Normally, she looked forward to going to the coffeehouse. Even if Cynthia shot her smug, knowing looks, visiting the shop and trying to get to know Griffin always relaxed her; it also took her mind off the many stresses of trying to get a college degree.

Today, however, she dragged her feet to the shop, seriously considering the thought of turning around, racing to her dorm, and drowning her tears in ice cream (so what if it was only the early afternoon?).

There was a group project going on in programming abstractions class, and—although she normally didn't mind group projects—one of the boys in her group, Caleb, was proving to be quite the obstacle. He was always peering over her shoulder and sneering things like, "That's not how you're supposed to do it, Beverly," and, "Beverly, how about you just let me do it? This is honestly painful to watch."

Being a girl in computer sciences was bad enough without stupid know-it-alls like Caleb going off on her for the way she solved problems. Besides, she was in college to learn; she'd make mistakes, but she didn't need stuck-up Caleb to nitpick them until he was blue in the face.

In other words, she felt like crap.

In the end, the only reason she stayed on track for the coffeeshop was because of the hopeful voice in the back of her head that said, Griffin's probably there; you'll feel better if you see him.

She hated when her inner voice was so persuasive.

Pushing open the door, Beverly stepped inside Cynthia's and sucked in a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing almost immediately once the familiar aromas met her nostrils.

"Well, well, well," Cynthia called from where she stood reorganizing the merchandise shelves, "Look who's here! What's up, Miss Bev?"

Beverly managed a smile, though she had a feeling it was brittle and weak. "Hi, Cynthia. Not much, how're you?"

"Not as good as Griffin will be when he sees that you're here," Cynthia retorted cheekily, wiggling her eyebrows far too giddily.

Beverly shrugged nonchalantly, knowing perfectly well that Cynthia could see right through her. "Oh, is he here?"

Cynthia's laugh was so loud that Beverly had to stop herself from cringing; the older woman calmed down a few beats later. "Actually, yes he is." She answered, running her fingers over one of the larger mugs. "He should be out in a minute, and I think he'll be happy to make your mocha."

Slipping her wallet out of her backpack, Beverly made her way to the counter, leaning against it while she waited. No sooner had she started pulling the correct amount of money out was Griffin shuffling out of the back room, a large box in his grasp. "Cynthia," he grunted over the box. "Where do you want this? I'm about to drop it."

Cynthia shot Beverly an amused glance, as if to say, Can you believe him? Honestly, what a mess. "Over here, darling godson. Hustle up, though—you have a customer."

Griffin straightened up instantly, peering around the box and smiling crookedly when he saw her. "Hi, Beverly," he greeted, stepping around the counter and making his way to Cynthia. He set down the box carefully before spinning back around and retaking his place behind the counter.

"Hi Griffin," she replied, already handing him the money for her drink as he got settled behind the register.

Griffin took the proffered bills from her hand, then paused, scrutinizing her carefully. His eyes darted between Cynthia and Beverly for a moment, before he leaned closer and asked softly, "Are you okay? You don't look . . ." he considered his words, then continued, "as happy as you normally do."

It was sweet of him to ask, really, and Beverly hated the way she immediately wished he hadn't—the reminder of why she didn't look happy only served to remind her of her (more-or-less) failure in the group project.

Blowing out a hefty sigh, she rolled her neck side-to-side in something akin to a negative shake. "I'm alright," she managed finally. "Just . . . some stuff at school. Nothing big," she added hurriedly when Griffin appeared to bristle.

"Promise?" he asked, and she nodded furiously.

"Promise." A genuine grin ticked at her lips. "Besides, what better to fix me up than one of your mochas?"

His eyes shone with amusement, but his lips were pursed in thought. "Fair enough." Seeming to realize he was still leaning towards her, he pulled back abruptly, shuffling on his feet and hurrying to place the bills in the register.

