Beverly locked herself in her room to escape Cynthia's cackles and horribly inappropriate jokes, and when she heard knocking at the door her first instinct was to groan and burrow herself into her bed.

But she refrained, both because she didn't want to wrinkle the nice dress she'd dug out from her wardrobe, and there was the slightest chance that Griffin was the one at the door. He had texted her earlier and said he would pick her up after he closed up the coffeehouse, before asking that she wear something nice.

Which was why Beverly was in one of the only dresses she owned, wearing a pair of heeled boots, dangling earrings, and light makeup. She was just glad that she hadn't told Alicia about her date; Lord knew what her friend would've tried to make her wear.

Stepping up to her bedroom door, Beverly whispered, "Griffin?"

His deep chuckle sounded through the wood, and Beverly felt her toes curl in her shoes. "Why are we whispering?" his voice was just as soft as hers.

"Because I don't want your godmother to find me and force me to listen to sexual innuendos before giving me the 'babies don't come from storks' talk again."

There was complete silence on the other side of the door, and Beverly grinned evilly. He deserved to share in the embarrassment at least a little, since he had left her with Cynthia all day.

After several beats, he cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "Uh, wow. Would it make you feel better to know that she is fully occupied with a Hell's Kitchen marathon? She's too invested to even notice us leaving."

As if to support Griffin's point, there was a shout from downstairs: "Oh, my God! Does no one know how to cook scallops?!"

Grin still in place, Beverly unlocked the door and whipped it open; her original plan to smother herself against Griffin's chest was quickly forgotten when she took him in.

Her already attractive boyfriend had apparently decided to give her heart failure, if the snug button-up, dark jeans, and fancy leather shoes are any indication. His hair was pulled back as it normally was after he got off from work, but he took the time to ensure it was neat, without a strand out of place.

If that was not enough, he was standing in front of her door like a shy school-boy, with a bouquet of daisies in his hand and a hopeful smile on his lips.

"Damn," he whistled as he gave her a onceover, his eyes soft and adoring. "You're stunning, Beverly."

Beverly practically melted into a puddle. "I must admit," she mused carefully, one brow raised as she continued to inspect him, "that you are way out of my league."

Griffin laughed easily, stepping closer and slipping a hand against her lower back before bending down to kiss the corner of her mouth softly. "I think you meant that the other way around, but thank you anyway. Are you ready to go?" He slid his arm away, holding it out and eyeing her expectantly.

Hooking her hand in the crook of his elbow, she took the outstretched flowers and grinned up at him widely as he led her to the first floor of the house. He took her into the kitchen first, snatching a vase down for the flowers, pouring some water inside, and then setting on the counter and watching as she placed the flowers inside with the utmost care.

"I don't think they'll break, Beverly," he joked, chuckling when she shot him a playful glare.

"Hush, Griffin," she replied, showing one of the sadder-looking flowers special attention as she tried to stand it up. "They are from you, and so I will treasure them as they deserve." It was only after she finished fussing with the blooms that she realized Griffin had gone silent. Twisting to look at him, her whole body grew hot when she saw the look in his eyes; it was a look that screamed Holy shit I love you and you're amazing and Jesus, how did I ever get to deserve you? Or, something along those lines, anyway. Beverly could only suspect, but she herself had looked at Griffin in that way lots of times, though only when he wasn't paying attention.

When he darted forward abruptly, closing the distance between them and grasping the back of her head so he could angle her properly for a breathtaking kiss, she decided that she was right about what that look had meant.

And then she forgot all about the look, because Hot damn, this man can kiss!

As if to provide further evidence for that, one of Griffin's hands tripped down her back, and she shuddered at the feel of his searing touch as his palm settled just above her rear, pushing against her until their chests were pressed together. She moved her own fingers up to hang onto his shoulders, if only so she could keep herself upright. When Griffin nipped at her lower lip suddenly, she jolted at the feel, and took advantage of the movement by moving the hand on her back down to her thigh, hiking her leg up with his searing touch. Beverly moaned at the contact, and Griffin pulled back at the sound, his eyes dark and wild.

