Beverly was awoken the next morning by the feeling of the bed shifting next to her. She blinked blearily, squinting against the sliver of sunlight that peeked through as she turned her head slightly. Griffin was still crowded against her back; his breaths were slow in sleep even as he muttered something under his breath and moved the hand he had settled on her hip up to splay across her stomach.

He mumbled some more, and Beverly cracked a sleepy grin at the noises. Of course Griffin of all people would talk in his sleep—how more adorable could he get?

Easing her way out of his hold and stepping onto the cool wood floor of his bedroom, Beverly chuckled lightly when Griffin flopped onto his back with a heavy sigh, face slack in the most peaceful expression she'd seen on him since her accident. Bending forward, she dropped a kiss on his forehead and brushed a strand of hair from his face, stroking a single finger across his brow before stepping away.

She didn't want to wake him, after all, not after learning how exhausted he truly was. Casting one final glance over her shoulder to ensure he was still asleep, Beverly ducked out of his room, tiptoeing across the hall and into her own temporary bedroom. After she'd changed her clothes and brushed her teeth, she turned to leave but stopped in her tracks.

Sitting on the bedside table, where it had resided since she'd finally pulled it from her backpack, was Francis's letter to the woman. Beverly had told herself not to give it to Cynthia until the older woman actually asked for it, but knowing the two had spoken the previous night . . . well, she would at least ask.

Snatching up the letter, Beverly continued from the room, gliding down the stairs and poking her head into the expansive kitchen. Cynthia was bent in front of the oven, one hand inside as she checked on some delicious smelling muffins.

"Good morning," Beverly broached cautiously, climbing onto one of the barstools but keeping her hands in her lap to hide the letter.

Cynthia shot the younger girl a smile over her shoulder as she pulled the muffin pan from the oven and set it down on the stovetop. "Good morning, Miss Bev." She sobered slightly, her eyes darting to the staircase. "Is everything alright, now?"

Beverly grinned. "No worries there, Cynthia; Griffin and I have cleared everything up, I think." And confessed our undying love for one another, but she doesn't voice that part. Cynthia seemed to be in a good mood, so Beverly continued: "What about you and Francis?"

"Ah," Cynthia nodded once, but her eyes didn't dim in anger as they once had at the mention of the man, so Beverly took it as a good sign. "Getting there. I realize this thought makes me a terrible person, but I feel a lot better now that Griffin punched him."

Beverly decided then and there that Griffin must've gotten his ability to hold a grudge from Cynthia. Really, the godmother and godson were both so kind, but both seemed to possess a protective and vengeful side; Beverly would have been scared of being on the wrong side of that passion (anger? She wasn't sure what to call it), if not for the fact that she was finally comfortable in her relationship with Griffin.

"I was wondering though . . ." Cynthia trailed off and Beverly perked up. "I was wondering if I could see the letter now."

Nodding so fervently she was almost surprised her head didn't roll off, Beverly whipped the letter up and held it out to Cynthia, hoping the eagerness on her face wasn't too obvious.

I want them to have a happy ending so badly . . .

Cynthia blinked in shock at the envelope that had suddenly appeared in front of her nose before she threw her head back and laughed brightly (inwardly, Beverly was relieved—at least she wasn't in trouble like she was last time). "Eager, are we?" Cynthia hummed, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly. Beverly nodded sheepishly as Cynthia took the letter and held it up to light, as though she was inspecting it for some kind of tampering.

There was a long stretch of silence, before Cynthia drawled, "Tell you what: I'll read this if you take your medicine."

Beverly scowled instantly, working to keep a pout from her features. Her medicine helped the ache in her side, but she absolutely despised the action of swallowing pills. "Fine," she huffed. "Where are they?"

Holding the letter in one hand, Cynthia opened one of the cabinets next to the refrigerator and pulled out two familiar prescription bottles. She handed them to Beverly and then gestured to the muffins. "They're double chocolate chip, so I think you'll like them," she winked. "Milk's in the fridge, as you well know; I'm going to my office to read this, okay?"

