God, midterms sucked.

Beverly thought they were even worse than finals. At least with finals she had the reward of a long break before the next semester; with midterms, she was lucky to catch her breath before another assignment was due.

Walking out of her Biology class, she rolled her shoulders back and soaked in what little warmth the low-hanging autumn sun offered.

"Hey, Bev!" Beverly spun around, grinning brightly when her lab partner and friend, Alicia, jogged up to her. "How'd you do?"

She shrugged as they started walking through campus, fingers tapping an absent rhythm on the straps of her backpack. "Honestly? I have no idea. I felt okay about it, though, so that should count for something. Right?"

The tall girl next to her grinned, reaching up one hand to fluff up her dark hair. "It might as well. I think I nailed it, personally."

They both stopped walking, and Beverly eyed her companion for a beat before saying decisively, "In other words, you're hoping your positivity will somehow get you a better grade."

Alicia shoved her. "Silence, fool! And yes, that's exactly what I'm hoping." She slipped her phone out and glanced at it briefly, before looking up at the crosswalk they were standing in front of and grimacing. "Crap. I've gotta run if I don't want to be late for work. I'll see you around, Bev!"

The other girl was already darting away, and Beverly waved as she disappeared into the late-afternoon crowd. Resigning herself to a rather lonesome walk back to her dorm room, Beverly almost careened to a halt when she caught sight of a familiar sign on the opposite side of the street:

Cynthia's Coffeehouse.

The sign said they'd be closing in thirty minutes, but—after the many exhausting midterms—Beverly decided she had time for and greatly deserved a treat. And that double chocolate mocha had been one of the best things she'd ever tasted. Besides, she hadn't been back since her first time almost two weeks ago, so it wasn't like she was overdoing it or anything.

Checking for cars, she darted across the street, breathing in the many extravagant aromas as she pulled the door open.

"Hello, hello!"

Having expected a silent and adorably awkward Griffin behind the counter, Beverly almost fainted from shock at the cheerful, feminine voice. Eyes darting to the counter, she found a woman in her mid-thirties standing on the opposite side, with short red hair, bright green eyes, and a smile so wide it should have been painful.

"Hi," Beverly returned, stepping forward and settling her hands on the counter. "How are you today?"

The woman laughed and waved her off. "You're so sweet, hon! I'm just dandy, thanks for asking. What can I get for you today?"

Pulling her wallet out of her backpack, Beverly said, "The double chocolate mocha, please."

"Ah," the woman nodded, then leaned forward, as if telling a dark secret. "You like that one, eh? Glad to hear it." She leaned back, brushing some of her hair from her face before reaching down to take Beverly's offered cash. "My sole employee came up with it, you know—it's a top-secret recipe, though. He doesn't even tell me what's in the mix; he just makes it while I'm in the back office or away from the store."

Without even thinking about it, Beverly blurted, "Griffin came up with it?"

She shouldn't have been surprised, really. Griffin certainly seemed like the type to come up with something amazing, get compliments, and never outright take credit.

What a cute tattooed man he was!

The woman's hands stilled on the register, and she eyed Beverly keenly for long moment. Just when it began to get uncomfortable, she smirked. "Well, well, well." She propped her elbows on the register and shifted forward on the balls of her feet, her chin captured between her fingers, "So, you know Griffin? I must admit, I'm surprised. I thought I knew all his friends—where'd you two meet?"

Feeling embarrassed for some reason, Beverly began to bob back and forth on her heels. "Here, actually. I came in a couple of weeks ago, and he recommended the mocha."

One of the woman's eyebrows arched up. "Oh. Really? How very intriguing. Tell me, what else do you know about our dear Griffin?"

Beverly felt as though she'd just walked into some elaborate trap, and wondered if coffee was really worth this much trouble. "Not much. He just told me his name, and that he painted," she gestured absently to the artwork on the walls. "Are you Cynthia? He mentioned you'd done some of them."

The glint in the other woman's eyes told Beverly her change of subject wasn't subtle, but she answered anyway. "Yes, actually, I am." Then, surprising Beverly, Cynthia stuck her hand out. "It's nice to meet you, hon; what's your name?"

"Oh," she shook the other woman's hand, "Beverly."

"Beverly," Cynthia said the name like she was unraveling an elaborate puzzle. "Hm. That's nice—it suits you."

Relaxing slightly, Beverly grinned. "Thanks. Most of my friends think it sounds like an old granny name, though, so they call me Bev."

Cynthia nodded thoughtfully, stepping back so she could get started on Beverly's drink. "Bev, huh? That's fun, too. When I was in college, my friends called me Thia, but I never really liked it. Of course," she caught Beverly's eyes and wiggled her eyebrows. "I didn't mind so much when it came from one of my attractive boyfriends' mouths, especially depending on the circumstances."

Beverly stood utterly still for several long beats, before throwing her head back and laughing brightly. "I can't believe Griffin works for you," she admitted, shaking her head with disbelief. How could a guy so shy be comfortable working for someone like Cynthia, who had no trouble dropping innuendos in a loud tone, even in a public space?

Cynthia's answering grin was filled with mischief. "I can't either, sometimes," she agreed, passing Beverly a mug full of steaming mocha, "but, of course, the fact that he's my godson does have something to do with it."

Taking a cautious sip, Beverly's brows rose in question. "Godson?" Then, realizing she was definitely overstepping her boundaries—she didn't even know these people for God's sake—her eyes widened, and she choked out, "Sorry! You don't have to answer that; I'll just go sit down before my mouth makes me seem like even more of a total creep." She waved haphazardly at the same table she'd settled at the last time she'd been there, inwardly thankful that it was vacant.

Chuckling from Cynthia stopped her, and Beverly was glad, if not a little confused, to see the owner eyeing her as though she was a clumsy puppy—adorable and ditzy. "No worries, Bev. Tell you what, you come back here when Griffin is working so I can see how he acts around you, and maybe I'll tell you a little bit about myself and him."

And then Cynthia was turning to a customer who had just sidled up to the counter, leaving Beverly to walk to her table in a daze, wondering if she'd been hallucinating.

It was only as she walked out, hoping to go unnoticed, that Cynthia's call of, "I better see you in here tomorrow at two o'clock, Miss Bev!" made her understand that she had not, in fact, been hallucinating.

She blew out a loaded breath as she trundled towards her dorm, cursing her terrible luck. What was she even doing?

Sure, Griffin was attractive, and her natural sense of curiosity wouldn't quiet until she knew more about the man and his godmother, but surely that wasn't enough reason to return and face the humiliation of looking like a lovesick schoolgirl unable to take a hint.

Right?

Right?

Oh, Lord help her.

She was definitely going to show up.

Screw it all.