"Will I see you tomorrow?" Griffin asked her softly as they sat in his car, parked in front of her dorm.

A quick glance at him showed Beverly the vulnerability in his gaze as he stared at the steering wheel. She wasn't stupid; he'd opened up to her that day, what with showing her his tattoos and confessing that he was interested in her. Stretching her arm across the center console, she placed several fingers under his chin and tugged lightly.

Recognizing what she was trying to accomplish, Griffin chuckled lightly as he turned to face her. Once she had captured his eyes with hers, Beverly leaned forward and kissed him gently, then murmured against his lips, "Do you want to see me tomorrow?"

He nodded instantly, the movement so sudden he almost slammed his head into Beverly's. He pulled back after a moment, his skin flushed, and Beverly laughed. "Good," she confessed, "I'm glad—I want to see you, too. Will you make me a mocha?"

Griffin rubbed his neck nervously but agreed nonetheless. "Unless you want something else."

"Please," she fanned herself dramatically. "If I ever ask for something else, you can just go ahead and take me to the hospital; I'd need to have my head checked."

There was silence, but Griffin wasn't mad at her antics. Instead, his face contained a mixture of adoration and amusement. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked after a moment, using one hand to finger her hair.

"Make me a mocha and treat me like a princess," she retorted immediately, her tone dry.

Laughing, Griffin clambered out of the car, racing over to her side and pulling open her own door before tugging her into his arms and embracing her tightly. "Thank you, Beverly," he murmured into her hair, one hand clutching her hip while the other rested against the back of her head.

Getting over her shock at the sudden action, Beverly looped her arms around his waist, her fingers catching against his shirt. "For what?" her voice was muffled against his chest.

He blew out a heavy sigh, his body relaxing against hers. "For being there. For making me smile. For not pushing me."

Feeling her heart melt into a pile of mush, Beverly pressed a kiss against his shirt, taking comfort in the heat of his body that seeped through the cloth. "It's not a problem, you know. But you're welcome."

They soaked in one another's presence for several more minutes before Griffin pulled back, his smile a bit sad. "Can I walk you up? I don't . . ." he swallowed thickly, "I don't want to say goodbye just yet."

You will not squeal, Beverly told herself sternly. You will not turn into a twelve-year-old girl, because you are better than that, and an adult such as yourself would not do such a thing.

"Yeah," she said when she had calmed her inner tween, "I'd love that." Griffin's lips twisted into a breathtaking smile, and he snatched up her hand in the next second, fingers tightly entwined with hers.

"Do you miss your family?" his words were quiet, but she didn't miss the genuine curiosity coloring his voice. "During holidays, I mean."

Beverly pondered the question for a moment, her eyes dancing over the lights buzzing against her dorm's building. "Sometimes," she decided finally. "Days like today . . . not so much, since I was able to spend it with some folks who were just as great." She shot Griffin a cheery wink, grinning when he chuckled.

"When I first moved here, though, I missed them constantly. It's gotten better over time; it helps when I remind myself that I'll see them soon enough, and the sooner I finish with school, the sooner I can do that." Another glance at her companion told Beverly that Griffin was still relaxed—she didn't want to ruin his mood, but surely it wouldn't hurt . . . "Do you miss your parents?"

Griffin hummed thoughtfully, thankfully not appearing upset at the question. "My mom . . ." he cleared his throat uncomfortably, and her hand tightened over his own to remind him that she was there and wouldn't push him. "I miss my mom—she was an amazing woman." His eyes slid to here, and he smiled slightly. "I think you too would've gotten along really well. My dad, though . . ."

He trailed off, his steps slowing as his jaw tightened, his grip on her hand growing almost painful. Blowing out a heavy breath, his shoulders slumped, and he shot Beverly an apologetic look as his grasp on her hand loosened. "Sorry. I don't miss my dad, as bad as that sounds. He wasn't a good person; I'm glad you don't have to meet him."

Although Beverly was curious to know why he didn't miss his dad, she recognized the expression on Griffin's face—he didn't want to say anymore on the matter, and she wouldn't force him. "Thank you for telling me," she said, pulling her hand from his to wrap it around his waist.

