Beverly tapped her fingers in an absent rhythm, her eyes trained on her computer screen and the blinking cursor that stared back at her from her half-finished discussion post.

Why was writing with words so difficult? She'd rather write with code any day, which said a lot, considering what a pain C++ was.

"Alright, Miss Bev?" Came the call, and she was already smiling before she even looked up at Cynthia, grateful for the distraction.

She had tucked herself in the table nearest to the window, since it sat hidden from the rest of the café; tucked behind one of the walls that lined the entrance, no one could see Beverly until they were standing right at the register, and the sense of privacy allowed her to focus just a bit better.

It was a Saturday, but Beverly hadn't felt like going to the library, and Cynthia had taken one look at the papers spread out over the small table and promised the younger girl that she could have as many mochas as she wanted for the day.

The offer was exceptionally kind, especially since it was nearly one in the afternoon and Beverly had been at the shop since ten.

"So-so," Beverly shook her head with a slight chuckle. "Could be better, but could be worse, right?"

Cynthia flashed a thumbs-up. "That's the attitude!" She passed a to-go cup and a muffin to a middle-aged man on the other side of the counter and thanked him for his business before wiping her hands on the towel hanging off her hip and turning to face Beverly head-on. "Grammar?"

Beverly groaned, slamming her head down onto her arm, which was curled just in front of her laptop. "English sucks."

The comment earned her a bright laugh. "I won't argue. My English Comp. One teacher wanted to throttle me with my papers, I'm pretty sure. He despised me."

Tilting her head to the side, Beverly quirked a single eyebrow. "How come?"

Cynthia's grin turned wicked, popping a hip out and settling her hand—complete with a perfectly-manicured nails—on it like some kind of expert supermodel. "Because I flirted other students into writing my papers, hon."

Beverly's mouth fell open, and she let out a rather loud gasp. "No! Cynthia!" She hissed the words, feeling as though she'd just been told top-secret information. God, if she even thought about cheating or skipping out on her work, a shudder would crawl up her spine, and her mom's voice would immediately be in the back of her mind: "I'll throttle any one of my children who thinks cheating is acceptable in an education setting. If you're going to cheat, become a gambler or something, Beverly."

That talk had been before middle school, but if she was going to be around Cynthia every day, then Beverly might just need it again. "Do boys really fall for that?"

"Boys and girls, hon. My talent knows no bounds."

"But how?!" Why would people write a paper for flirting? Not even a date? Surely they would want more than just flirting, right?

As if to demonstrate, Cynthia leaned forward, the hand on her hip slipping forward until it was trailing across the table slowly. "It's amazing what a flutter of the lashes and a well-placed touch will do," the woman purred, leaning down further, her eyes wide and her eyelids opening and closing in a rather odd rhythm.

Beverly blinked. "But you look crazy, not attractive." Realizing what she'd said, she squeaked and slapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry!" The word was muffled.

Cynthia cackled even louder, uncaring of the other customers, some of whom shot her bewildered glances. "You're adorable, Miss Bev," she said, her tone filled with amusement and something like affection. "Let me fill you up," she held out her hand, and Beverly passed her the empty mug that had been mocking her for at least fifteen minutes.

"You can charge me," Beverly reminded for the fifth time that day, trying to get the words in before the woman could disappear behind the counter once more. "At this rate, I'll drain the mocha mix and your wallet."

The owner of the shop didn't even spare her another glance as she whipped around and returned to the counter. "Not listening!" she sang, and Beverly snorted a laugh as she turned back to her computer.

Cynthia was wild, stubborn, and in possession of a sense of humor that scared Beverly at times, but she truly did enjoy the woman's company; she was far more fun than most of Beverly's classmates, that was for sure.

Not even a minute passed before the bell above the store's door rang, but Beverly didn't look up, sure that another customer had found their way inside.

Her head snapped up so quickly it nearly flew off altogether when she heard a familiar voice hiss, "No, I don't want to be involved in that shit anymore, I told you. Don't call me again."

She'd never heard his tone so gravelly with disdain, and she couldn't decide if she found it hot or scary.

With large eyes, Beverly watched as Griffin practically threw his phone into the pocket of his jeans, clearly unaware of her location as he stopped with his back facing her. "Is that for Beverly?" He asked Cynthia, no doubt looking at what the other woman was making.

All worries about his attitude were forgotten and replaced by an emotion much mushier when Beverly realized how hopeful his question sounded.

She nearly blushed, of all things!

Cynthia huffed a laugh, and Beverly was sure she was smirking smugly. "Alas, you just missed her. She was with a very sweet man—"

"The hell?" Griffin spat, and Beverly's eyes widened comically.

