"How'd you get here?" Griffin asked her as he locked his apartment door.

She prodded one of the loose wooden planks with her foot. "I walked. In hindsight, it was maybe sort of not my best decision—I'm lucky I didn't get kidnapped." It was meant as a joke, but Griffin remained unamused.

"I'm not trying to be controlling," he informed her as he started down the stairs, his hand hovering over the small of her back. "I can't help but worry about my, uh," he cleared his throat, "friends. I don't like Cynthia coming down here by herself, either."

Beverly shot him a playful grin. "Aw, we're friends? Thanks, Griffin, that means a lot!" She elbowed him gently in the side, and he huffed in mock offense. "And it's fine, I didn't think you were trying to be controlling, friend."

His lips ticked upwards. "Glad you aren't offended." Gesturing her towards a beat-up, dark blue Honda Accord, Griffin waited until she'd settled in the passenger seat before climbing in as well. "Do you own a car?"

She eyed him for a moment. His tone was nonchalant, but the question itself conveyed concern. "Nah. My parents drop me off at the start of the semester, and I take the bus or walk anywhere I need to go."

He nodded, starting up the engine and directing the vehicle out of the parking lot. "You can call me for that, too." His voice was quiet but firm, and his eyes were trained resolutely on the road ahead.

Beverly chuckled to herself—what an adorably concerned giant; he really was a sweetheart. "Okay, I'll keep that in mind, thanks." She twiddled her fingers in her lap, biting her tongue to keep the many questions she had from escaping.

The rest of the ride to the city's lakeside walking trail was silent, and Beverly was relieved when they exited the car and started on the paved path; the weather, thankfully, was a bit warmer than normal that day.

"Are you typically this quiet?" Griffin's question startled her, and her responding laugh was embarrassed and breathy.

"No," she admitted. "Not normally. I don't want to spook you, though, and if I don't watch myself, I'll ask you around a hundred questions and drive you insane."

There was a short pause, and then he murmured, "I don't mind. I may not answer everything, but I'll try."

Her steps were a bit bouncier after that, and she was practically skipping up the hill as she asked, "Is Cynthia your only family out here?"

"Yes." His gaze followed a cardinal as it darted through the trees overhead. "She took me in after my parents passed away. You?"

Beverly could tell that Griffin found talking about himself extremely painful; it was unbelievably kind of him to open up to her. "My parents live in the next state over with my younger sister and brother—they're twins, fourteen years old."

Griffin's smile was small but genuine. "I can see you as an older sister; you seem like a nationally caring person. Do you like having siblings?"

"Oh, absolutely! They can be trouble, but I love them both dearly."

Griffin nodded, his eyes far away as he absorbed the information. "Being an only child was lonely; you're lucky." Seeming to realize what he said, he tacked on a rushed, "Sorry. What I meant was—"

"Relax," she soothed gently, "it's fine; I know what you meant, and you're right—I am lucky."

"Why are you so nice to me?" Griffin asked abruptly, halting in his walk to turn and face her straight on—some part of Beverly (the part that wasn't stunned by his sudden lack of awkwardness) was pleased to see he was getting so comfortable with her. Mainly though, she was confused. The way he asked was almost hostile.

"Because I like you," she confessed honestly, holding his gaze. "You seem like a good person, and I happen to enjoy being around good people."

He scoffed derisively, his eyes darting to stare at the sliver of lake visible through the trees. "I'm not. Or, I haven't always been a good person, anyway."

"Well, who is? We all make mistakes."

His lips quirked, but his gaze was haunted, and the contrast made her stomach twist with sadness for him and whatever he'd experienced. "I have a feeling that you didn't make many."

Beverly's eyes widened, and it was her turn to feel uncomfortable as she was put on the spot. "That's not true!" she protested, "I've made plenty of mistakes."

"Oh, yeah?" Griffin shoved his hands in his pockets, no longer appearing so stiff. "Name one time you made a mistake."