Griffin's arm immediately winded around her shoulders, and he graced her with a pleased smile. "Thank you for listening." His eyes shifted from hers once more, and he was tensing up for an entirely different reason when they stepped inside the staircase that led up to her dorm room.

"What is it?" Beverly asked worriedly, blinking frantically as her eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. The stairwell's lights had never worked well, and had been left in a state of constant, eerie flickering for the past two weeks during the night; Beverly had gotten caught walking up the stairs in the complete dark several times and hated every second of it. As bad as the conditions in the stairwell were, her building didn't have a working elevator either, though the maintenance crew had been promising to fix both issues for at least a month.

"Have the lights not been working?" Griffin's words snapped her from her thoughts, and she looked at him curiously. He was staring at the nearest dead bulb as though it had been responsible for committing a heinous crime, and Beverly wondered what was going through his head.

She shrugged after a moment, slipping her phone out of her pocket and turning on its flashlight so she could see the steps. "Not really. They keep saying they're going to fix them, along with the elevator, but I'm beginning to become doubtful." Her words were said lightly, but Griffin wasn't amused.

"Colleges aren't the safest places to begin with, and especially not yours," he grumbled, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against her shoulder. "The least they can do is provide you with decent lighting; some jackass could be hiding in the shadows waiting to jump you at any second—it's not safe."

Beverly blinked. "Holy crap. I didn't even think about that." And truthfully, she hadn't. Even with the drugs and alcohol-dumb frat boys that existed heavily on her campus, she'd never felt threatened; Griffin's words made her wary. What if something had happened to her, solely because she wasn't paying attention? She'd have to be more careful.

Seeming to realize her train of thought, Griffin tilted his head to place his lips over her ear. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "I didn't mean to scare you. I just worry."

Something in Beverly's gut told her that his worry came from past experience (his mom, maybe?), and she knew he wasn't trying to be controlling or freak her out. Giving him an understanding smile, she nodded. "I know. It's okay; I should think about this stuff more often, anyway. It's always good to be prepared, after all. Maybe I ought to buy some pepper spray."

Griffin huffed, pulling away slightly so they could start up the stairs. "You ought to feel safe here. Is there any way to get the work done faster?"

"I'm not sure," Beverly replied honestly, taking comfort in the warmth and security Griffin supplied. He was basically her personal safety blanket. "They haven't shown much initiative—I think they're focusing on the whole 'uh oh, there are drugs everywhere' situation first."

"All the more reason for them to ensure that the students are safe," Griffin snapped, before sucking in a slow breath and adding, "Sorry, again."

It was the first time since the incident with Caleb making Beverly cry that Griffin's voice had been tinged with such an underlayer of fury, and Beverly wasn't sure how to feel. On one hand, she was glad to know he cared about her; on the other, she wasn't used to seeing her normally quiet giant get so upset. It worried her, a bit, to see this other side of him even though it had never been directed at her.

"I've been calling the office," Beverly confessed, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over them as they stepped out onto the floor her dorm room resided on. "I'll go in person sometime soon, though. Maybe they'll take me more seriously if I stare them down."

They stopped in front of her door, and Griffin shifted to pull her into another hug. "I'll go with you, if you want," he said, the fingers of one hand brushing over her hair. Beverly melted into his embrace, her earlier worries getting shoved to the back of her mind as she absorbed the comfort Griffin's hulking body provided.

"Thanks," she muttered, her hands clutching the back of his shoulders. After a few more moments, he pulled back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and giving her a gentle grin.

"Sleep well, Beverly." He pressed a sweet kiss against her lips, then waited until she'd stepped inside her dorm and locked the door before he left.

Beverly stared at the back of the door dumbly, her mind even more of a jumbled mess than before. Pushing aside the thoughts of dingy stairwells and kidnappers, she pondered over Griffin's emotions as she changed into pajamas and crawled into bed.

It was odd, how he could go from caring, shy, and gentle to angry, tense, and broody in the next second. She could never see herself being scared of him, but it made her a bit timid to know he had such a different side to him.

What's to say he wouldn't ever turn that anger onto her? Beverly wasn't sure, but she would need some answers before she got too involved in this relationship.

And I know just who to ask.

