommy had to cover her eyes for the scary parts.”
“How is Marcus?” Maggie lifted a brow in Brenna’s direction.
Her friend tried to hide the enamored smile that curved her mouth. “He’s good. Things are getting back to normal after harvest season at the vineyard.”
“Harvest season,” Maggie murmured. That meant all hands on deck at the vineyard, although the winery also stayed open. Each year, Brenna coordinated grape-stomping competitions and the opportunity for the public to pick grapes in designated vineyards. But Maggie had not gone to any of the community events this year. It was too difficult to be near Griffin, which was stupid and possibly pathetic on her part.
Although she’d known him her whole life, he’d been a jerk as a kid and all through high school, three years older than her and definitely not interested in a rule follower like Maggie.
That had changed, to her great surprise, when he’d returned to Stonecreek. Even so, they’d only been friends for a few weeks and spent one blissful night together before her little fairy tale had come crashing down. Or maybe she’d just imagined their powerful connection.
The great sex had been a real thing. She hadn’t made that up. Everything else... Well, she always did have a vivid imagination.
“You okay?” Brenna asked, her brow furrowing.
“Just tired.” Maggie forced a smile. “Not really up for doing the mayoral thing tonight.”
“You’re welcome to hang with us,” her friend offered.
“Come with us,” Ellie shouted, grabbing her hand. “We’re going to get apple cider and kettle corn and have our faces painted.”
The warmth of the girl’s fingers wrapped around hers made the band of tension wrapped around Maggie’s stomach ease ever so slightly.
“It’s a real girls’ night out,” Brenna added with a smile at her daughter.
“Then count me in,” Maggie said.
They headed into the square, stopping at each booth. With Brenna and Ellie flanking either side of her, Maggie was able to relax, greeting old friends and various townspeople and remembering why she worked so hard at her job.
She loved this little corner of the Willamette Valley, from the terra-cotta and classical revival-style buildings to the bright yellows and golds of the leaves in the fall.
“At least I’m not getting a ton of side-eye anymore,” Maggie said to Brenna as they stood a few feet from the face-painting booth, waiting for Ellie to be transformed into a Bengal tiger.
Brenna toasted her cider cup against Maggie’s. “I told you all they needed was time. People were a little shocked that you walked away from the wedding, but that doesn’t change what you mean to this town.”
“There are still a few who haven’t forgiven me.” Maggie lifted a finger to touch the small butterfly one of the teenagers working the face-painting station had drawn onto her cheek. Ellie had insisted Maggie get her face done before the girl would agree to sit. “My grandmother might be one of them.”
Brenna made a face. “I can’t help you there. Oh, no. Don’t turn around.”
Maggie immediately looked over her shoulder to see Griffin walking toward them, an unfamiliar woman at his side. The woman was beautiful, with flowing, raven-colored hair, a fashion-model-thin frame and long legs tucked into vintage cowboy boots. She wore a baggy dress that just grazed her thighs, but the shape of a dress didn’t matter when a woman looked like that. Griffin towered over her and was leaning close as the woman gazed up at him.
Maggie’s heart stuttered.
No, they weren’t heading toward her. The two of them were so engrossed in each other they could have been walking on a deserted street for all they noticed the crowd around them.
Until Griffin looked up. His green gaze caught on Maggie, the heat from it like being stabbed with a hot poker.
“What part of ‘don’t turn around’ confused you?” Brenna muttered under her breath.
“It’s fine,” Maggie said, her voice weak as she faced forward again. “Who is she?”
“Maggie?”
Heat pooled low in her belly at the sound of Griffin’s rich baritone. Pathetic. She was the most pathetic woman on the planet. This man had rejected her four months ago. She had no reason to be twitter-pated over him. She had no reason to feel anything for him. To borrow from one of Maggie’s favorite old-school pop songs, tell that to her heart.
But she spun around, pasting a bright smile on her face. “Hey, Griffin. How’s it hang—”
She