They were in his apartment later that night, after purchasing some groceries for dinner, and Griffin had sent her to the couch with the words, "Get some rest, Beverly; I know studying has taken a lot out of you."

She would've put up a fight had she not realized how right he was—she was exhausted. Besides, the view of Griffin cooking, with his precise movements and long hair held back in a short ponytail, was quite delicious.

So far, they were shrouded in a comfortable silence, but Beverly intended to break it. "Can I ask you something?" Her feet bobbed to an imaginary beat, her head angled to the side on the back of the couch as she watched him bustle about the kitchen.

Griffin looked up from his stirring to give her a kind smile. "Of course."

"How come you live in this area? I'm not trying to be rude," she added in a rush, "but I figured that you live here on purpose, and I'm curious as to why."

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'll answer, but only if you tell my why you think I live here on purpose."

There was no trace of irritation in his expression, only mild curiosity and perhaps a bit of awe in knowing that she had come to that conclusion. Beverly raised one hand and wiggled her fingers teasingly. "Magic," she joked, her smile widening when he laughed. "If I'm being serious, though: Cynthia has plenty of space in her home, and I have no doubt that she's offered it up to you—she's just that kind of person; plus, you said you don't like her or me coming down here without you, which implies that you know the neighborhood is dangerous, but are comfortable in it. It's interesting, I suppose."

Nodding slowly, Griffin turned the stove burner down, stirring the pot of soup once more before abandoning it and striding to where Beverly sat. Plucking her up easily, he shifted until he was leaned against the cushions with her resting on his lap. "I think you're probably one of the smartest people I know." Reaching up with both hands, he splayed his fingers over her cheeks, his thumbs brushing over her skin soothingly.

"You're right, of course. Cynthia did tell me I could live with her—she still reminds on a regular basis, actually. But I moved here when I was twenty, because I felt like it was where I belonged." He moved his hands back and up, until his fingers were tangled in her hair. "Remember when I told you that I was turning into something ugly?"

She nodded, bringing her own fingers up to trace over his shoulders, and he blew out a relaxed sigh at the sensation. "Like your dad."

"Right," Griffin nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "To be specific, I was in and out of jail and constantly getting into trouble. The crowd I hung out with was obsessed with drugs, alcohol, and sex; I never got quite as involved, but I was on my way there. I still lived with Cynthia, but she was at the end of her rope with me—she didn't know how to stop me from throwing my life down the drain.

"I came home once at one in the morning, high as a kite, and when I went inside, I found Cynthia sobbing in front of the fireplace with a picture of my mom in her hands. She didn't know I was there, and I overheard her say, 'I'm sorry—I'm failing you, and I don't know how to fix it.'

"That, more than all the times she'd scolded me and I'd been thrown in a jail cell, gave me an idea of just how much I was hurting them—her and my mom. I woke up the next morning and decided I'd had enough of that lifestyle, which is when I started working for Cynthia and decided to earn my associate's.

"I moved out, too, but it wasn't easy. Everywhere I looked seemed foreign to me, after spending so many years in this area, surrounded by temptations. I almost felt like I dirtied everywhere else I went, so I chose to stay down here, where I know the land and don't stick out like a sore thumb. Some of my old friends live or hang out around here still, but, uh," he sighed, "they're usually too high to recognize me and hassle me."

Leaning forward, Beverly snuck her arms around his neck in a tight hug, and his own hands landed on her hips. "You should be proud of yourself," she mumbled into his neck, pressing a kiss there. "Getting away from a lifestyle like that, and staying away from it? That's not easy."

Griffin shifted his head, so his cheek was settled against her hair. "Yeah?"

She smiled. "Yeah. And you know what? I don't think that's the only place you belong. You determine where you belong—no one else does. And, if I may quote Taylor Swift, 'you belong with me.'"

His chest shook with his chuckle, and Beverly pulled back to grin widely at him. Griffin's gaze melted into an emotion Beverly was sure could be seen in her own expression as well. "I won't argue with that. I've been thinking about moving, too."

"Oh?" she reached behind his neck and played with the end of his ponytail.

"Yeah," he leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss against her mouth. "I don't like the thought of having you over in this kind of area, and it'd be nice not to worry so much. It would mean you could come over more, and whenever you wanted, whether I'm there or not."

"Ah, so for purely selfish reasons, then." She shot him a wink.

"Sure. Totally selfish."

Giggling, Beverly settled her head back in his neck, breathing in the subtle smell of his aftershave and closing her eyes in bliss. "Beverly." Griffin's voice broke the quiet, his tone amused, and she groaned pitifully.

"Wha'?"

"I need to finish cooking."