Okay, I walked into that one. She floundered for a moment, then said slowly, "When I was ten, my mom and I were washing dishes when someone knocked on the door; Mom went to go answer it, and she told me to turn off the sink when it got full.

"I got distracted by the twins, though, and started playing with them instead. When Mom came back inside twenty minutes later, half of the house was flooded. So there—I made a terrible mistake, see? We had to have the floor replaced and everything."

Griffin stared at her, then threw his head back and laughed brightly. The sound was rich and deep and, Oh, God, is it weird to record someone's laugh and then set it as a ringtone or something? I bet that's a weird thing to do. "Beverly," he said once he had calmed, though his words were still tinged with immense amusement, "I don't consider that a serious mistake."

She huffed in offense, though she was inwardly beyond pleased that she'd gotten him to laugh. "Okay, Griffin. Do you have a better example?"

He sobered immediately. Beverly cursed herself inwardly, wishing the smile was back on his lips. "Yes, actually. I'm sorry, but I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"That's okay," she mollified, reaching over and grasping his elbow, inwardly pleased when he didn't startle or pull away. "You don't have to explain. For now, let's agree that my mistake was awful, and no mistake is worse than leaving the sink running."

Griffin's head bobbed with another, quieter laugh, and he acquiesced. "Sure. Alright. Thanks, Beverly."

"No worries," she dismissed, letting her hand drop as she stepped back. "Let's try a different one: How long have you worked at Cynthia's?"

They started walking again, their feet crunching on the fallen leaves scattered across the paved path. "For the past three years. It took a while for her to convince me, but I'm glad I agreed."

"Me too," got past Beverly's filter before she could stop it, and it was her turn to avoid eye contact. "Sorry." She cleared her throat. "When did you graduate with your associate's?" When she looked in her peripheral, she found him already watching her, but his eyes darted away right after they made eye contact.

"Last year. I'm not sure what I want to do, so I'm staying at Cynthia's for now. When will you graduate?"

Beverly let her arms swing by her sides, her ponytail flipping against her shoulder as she walked. "In a year and a half. I'm excited, but I don't know where I want to work, either. Though, I did just run into the CEO of Silvertone, and I wouldn't mind . . ." she left the rest of the sentence dangling when Griffin stopped walking, his eyes trained on hers.

"Knott?" his tone was undecipherable, and she was cautious when she replied.

"Mr. Francis Knott, yes. Do you know him?" she knew Mr. Knott had said that he had known Cynthia, but she hadn't considered the fact that Griffin would know the man as well.

Griffin's teeth were grinding audibly. "You could say that. I don't care for him."

"Oh?" her brows rose, "Can I ask why not?"

He kicked a stray pebble and watched as it skittered across the path. "He treated Cynthia like absolute shit, that's why, the damned bastard." The words were spat viciously, and Beverly's breath caught in her throat at his obvious anger.

Whatever the drama was here, it was bad. Like, bad-bad. But Mr. Knott had seemed so generous earlier . . . surely this whole mess was just some kind of misunderstanding. She'd have to play it cautiously, but she would get to the bottom of it eventually.

Griffin's weary sigh tore her from her thoughts. "I'm sorry, Beverly," he apologized, "I didn't mean to curse. I'm not his biggest fan."

Beverly hoped her easy smile hid the many possibilities concerning the situation that were running through her head. "That's alright, Griffin—I'm a college student, remember? I can handle a bit of cursing. I'm sorry about whatever happened. We apologize a lot, don't we? Oh well. Just know that I won't bring up Mr. Knott around Cynthia."

He blew out a relieved puff of air. "That would be good. Can we not talk about this serious stuff? It makes me . . . uncomfortable."

The word 'angry' seemed more appropriate for the way his eyes were sparking, but Beverly didn't press him, instead nodding eagerly. "For sure. What's your third favorite food? It can't be a dessert."

And then he was laughing again, and she pushed the mystery that was the young man, his godmother, and Francis Knott aside, choosing to enjoy the fresh air and good company.

Her curiosity ran rampant in the back of her mind, however, and she knew she wouldn't leave it alone for too long.