Nodding solemnly, Beverly snatched the older woman's hand as she started to walk out; when their gazes clashed, Beverly told her, "I'll support you, you know, regardless of what you want to do; Griffin will too, I'm sure."

Cynthia cracked a small smile. "Thanks, Miss Bev. I'm not so sure about Griffin, but something tells me that you'll be able to handle him." She wiggled her eyebrows and then darted out of sight, leaving Beverly mildly embarrassed and alone with a large tray of muffins.

Grumbling under her breath, she hopped off the stool, pouring herself a glass of milk and snatching a muffin before returning to her seat. The muffin certainly did look and smell delicious, but Beverly was less than pleased with the medicine resting innocently to her left.

My side isn't even really hurting that much, she mused. I could probably not take any right now, and instead take them with lunch, or maybe just right before bed. I shouldn't be needing them as much anyway, right? And I managed to put it off for a while yesterday, so what harm could—

"You and I both know that I'll make you take your pills whether you want to or not, so you should go ahead and get it over with instead of trying to postpone the inevitable."

Beverly startled violently, twisting around slowly and granting Griffin a guilty smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He chuckled, the sound gravelly with sleep as he stepped closer, resting one hand on her hip and letting the other cup her cheek as he inspected her face. "Did you sleep alright?" His hazel eyes were colored with concern, and she smiled gently.

"Yeah." She'd had one nightmare, but it hadn't been bad, and upon waking up to find Griffin still with her, she'd fallen back asleep easily. "Did you?" she raised one hand to trace underneath his eyes, pleased when the dark bags weren't quite as pronounced as they had been the night before.

"Once I tuned out your snoring," he joked, bending forward to press a kiss against her forehead.

"Oh, ha, ha, such a comedian, Griffin, really." Beverly stuck her tongue out and spun around in her seat, so he was graced with her back. "I was just trying to eat my breakfast in peace, you know. Besides," her gaze lit with humor, "I'm not the one who talks in my sleep."

Griffin, who had stepped around the counter to grab a muffin for himself, stilled over the stove, his head shifting and his eyes narrowing as he stared at her. "What?"

"You talk in your sleep," she repeated, grinning widely. "Very informative, let me tell you." She hadn't been able to tell what he was saying, of course, but he didn't need to know that yet.

Her boyfriend's ears turned red, and his head dropped to the floor embarrassedly. "What did I say?"

Seeing he'd had enough, her smile softened, and she set her elbows on the counter, propping her chin in her hands. "No worries, Griff, it wasn't anything I could make out, though I'm sure it was just you confessing your undying love for me."

He raised his head, and she was surprised to see the sudden serious expression plastered on his features. "I do love you."

Awwwww. Her heart melted just a little. "I know," she returned, matching his expression. "I love you too. A whole latte, remember?"

Griffin huffed a laugh, shaking his head at her antics and snatching up a muffin before sliding into the seat next to her. "Eat your breakfast and stop making puns, please."

Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Beverly obeyed, swallowing down her pills as well after he nudged her not-so-subtly. She had just downed the last of her muffin when he asked, "Have you seen Cynthia?"

Beverly eyed him warily. "She's reading Francis's letter."

There was silence for a beat as Griffin digested that information, but Beverly was pleased when he didn't blow his top; the only indication that he wasn't thrilled was the ticking of a muscle in his jaw.

"I doubt I'll ever like Francis," he said after a moment, his words making Beverly deflate in her seat. She wasn't surprised, of course, but that didn't mean she hadn't hoped for a different answer. "But," she eyed Griffin curiously as he continued, "I promise I won't punch him again, at least."

Beverly managed a grin. "Better than nothing, I suppose." Reaching over, she snatched his hand in her own and entwined their fingers. "Will you be okay with it? If Cynthia gives him another chance, I mean."

Griffin stared at their clasped hands thoughtfully, running his thumb over her knuckles gently as he blew out a heavy sigh. "It'll be hard." Leaning back in his seat, he brought their hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her skin, his eyes somber as he caught hers. "Now that I'm not quite as pissed, I can admit that I was in the wrong last night. I just . . . I've bottled all this frustration up since your . . ." he swallowed thickly, "accident." He said the word as though it was some kind of poison.