"Jesus," he muttered, setting his forehead against her shoulder and panting heavily. "Sorry."

Beverly managed a breathless laugh. "I don't think that's normally the kind of thing you apologize for."

He huffed a chuckle of his own, his breaths dusting across her collarbone and making her shiver. "Good, because I'm not really sorry about it, if I'm being honest." He straightened, and Beverly shot him a wide-eyed, sad look, to which he rolled his eyes fondly.

"C'mere, Beverly," he held up one arm, and she plastered herself against his side, much happier with this position than being away from him.

"Hey!" They both stiffened at Cynthia's voice, which carried loudly from the living room. "Why haven't you two left yet? What are you doing in there?"

Griffin's ears began to turn pink, and Beverly was barely able to get past her own embarrassment to holler back, "Griffin was just telling me how to properly cook scallops!"

Cynthia started laughing. Loudly. There was even a thud of noise, and Beverly wouldn't have been surprised if the woman had fallen off the couch with how hard she was chortling. "As if! Storks, Beverly! Storks!"

Now Beverly was blushing too. Nudging Griffin where her hand was hooked around his waist, Beverly hissed, "We need to get out while we still can." Griffin seemed to agree, if his practically dragging her out of the home was any indication.

It was cold still, of course, and Beverly was glad she'd thought to wear one of her thicker cardigans for the night. Griffin led her to his waiting car, pulling open the passenger side door and helping her inside before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips and closing the door.

Once he was settled in the driver's seat, Beverly swiveled to face him. "Where exactly are you taking me, Coffee-Man?"

He shot her a grin as he started the engine and turned the heat on. "To a fancy restaurant worthy of your beauty, of course." There was something off in his eyes though, a gleam that indicated . . . no, why would he be nervous? But Beverly had gotten good at reading Griffin, and she knew what the shiftiness in his gaze indicated.

"You're anxious," she told him bluntly, cocking up a brow when he tensed. "What is it? Is something wrong?" God, she hoped not—things had been going so much better lately.

"Not exactly," he shifted in his seat uneasily. "Would you be okay if we go by my apartment first? I want to show you something."

Well, that doesn't sound too bad . . .

"Are you going to murder me there?" That won a startled laugh from him, and Beverly smiled at her success.

"No, Beverly," he pulled the car onto the main road, shooting her one last admiring glance before focusing on driving, "I don't plan to do that quite yet."

"Implying that you will later," she joked. His smile was smaller this time, and Beverly grew serious. "Yes, that's fine, Griffin, I don't mind at all. Do you promise it's nothing bad, though?"

He blew out a heavy breath. "I don't think so."

She nodded to herself, turning her eyes to the window so she could watch the dark shadows of scenery as they whizzed by. It was only fifteen minutes later that she came to a startling realization.

"Wait a minute," Beverly sat up straighter, twisting in her seat as she stared at the street sign they had just passed. "I thought you said we were going to your apartment?"

Griffin coughed uncomfortably. "Right. We are."

"Ok-ay," she dragged the word out, pointing dumbly at the streets they were leaving behind. "So, shouldn't we be going in that direction? Or was my concussion worse than the doctors thought?"

"It wasn't worse than they thought—you're fine—and I know we just drove past my old apartment complex."

"'Old'?" she echoed, scrutinizing the side of his face carefully. "Did you move?"

A half-shrug was her answer. "Kind of. I'm still in the process, actually, but I only started this past weekend." Well, that would explain why he hadn't been with her as much as he normally was.

"Dare I ask why you're being so secretive about it?" She wasn't mad, of course, but she was curious, and her tone conveyed as much.

Griffin did a strange sort of shimmy in his seat. "I've been working up the confidence to show it to you; I'm worried you won't like it."

She smiled crookedly. "You don't have to worry about that, Griff. If you live there, I think I'll be happy."

He tried for a grin, but it was more of a grimace than anything else. "Most of me knows that, but there's still a part of me that doubts. Plus, I'm not sure how you'll—" he cut himself off suddenly, his eyes darting to hers for a split second before returning to the road ahead. "Never mind."

