Beverly sat on the other end of Francis's impressive leather couch in his theater room, staring at the huge projector screen with no small amount of excitement. She'd never watched Home Alone on such a big screen before. "This is great," she informed Francis, stretching her legs out on the ottoman in front of her and clutching her cup of hot chocolate tighter. "I mean, wow."

Francis stepped into the room laden with thick blankets; she could just make out the top of his head. "Thank you, Beverly. I'm glad to see you're only hanging around me because of my wealth." The words were serious, but the wink he shot her once he'd dropped the stack of blankets onto the middle of the couch was an indication that he meant no harm.

Joking though he was, Beverly didn't miss the glint of his eyes. It had been there since she'd arrived, and she'd been away from her family long enough to know exactly what it meant.

Francis was lonely. Moreover, he was probably surrounded by people who only regarded him as the wealthy CEO of a million-dollar company; he needed to be reminded that his personality and kindness was far more important.

"I hope you realize," she told him sternly, eyes staring directly into his, "that I could care less about your money. I'd like you as my uncle even if you lived behind Sears in a refrigerator box. Though, if I'm being honest, I would make you take a shower before I hung out with you."

Francis's smile turned vulnerable, and he snatched up the remote to mute the ads playing on the TV before shifting in his seat to face her. "That means more than you know, Beverly." He breathed in slowly, rolling his shoulders back and forth several times. "I originally wasn't going to bring this up, but I believe now that I should. Would you like to know what happened between Cynthia and myself?"

Beverly's heart halted for a beat, then stuttered back to a start, leaving her lightheaded and breathless. Was he serious? Why now? Why here? And—most importantly—what should she say?

I've wanted to know for so long . . .

But would it be a violation of Cynthia's trust?

Cynthia's not talking to me already. What could it hurt? What do I have to lose?

"Yes, please."

***

They were still in the theater room, but Francis had left the overhead lights on, and their feet were spread on the couch, so the tips of their toes almost touched.

"I never knew my parents," Francis started, his eyes trained on the mug in his hand. "They put me up for adoption when I was born; my adoptive parents weren't well off, but they cared for me greatly, and that was all that mattered.

"The only reason I got into computers was because of my best friend, who let me use his whenever I went to his house. I had originally planned to go to college, get a degree in programming, and then work for a fancy tech company so I could support my parents with my salary."

Francis shifted, moving one hand off his mug so he could pick at the blanket in his lap. "My dad got sick, though, so I decided to stay home and take care of him while my mom kept working." His lips tilted in a nostalgic smile. "One day, while I was out picking up Dad's medicine, I ran into a girl a year younger than me in the frozen foods aisle. She told me I looked sad, and said, 'the only real cure for sadness is happiness, but—if you can't be happy—coffee will work in the meantime'."

Beverly's lips lifted in a smile of her own, knowing perfectly well who the girl in the story was. "Cynthia told me that once too." It had been a week or so before the letter incident; Cynthia had told Beverly she'd looked more downtrodden than ever, thanks to finals, and had given the girl her mocha for free.

Francis nodded, and when he met Beverly's eyes she saw the adoration he still had for Cynthia clearly reflected. "I'm sure she did. She's a wise woman, under all that sass and humor."

Snorting, Beverly replied, "I never doubted that." A woman with a wit that quick had to be smart.

"I did, once," Francis admitted, tearing his eyes away in shame. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. Cynthia and I were friends for several years before we started dating; she's the one who encouraged me to get my degree, telling me my dad would've hated himself if he realized he was what was keeping me from school.

"So I got my degree and a fancy job, but I still wasn't happy. When my dad died, his last words to me were, 'The only person you should answer to, Francis, is you.' With that in my head, I started my company, worked my ass off, and managed to make it big.

"I stayed close with Cynthia, of course, and we started dating right after I made my first million." His smile shifted into more of a self-deprecating grimace. "Her dream was to own a coffeehouse, so I bought her one for her birthday."

Beverly smiled gently. "That's sweet."

"Ha!" he scoffed. "That was the start of our problems, I'm afraid. I came from humble beginnings, Beverly, and the money I made went straight to my head. I am ashamed to say that I was egotistical, rude, and a complete asshole to Cynthia. She loved me unconditionally, and I took advantage of that fact on many occasions—I worked every day, all day, and expected her to answer to my every beck and call when I got home late at night.

"It all came to a head when she confronted me about my neglectful behavior towards her. She told me I treated her like shit, and I told her that she wouldn't be anywhere if it wasn't for me."

Ouch. Beverly winced, and Francis saw it. "Exactly," he muttered. "I lorded the things I had given her—the coffeeshop, jewelry, her car, all of it—over her head, telling her that they were all thanks to me, so she could sit down, look pretty, and let me do my job. In response, she threw said jewelry and car keys at my face, sold the coffeeshop, and moved out, telling me she never wanted to see me again.

"She opened another coffeeshop—the one she owns now—on the opposite side of the city and got an apartment in the worst part of town."

No doubt the 'worst part of town' referred to the exact spot where Griffin was currently living. "But I'm guessing you ended up buying her the house she's in now, right? That's what Griffin said."

He nodded in agreement. "I realized how stupid I'd been pretty soon after she left, but I was too much of a prideful shithead to apologize. Instead, I told her I'd leave her alone if she promised to live in the place I bought her. She wasn't happy, of course, but she agreed nonetheless.

"My mom passed away soon after, and I realized then that I still wasn't happy; rather, I was a lonely jerk with too much money and no one to spend it on. Reality checks are hard, Beverly, but they're necessary. I've been working ever since to remain kind and humble; I sincerely regret what I did to Cynthia, but it's too late to apologize now."

"What makes you say that?"

His expression saddened. "Because I've tried. Ever since I realized how awful I'd been, I've been trying—the letter was my last resort, and . . . well, it obviously didn't work out."

Beverly leaned against the back of the couch, her gaze considerate. "Have you tried to talk to her in-person?"

He blew out a frustrated sigh. "Several times. As soon as she sees me, she practically runs in the opposite direction; if I don't run into her, I run into Griffin, and he's threatened to skin my hide more than once. I'm about to give up, Beverly. Nothing's working, and maybe . . . maybe this is for the best."

Straightening, up, Beverly shook her head vehemently. "No way. If Cynthia is acting like that, it means she still cares about you; if she didn't, she'd be able to look you in the eye and tell you she hates you." Francis grimaced at the words. "We just need to come up with a game plan."

"Game plan, eh?" he perked up, flashing her a teasing grin. "Like the game plan you came up with for your own romantic situation?"

She rolled her eyes at the reference to all she'd told him over their pizza dinner the last time they'd seen one another. "Oh, hush. This isn't about Griffin and me."

"No, but it could be. 'Two birds and one stone,' you know? I can get my long overdue happily-ever-after, and you can maybe get an okay ending as well."

Beverly threw a pillow at him.