"I never forgave Francis for how he treated Cynthia, either, and God knows that festered for a long time." His eyes dropped, ashamed. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that, Beverly. I shouldn't have gotten so angry, wandered off, or fallen apart on you when I got back. Next time I'll—"

"Hey, now," she cut him off, her eyes narrowed. "So you got angry; although I don't support punching people, I do understand. I also understand why you had to leave before you lost yourself entirely. But you didn't 'fall apart,' Griffin, and you never need to apologize for being a normal human with normal emotions. We love each other, right?" at his shy, confirming nod, she kept going: "When you love someone, you accept them how they are and help them work to be better; if we're honest with each other—even if that means showing some weakness—we can only grow stronger."

When she had finished her spiel, she shot him a stern look, communicating through her gaze that he had better listen to her. Griffin chuckled lightly, but she didn't miss the gratefulness in his expression. "Alright," he agreed after a moment, bending closer and dusting his lips over her cheek. "Sometimes I forget how smart you are."

She huffed. "Well, I'll just have to keep reminding you then."

His smile turned into something soft and full of some indescribable emotion that was so deep and meaningful Beverly could feel it tugging at her heartstrings. "I guess you will."

She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, settled in their seat with their hands intertwined and their thoughts drifting, but Beverly didn't snap out of her daze until Griffin squeezed her hand softly and murmured. "I'm supposed to open the shop today. Will you be able to stay out of trouble while I'm gone?" he was only half-joking, and Beverly felt a now-familiar swelling of guilt in her gut.

"I'll keep my phone on me and call if I need anything, scout's honor." She held up what she recalled from her single year of Girl Scouts in middle school, and Griffin shook his head with amusement as he slid off the stool gracefully.

"Alright, scout. I'll see you later, alright? Feel free to stop by, but please, I beg of you, be safe." He stepped into her space and bent down, his mouth stilling a hairsbreadth from her own as he teased her.

Beverly rolled her eyes fondly, accepting his departing kiss eagerly. "Yes, captain. I promise I will be safe and try not to do anything too idiotic. If I come by, will I get my mocha for free?"

He laughed as he stepped away and grabbed another muffin for the road. "You can try. Bye, Beverly—love you." and then the front door was shut behind him, but a wide, cheesy grin was still on Beverly's face. There was something especially wonderful about a simple "I love you," that could be tossed over one's shoulder as easily as a "See you later." Perhaps it was because it indicated that whoever said it was so in love they didn't even need to think about it before passing on the words; either way, Beverly would never get tired of it.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Beverly let her eyes drift over the interior of Cynthia's extravagant home.

Now, what could she do to keep herself busy without getting into trouble?

Prepare for school, was the first thing that popped into Beverly's mind, and she groaned out loud at the idea. As awful as doing so would be, she did need to prepare for the upcoming semester, as it would start in less than a week and she still needed to purchase her textbooks.

Fine. Prepare for school, it is.

***

"That absolute imbecile!"

Beverly startled violently, nearly toppling off her bed and taking her opened laptop and various papers with her. The shout had come from Cynthia, and Beverly was not blind to the anger in the woman's voice; watching the open doorway warily, her eyes widened when Cynthia appeared a moment later, one hand resting against the wall while the other clutched a piece of paper tightly.

Not just any piece of paper, Beverly realized, noting the neat scrawl on the parchment. Francis's letter.

Obviously the letter was the cause of Cynthia's current emotional state, but Beverly wasn't sure if she was supposed to get involved or not. Standing carefully from her bed, her brows rose curiously. "Is everything . . . okay?"

Cynthia snorted derisively, waving the letter around as though the action would explain everything. "Francis is an idiot!" she spat after a moment. "Honestly! Have you taken your medicine?"

The last question was infused with just as much frustration as the first statements, but the words implied caring, and Beverly blinked dumbly at the sudden turn in subject. "Yes, Griffin made sure I took it before he—"

"Good." And then Cynthia spun away, calling over her shoulder, "Let's go!"