***

"Cynthia," Beverly began slowly several days later, her voice cautious, "can I ask you something?"

Cynthia's head popped up from where it had been bent down and half-hidden by a box filled with different coffee grinds. "Absolutely, Miss Bev." Her brow furrowed, "What is it? Nothing bad, right?"

"No, no, nothing bad." She let her eyes drift over the empty store. It was technically closed, but Cynthia had let Beverly in the second she'd seen the college student wandering down the frozen streets after a long, tiresome study group. "Griffin's out running an errand for me," Cynthia had told Beverly when she'd handed the girl a mocha free of charge, "but he shouldn't be too much longer."

Now that Beverly had her coffee, she was hoping to ask Cynthia a couple of questions about the woman's godson while the man himself was otherwise occupied. "Well, then," Cynthia straightened, dusting off her apron and shooting Beverly a kind smile. "Ask away."

"Right." And now Beverly was torn as to whether she should actually be asking: Would she be crossing over unmentioned boundaries? "It's about Griffin . . ."

Cynthia nodded in understanding, padding over to one of the tables and plopping down before gesturing to the seat across from her. "Come on, Miss Bev." Once Beverly was settled, Cynthia propped her elbows on the tabletop and settled her chin on her closed knuckles. "What would you like to know about my godson?"

Beverly shifted slightly. "I really care for him," she admitted softly. "I know he'll tell me about himself eventually, but I'd," she paused for a moment, licking her lips. "I'd like to know some now, if you would tell me; I want to make sure I'm not getting involved in something I don't like."

Griffin seemed sincere, but Beverly's parents had raised her to guard her heart; as much as she liked Griffin, she didn't fancy the idea of having her heart broken.

Thankfully, Cynthia only smiled. It was a bit sad, but Beverly had a feeling that the sorrow wasn't directed at her. Clearing her throat after a moment, Cynthia said, "Sorry. I just wish Griffin's mom could have met you; she'd really like you, I think." The older woman moved her arms so one was resting underneath the table, while the other reached forward and clasped onto Beverly's.

"You're a sensible girl, Beverly. I won't tell you much, but I will say this: Griffin adores you. He would never lead a girl on, much less you; be patient with him, though. He seems uncomfortable around others, and he is, but he also has a bit of a rough edge."

"'Rough edge'?" Beverly repeated curiously, her mind flashing back to the incident with Caleb and the stairwell lights. She was glad Cynthia had brought it up—Beverly wasn't sure if she herself would have been able. "Like when he was asking me about my classmate, and you had to talk him down?"

Cynthia blew out a sigh, pulling her hand from Beverly's to run it through her hair. "Yeah, that was it. He wasn't always the way he is now, but between his dad being a bit of a jerk and losing both parents to a car accident . . . well, he suffered. Griffin's changed a lot in the last few years, but there's still part of him that resorts to violence as the easiest way to fix a problem."

Beverly swallowed, rubbing her hands over her arms as if to fight off a chill. "He wouldn't . . .?" she didn't finish the sentence, but the words hit me rang through the air. Griffin certainly didn't seem like the type to ever do such a thing, and Beverly was almost ashamed to consider the thought, but she couldn't help it.

Cynthia's eyes widened, and the woman's head almost came off with how furiously she shook it. "No, no, no, no! Griffin would never lay a hand on someone he cared about; I'm sorry, I didn't think about how that sounded. Look," the older woman's voice dropped to a solemn whisper, "Griffin cares greatly for you, and he's protective of those he cares about; you'll understand him better when he tells you about his past, and I have no doubt that he will. But please, give him time. Know that he would never willingly hurt you."

Beverly forced her tense shoulders to relax and sent Cynthia a grateful smile. She hadn't learned much about Griffin, but it was enough to put her more at ease. "Thanks, Cynthia," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to pry, but I . . . I just wanted to make sure."

"I understand, Miss Bev," Cynthia's normal, wide smile was back. "You're a smart girl, eh? Just be patient with my godson, please; he can be a bit of a mess."

Beverly managed a laugh. "Sure, Cynthia, I'll try my best."