Still shy, she thought with an inner laugh, the stress leaving her mind with Griffin's familiar actions. As comfortable as he'd grown in her presence, there were still plenty of awkward moments; Beverly enjoyed them immensely, but she was looking forward to getting to know him better.

One of these days I'll ask him on a 'friends' date, she told herself, watching intently as he got to work on her drink. That'd be nice.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, pulling her from her thoughts, and she glared at Caleb's name as it flashed on the screen. Griffin was still very involved in her drink, and she stepped into a quiet corner of the shop before answering.

"Hi, Caleb," she greeted him tersely, frantically telling herself to be patient, be patient, be patient! "What can I do for you?"

"You can do something right for once!" he barked through the phone. "I've been having to fix all your work, and it's exhausting; you ruined the entire data structure!"

Her brows furrowed. "I wasn't in charge of the data structure—Gabriel's responsible for that. I haven't had a chance to even look at what he did and—"

"Please don't give me anymore excuses. Gabriel has enough knowledge not to make such simple mistakes; I need you to get online and fix this ASAP, Beverly."

"I'm not near my computer right now, but I can get on in about—"

"That's not good enough. I realize you can get away with a lot more since you're a girl surrounded by guys, but some of us need a good grade to pass this class. Fix it." And then he hung up.

Beverly pulled the phone from her ear slowly, frustrated tears stinging her eyes. Shoving the device into her back pocket and shouldering her backpack, she walked to the counter where Griffin had just finished her drink. "Sorry to do this," she croaked, her smile probably looking more like a pained grimace, "but can you put it in a to-go cup? I've got to run."

Confusion flashed across his face, followed by concern, before it settled on anger. "What happened?" his voice was stern, and a part of Beverly mused that his expression and tone in that moment matched his intimidating appearance. "Beverly, what happened?"

She blinked twice, shaking her head and biting her lip to keep the tears from falling. "Just school stuff," she repeated her earlier words. "Nothing bad, I promise."

He blew out a sigh, pouring her drink into a disposable cup. "I don't believe you now. You'll tell me if you're in trouble, right? I can help."

She wondered idly if his promise to help was another aspect of his personality that matched his appearance—perhaps he planned on fighting whoever had made her so sad.

"Beverly," her eyes snapped to his, and she was startled to see fury sparking in his gaze. "You're crying. What happened?" She touched her cheek, startled when her hand came away wet; the tears were apparently no longer contained in her eyes.

"Miss Bev," Cynthia popped up next to her, rubbing her shoulder kindly. "Talk to us."

She chuckled wetly. "I'm sorry; it's honestly stupid. One of my classmates is just being . . . difficult, you might say."

Cynthia made a sympathetic noise, reaching down and squeezing her hand. "I'm so sorry, Bev. You don't deserve to be treated poorly."

She shrugged pitifully. "I think I kind of do. I've messed up so many times—"

"It doesn't matter." Griffin cut in, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Regardless of what you've done or haven't done, no one should make you cry. Ever. Who the hell was it?"

"Whoa," Cynthia cut in, and Beverly was surprised to see the warning look the older woman was directing to Griffin. "There's no need for that, is there, Griffin?"

Godmother and godson remained locked in a staring contest for several beats, before Griffin looked away, grumbling out a terse, "Fine."

"Don't worry about it," Beverly squeezed Cynthia's hand in return before pulling hers away. "It's okay; I've got to run though." She swiped away the last of her tears, trying and failing to send Griffin a reassuring smile. "Sorry you had to see me like this." She waved half-heartedly, snatching up her coffee and darting out of the shop.

Before the door closed behind her, she caught one last glimpse of the shop's interior; Griffin was outside of the counter, and Cynthia had her hands on the younger man's forearms, muttering words urgently.

She didn't have time to question the scene, however, because her phone began to buzz with another call from Caleb. Biting back a sigh and willing herself to keep anymore tears at bay, she strode quickly from the shop, pressing the Answer button as she went.

***