That whole mess only served to make Beverly's inquisitiveness worse.

Thankfully, the car slowed at that point, and she stopped her investigation of Griffin's face to analyze their surroundings, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

The apartment complex in front of her was nothing like his old one.

Instead of questionable individuals, idling cars, peeling paint, and outdoor staircases, the building in front of her was on a clean-cut street, the few people walking by were college students or working professionals, no cars seemed prepared to complete a kidnapping, the paint on the walls was impeccable, and—if the police officer doing a sweep of the perimeter was any indication—security and staircases wouldn't be an issue.

Beverly stumbled out of Griffin's car in a stunned gaze, casting another quick glance around and squawking when she saw the street sign. "Wait, this street leads—"

"Directly to one of the buildings near the back of your campus," Griffin confirmed sheepishly as he came to stand next to her. "Yeah, I know. That's why I wanted an apartment here."

Well, that was one of the sweetest things she'd ever heard.

"How did you even manage to get an apartment here?" she asked as he led her up to the front door, holding it open wide and guiding her into the building's warmth with a hand on the small of her back. It wasn't like the apartments were outrageously priced or anything, as they had to be relatively affordable for the college population, but with a school the size of Beverly's, it had to have been hard to find an opening.

Griffin blew out a sigh as he led her to a large door, coming to a stop in front of it and slipping something out of his pocket. It was a key card, she realized when he swiped it through a small pad that was housed on the wall next to the door; a light above the door flashed green, and the sound of the door unlocking followed.

Pushing it open, Griffin led her into a well-lit stairwell. "I wouldn't have gotten it if not for Cynthia," he confessed as they strode up the stairs. "She's friends with the landlord, and he called her up and told her about an opening, since he knew I was interested."

Beverly smiled softly. Cynthia had no doubt been more than eager to help Griffin move out of his old complex; incidents like this reminded Beverly of how much Griffin and Cynthia cared and watched out for one another.

"Good ole Cynthia, eh?" she teased, tugging at his hand.

Griffin grunted. "Her choice in men is questionable, but I do love her."

Instead of acknowledging the dig at Francis, Beverly asked, "So, which level are you on?"

"Fourth," Griffin told her with a grin as they stopped on a platform, a large number 4 stretched across the wall in red paint. There was another keypad, and Griffin swiped his card again, waiting until Beverly was through before following behind her. They stood in a long corridor lined with around twenty doors, and she let Griffin take her hand, leading her to a door in the center that read 4J.

"Numbered differently than your last one," she noted, trailing her hand across the shiny gold characters.

"Easier to remember, though," Griffin replied easily, pulling out his key and unlocking the door.

Beverly stepped inside first, muttering a soft, "Wow," at the sight. Unlike his old apartment, this one wasn't a studio, and from where she stood she could only see the kitchen (the appliances were sleek and up-to-date), a space that would no doubt be a living room once furniture was added, and a hallway that went further back, complete with four closed doors.

"Are you going to bring the furniture from your old apartment?" she asked, stepping into the kitchen and running her hand over the marble counters.

Griffin's heat appeared at her back, his hands settling on her hips as he replied, "Some of it. Cynthia has some old stuff she's going to give me, but I'll keep most of it. Do you like it?"

Beverly hummed, tilting her head to the side and eyeing him carefully. He seemed at ease, but that look was still in his eyes—she was missing something, she knew, but she had no idea what it was. "Do you like it? You're the one who's going to be living here."

Griffin chuckled huskily, pulling back but taking her hand to lead her down the hallway. He opened up the first door to reveal a cramped utility room, the second showed a decently-sized bathroom, and the third housed a bedroom.

Beverly let her eyes drift around the space, noting Griffin's bed and dresser as the only furniture in the room at the moment; like his old apartment, no pictures hung on the walls, and there was no sign of any personal—

Oh. Wow.

Sitting on Griffin's dresser—the only object on the surface—was the other part of the gift she had left outside his apartment. The ChapStick had been more of a joke, but this . . . this had been the true gift.