Scrambling from the bed and barely remembering to snatch up her sneakers on the way out, Beverly raced after the older woman, concerned about what Cynthia was aiming to do. By the time Beverly had slipped her shoes on and emerged outside, Cynthia was already in her SUV, drumming her fingernails against the steering wheel impatiently.

"Cynthia," Beverly began once she was safely inside the vehicle, gaze cautious as Cynthia jerked the car onto the main road that led into the city, "may I ask what's going on?"

"Francis is the dumbest man I've ever known, that's what's going on," Cynthia replied snippily, her eyes narrowed as she viewed the road. "Be glad you're dating Griffin, Beverly—he's got a better head on his shoulders than Francis could ever hope to possess."

Unsure of how to respond without insulting someone, Beverly could only nod slowly. "Okay. So . . . are we going to see Francis, then?"

"You're damn right we are!"

Shifting in her seat uneasily, Beverly dared to ask one final question. "Are you sure I should be going with you?" This situation was delicate enough as it was, and Beverly didn't think she had any reason to be present during whatever was going to happen.

Cynthia leveled the younger woman with a stern look. "Someone needs to keep me from throttling him."

Beverly wasn't confident in her abilities to keep Cynthia from doing exactly that, but she muttered a soft, "Alright, then," nonetheless. They settled into silence, and Beverly slipped her phone out of her pocket discreetly, checking to make sure Cynthia was focused on the road before firing off a text to Griffin:

Cynthia wants to see Francis; we're on our way to Silvertone now . . . she seems pretty pissed – should I be worried?

He didn't reply at first, but Beverly knew he was probably busy since he was the only one working at the coffeehouse that day. No sooner had Cynthia directed the SUV down the street leading to Silvertone did Beverly's phone buzz in her hand. She glanced down at it and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her oh-so-helpful boyfriend's response.

Don't get caught in the crossfire—Cynthia can be brutal, so no one's safe, not even you.

Wow, thanks, Chief.

Anytime. She knew he was messing with her, especially when he sent another text. I'm being serious, though: don't get caught in their drama, alright? It didn't end well last time, and I'd rather not repeat that.

Beverly didn't want a repeat either, so she sent a quick, Understood. I'll be by to get my mocha in a bit, so keep it hot for me! just as Cynthia careened into a parking spot, slamming the SUV into park and climbing out before marching to Silvertone's large glass doors with anger simmering in every movement.

Scrambling after the other woman, Beverly tumbled through the doors of Silvertone to find Cynthia standing in front of the receptionist's desk, her gaze zeroed in on a startled Mary.

"—sorry," Mary was saying, her brows furrowed with confusion. "Can I have a name?"

"Cynthia," the woman snapped. "He won't need a last name."

Beverly shuddered to a stop next to Cynthia, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with Mary as the receptionist plucked up her phone and pressed the extension for Francis. The trio waited for several tense seconds before Mary relaxed into her seat, indicating that Francis had picked up.

"There's a woman here," Mary spoke into the phone urgently, no doubt worried about what Cynthia would do if she didn't get her way. "Beverly is with her; the woman's name is Cynthia, and I think—" she stopped talking abruptly, her brows rising with surprise as she passed Cynthia another curious look. "Yes, Mr. Knott." Setting the phone down, Mary turned her attention back to the two other woman and gestured to the elevator. "Go right on up, ladies."

Cynthia was off, but Beverly waited half a second to pass Mary a quick smile and a, "Thanks, Mary!" before following after Griffin's driven godmother.

The older woman's foot tapped against the floor impatiently, and Beverly shuffled uncomfortably next to her. "Cynthia?" she asked carefully, grimacing when the woman shifted burning eyes to her. "Are you sure you should see Francis when you're this . . . angry?"

Cynthia laughed bitterly, throwing her hands in the air as if to say, You had better be kidding me right now! "Now is the best time—he's the one that wanted me to read that stupid letter in the first place, and this is what he should've expected, the numbskull!" The doors slid open and Cynthia strode inside, eyeing Beverly expectantly when the younger woman didn't immediately follow her.