"Good." Cynthia looked over Beverly's shoulder, then shot the girl a quick wink. "It softens a godmother's heart to see her godson so happy. Keep it up." And then the woman had pushed away from the table and returned to unpacking coffee grounds.

Beverly spun around just as the door opened, her eyes soaking in Griffin as he stepped inside with a large bag from a nearby grocery store.

"Beverly." He stopped, blinking several times before a bright, genuine smile crawled across his features. "I . . . wasn't expecting to see you." Setting down the bag on the counter, he strode to her side, checking to ensure Cynthia was otherwise occupied before bending down and pecking a quick kiss onto Beverly's lips.

A wide smile ticked at her mouth, and she reached up one hand to tug at his shirt playfully. "I wanted to make sure you were staying out of trouble."

Griffin chuckled. "Are you satisfied?"

Releasing an exaggerated sigh, she drew her eyes slowly over his features thoughtfully. Damn, but he is attractive. "Yeah," she nodded, "everything looks good from here."

Her smile shifted into a smirk when Griffin bobbed backwards on his feet, his eyes wide and his face flushed. "I, uh, I don't . . ." he cleared his throat, his eyes narrowing when she started laughing. "Beverly."

"Griffin." She returned cheekily, and he huffed, turning his head to stare at the wall of merchandise. Feeling his mortification, Beverly took pity on him, hopping up from her seat and snatching up his hands in hers. "Sorry." They both knew she wasn't sorry. "Did your errand go okay?"

"You're not sorry." The emotion in his eyes told her he wasn't angry at her; rather, it seemed he was more than pleased to have her with him, than anything. "And yeah, it went fine." His hands tightened over hers before he released them and stepped back, just as Cynthia spoke up.

"I should hope so!" the older woman stepped up to the bag and began pulling out various ingredients; Beverly saw heavy whipping cream, milk, cocoa powder, and other assorted items. "What would happen if we ran out Miss Bev's mocha?"

Beverly faked a startled gasp, slapping a hand over her heart. "I would never speak to you again!"

Laughing, Cynthia separated the products into piles. "I would expect no less. Don't worry, Miss Bev, Griffin is going to make some more now. I'll go and sort through the back pantry; I wouldn't want to accidently learn Griffin's recipe, after all." She shot Beverly a quick wink and gathered up some of the items on the counter before traipsing off into the small back room.

Beverly gave Griffin an easy smile. "Guess that's my cue to leave, unless you think she'd like help?"

Shifting from foot to foot, Griffin rubbed the back of his neck, as though contemplating something. After another beat, he croaked, "You could always help me."

It took several seconds for Beverly to truly comprehend his words. "Help you?" her voice was tinny with shock. "With your secret recipe? I thought it was, well, secret."

Griffin managed a light laugh. "It is, but I should pass it onto someone, just for safekeeping. Plus, I get the feeling you won't go blabbing about it."

Crossing her heart with her finger and keeping her face solemn, Beverly nodded once. "Absolutely. I will take it to my grave."

His gaze softened, and he reached up to tug at her hair gently. "I knew I could trust you." He said it like a joke, but she didn't miss that heaviness behind those words—he trusted her, and she didn't take that lightly. Whatever had happened to Griffin had clearly affected him greatly, and she had no doubt that he didn't hand out his trust easily.

Tilting her head and smiling when his palm cradled her cheek, Beverly told him seriously, "That means a lot to me."

They remained lost in one another's gaze for several more moments before Griffin murmured, "We have to make the mix, eventually."

Beverly snorted a laugh, pulling away and waving her hands between Griffin and the counter. "By all means then, Coffee-man, chop-chop!"

He rolled his eyes at her antics, pulling her by the hand behind the counter and settling her in front of a large mixing bowl. "Here," he said, handing her the box of cocoa powder, "dump the whole thing in."

Beverly obeyed, emptying the contents into the bowl and struggling to suppress a sneeze when the dust flitted into her nostrils. "Now," Griffin continued, dropping an armful of ingredients on the space next to her and passing her a metal whisk, "I'll put the rest in, if you'll mix it?"

"Trying to make sure I don't mess it up?" Beverly teased, chuckling good-naturedly when Griffin averted his gaze guiltily. "That sounds fine, Griffin."