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“The way she wanted to be buried with her husband—it was too much! I couldn’t hold back the tears!

” Anna says, dabbing her eyes. Our circle of eight book club members nods in solidarity with her.

I’ve had to wipe my own eyes a time or two during our discussion.

We sit on an eclectic mix of chairs and the green velvet sofa that Christin has collected over the years for the store.

Being surrounded by so many shelves and table displays of books creates the ideal setting for a cozy chat about a novel.

The bell above the door dings, and Christin, the owner of the bookstore, calls out, “Let me know if you need any help! We’ll be wrapping up our book club meeting soon.” Anna continues on with her train of thought, but I’m distracted when I realize who just walked into the bookstore.

Griffin.

Glancing at my watch, I see that we’re nearing the two-hour mark of our discussion.

Which means I’m pushing Jason’s bedtime and need to leave.

Of course, my first evening away from Jason and I totally lose track of time.

Will he ever be comfortable with me leaving again, or will he feel like I broke a promise?

Will Samantha even want to babysit again after I didn’t come home when I said I would?

Griffin acts like he’s perusing the bookshelves, but he makes casual eye contact with me and gives a subtle wave of his hand that seems to indicate I shouldn’t be worried about the time.

Then again, I don’t really know him all that well.

So why do I think I can accurately interpret his body language?

Unfortunately, Griffin’s glance in my direction turned his face to us just long enough that one of the book club ladies recognizes him.

Mary leans forward and whispers, “Is that Griffin West?” She jerks her head in his direction with zero subtlety.

The rest of the group follows Mary’s conspicuous behavior by looking very obviously in his direction.

“It is! It’s absolutely him!” Anna affirms, voice low but above a whisper.

My eyes can’t help but find Griffin, and I see a faint blush of red spreading up his neck.

Well, shoot.

Before I can speak up to turn our attention back to the book, Mary has popped up out of her seat and made her way over to Griffin .

“Excuse me, Mr. West?” she says. I see Griffin square his shoulders a split second before he turns to face Mary, a smile locked firmly in place.

“You caught me,” he replies. “I was . . . looking for a gift for my sister.”

Mary beams. “You’ve come to the right place, then! Christin’s store is full of great gift ideas in addition to books,” she says. She clears her throat. “Would you mind if I take a quick picture with you? My son would absolutely lose his mind.”

Griffin smiles. “Of course! You've gotta get some cool mom points.”

As Mary rushes to grab her phone from her purse, the rest of the ladies follow suit. They’ve soon formed a line taking pictures of each other with Griffin, who smiles broadly for every one. He offers autographs, so Christin hurries to find some blank paper behind the checkout desk.

In all the excitement, no one has noticed that I’ve quietly gathered up my things and slipped to the front door.

My heart found its way to my throat the moment Mary made her way over to Griffin.

In the midst of the famous-person-induced commotion, the last thing I want to do is call attention to the fact that I know him—that he’s my ride home.

I reach the door, and Christin is asking Griffin questions about his sister’s interests to help him find a gift.

It’s not like I can make it home without him, but I’m too panicked to stay in the bookstore with the chaos surrounding him.

Before pushing the door open, I glance back and manage to briefly meet his eyes.

I give a look that I hope he’ll interpret as, “I’ll be waiting by the car. ”

And then I slip outside into the blast of winter air, gulping in the chill.

I should have kept a better eye on the time instead of getting so caught up in the discussion.

I should have set an alarm so I knew when I needed to leave.

I’m going to be late getting home to Jason because I didn’t pay attention.

Then Griffin had to come in and get me, and now he’s being ambushed by my friends, so we’ll be even later getting home.

I’ve managed to locate Griffin’s Jeep in the parking lot, and I lean against it as casually as possible. You’re messing up, Danae. You need to pull it together and be more responsible if you’re going to be a stable person for Jason.

My thoughts pivot from berating myself to replaying the mayhem inside the bookstore.

Is that what Griffin’s life is like all the time?

The way he reacted certainly looked like a well-worn response.

Most people probably wouldn’t notice the flush of his neck, the mental preparation in the squaring of his shoulders before he faced everyone with that charming smile.

I’m suddenly sad for Griffin. Sad that he has to socially perform in that way everywhere he goes, that he can’t just walk into a local bookstore and study the shelves unbothered.

Wait, you don’t even know him. Maybe he loves it. Maybe he’s not sad at all. Maybe he feeds off of the fame, lets it go to his head until he expects special treatment everywhere he goes.

Even though I don’t truly know Griffin all that well, the negative assessment doesn’t fit, doesn’t sit right in my thoughts.

Because he doesn’t seem like a fame-hungry, self-absorbed guy in the slightest. He’s been thoughtful and disarming in every interaction I’ve had with him, in spite of his athletic celebrity status.

Which might be even more confusing.