"Thank you," Griffin's voice was throaty in her ears, and she shifted to find him standing next to her in the doorway, his gaze nostalgic as it absorbed the model sailboat that she'd bought from the antiques shop. "How did you know?"

He was referring to the only thing Beverly had done to the ship after purchasing it; once she'd gotten off the phone with Francis, armed with information, she had gotten an inscription on both sides of the boat.

Two Boat Girls, it read—the very same name that had been bestowed upon the boat belonging to Cynthia and Griffin's mom, according to Francis.

"Francis," Beverly responded, her voice soft as she leaned against Griffin, reaching one hand up to fiddle with the collar of his button-up. "He said he only got to see them race once before he and Cynthia broke up, but he never forgot what their boat was called." He'd also been confused as to why Beverly was asking him such a question, but had thankfully not pestered her for too much information.

Griffin snorted with amusement. "I would think not. Mom and Cynthia were so proud of that boat and its horrible name."

"I think it's brilliant!" Beverly retorted, elbowing him playfully. "It just goes to show that you have no appreciation for puns."

"More like it serves as evidence as to why I know too many and can't stand any of them. Mom always loved puns; she and Cynthia were constantly trading them back and forth." When he spoke of the woman, his expression indicated wistfulness, but Beverly was pleased when she couldn't find any remorse or shame in his features. He would never forget the woman, she knew, but it was nice to see that he could think of his mother without blaming himself for her death.

"When you dropped this off at my apartment," Griffin sucked in a slow breath, and the arm he had slung around Beverly's shoulders tightened minutely, "that's when you ran into Dennis, right? You were alone, and he saw you."

Well, he had to find out sooner or later. Beverly nodded, sending him a sheepish smile and thanking God for small miracles when he didn't look angry. In fact, he looked almost . . . heartbroken?

"I was such an idiot." He grumbled. "If I hadn't been stupid enough to think . . ." he trailed off with a frustrated sigh, pulling up his free hand and running it through his hair. "I'm sorry, Beverly."

"Hey now," Beverly ducked away from his arm, moving to stand in front of him and pulling on his chin until he was looking down at her with haunted eyes. "Remember what we talked about? This was not your fault. Plus, I think it would've happened regardless of whether or not Dennis saw me that day. He was a grade-A creep without any additional nudging, trust me."

She shuddered at the memory of Dennis's crazed eyes and desperation.

"Hello, Darling . . ."

Beverly jerked away from the feeling of a hand against her cheek, her eyes wide and panicked even as they were held captive by Griffin's own sad ones. "Oh, Beverly," he sighed, pulling her into a tight embrace, her head nestled underneath his chin. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to bring back memories."

"S'okay," her voice was muffled by his shirt-clad chest. "Still not your fault."

He didn't respond, and they stayed silent for several long, peaceful moments, comforted by one another's presence. Beverly eyes began to droop shut when Griffin finally pulled back, his lips quirked in the beginnings of a smile as he twirled a strand of her hair around one of his fingers. "I want to show you the last room."

Oh, right, I forgot there was a door left. Confused but eager, Beverly let Griffin step away, keeping her hand in his as he led her to the final door at the end of the hall. Pushing it open, Beverly felt her brows furrow.

It was a bit larger than Griffin's bedroom, but it was entirely empty.

"I don't get it," she began slowly, gazing at him searchingly. "Is it an office or a storage room or something?"

Griffin huffed a chuckle. "It's an empty bedroom," he replied blandly.

"Okay. . .?" That anxious look was back in his features, and she was truly lost. "There's nothing wrong with that; you can turn it into a theater, game room, office—the possibilities are endless!" The last words were said teasingly, but Griffin didn't even smile, and Beverly felt a rock of dread land in her stomach.

"Griffin, seriously, what's wrong? It's just an empty bedroom, right?"

It was apparently not just an empty bedroom, if the paleness of Griffin's features was any indication. He took a step away from her, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's an empty bedroom right now," his eyes darted from hers, and he took a sudden interest in the floor, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath.

"What?" Beverly dared to take a step closer, her head angled to the side as she eyed him cautiously. "I couldn't hear you."