He sounded . . . angry. And disappointed.

Well, so maybe her attraction to him wasn't one-sided?

With a clever smile curling her lips, she said, "Cynthia, you should know by now that I don't support lying."

Griffin whipped around so swiftly he probably should have fallen over. "Beverly," he breathed, and she took a moment to admire his features. His hulking frame filled out a pair of dark jeans and a fitted shirt quite nicely, especially when paired with the leather jacket he wore. His hair was tied up, too, and although she wasn't normally fond of the whole "man bun" style, even she had to admit that he pulled it off well.

"'Sup, Griffin?" she greeted cheerily, her grin growing when he ducked his head, his neck and ears turning dark red with embarrassment. Cynthia, still laughing at the whole situation, turned to a new customer and Beverly took advantage of the privacy to stand and inch closer to the man.

He was muttering under his breath; she couldn't make out the specific words, but she could hear the bitterness in them, and she knew he was berating himself.

Frowning, Beverly reached out a tentative hand and tugged at his shirt. Griffin's eyes were on her in the next second, and she had to catch herself from taking a step back at the intensity in those dark hazel orbs. "Hey, I'm sorry—I'm not mad at you or anything. Are you mad at me?"

It took several—seemingly long—seconds, but Griffin's tense frame relaxed slightly as he regarded her features carefully, just as he'd done every time they had these quiet moments, shared just between the two of them.

She knew he was looking for something in her eyes, and she could only hope that he continued to find it. After all, she adored learning more about him; every time he found what he was looking for in her gaze, he seemed to allow her to venture just a little bit further past the walls that guarded him.

"No," was his gruff answer. Beverly allowed her brows to rise with her expectation, and he spared her one of his half-smiles. "I'm sorry. I didn't . . ." he tore his eyes from her, glaring at the wall as he seemed to think about his words. Finally, he said, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Beverly tugged at his shirt once more, and she nearly melted when she saw the soft look on his face as he peered down at the spot where her fingers disappeared into the fabric. "You didn't scare me, Griffin. I know we don't know each other well, but I'll be straight with you if you're straight with me: I don't have a boyfriend. That's all I'm saying; I don't expect anything in return."

"You're blunt." He said rather bluntly himself.

She fought off another grin. "I will argue that I am smart, and smart people such as myself know when to say what's on our mind and when to keep it to ourselves."

He didn't need to know that she was still working on that skill; if they spent more time together (as she hoped they would), he'd figure it out eventually. "Smart," he repeated. "And really pretty." There was a short pause after the words left his mouth, before he released a pained moan and looked away from her once more. "Damnit," he hissed. Louder, he told her, "I, I'm shit at this."

"I don't know," she mused, leaning sideways until she caught his gaze with her own, "I think you're doing pretty well. Look," she raised her free hand to fan her face dramatically. "I'm flustered to all hell."

"Sure," he grumbled, but she didn't miss the flash of amusement in his hazel orbs.

"Want to make it up to me?"

Griffin turned to face her finally, his curiosity sincere. "How?"

"Bring me my mocha—Cynthia left it on the counter, can you believe it? The nerve, honestly." He chuckled, and the raspy rumble of noise had her swallowing down a sudden bout of hormones.

"The nerve," he echoed, looking down at her with the kind of look that would be more likely in a couple who had loved each other for many years, as opposed to two goofballs who had only met recently.

Still, the look was there, and it made something warm fizzle in Beverly's stomach.

"Off you go!" she released him before she did something stupid—like pull his stupid face down and kiss the heck out of him.

He shook his head, sending her one last Oh-wow-that-makes-me-tingly glance before fetching her drink and setting it down by her computer as she got settled in her seat once more. "Thank you kindly, peasant," Beverly teased, her stare remaining fixed on her computer screen.

It was only after thirty-or-so seconds passed and she noticed that his large presence hadn't moved that she shifted to regard Griffin. "Everything okay?" He was staring down at her in such a way that she wondered if he was actually seeing anything at all.

As expected, her question snapped the man from whatever daze he'd been in, and he shook his head before leaning down beside her. "I . . ." he trailed off, nodded once, as though making a mental decision, and continued: "I don't have a girlfriend, but I'm starting to think I might like one."

And then he was running away before she could tease him about the red dusting his cheeks, and Beverly smiled fondly at his back as he wrapped an apron around his waist.

What. A. Cutie.

It was too soon to start a relationship, and Beverly knew that. Still, it didn't hurt to know he was available, and she sincerely looked forward to unraveling Griffin the same way that he seemed determined to unravel her.