Beverly rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's text later that night—leave it to Griffin to want a chaperone for his own godmother of all people.

She sent the text and then set her phone down in her lap, returning her attention to her new laptop and its stunningly beautiful, HD, seventeen-point-five-inch screen. Really, it was gorgeous. Peering just over its top, she smiled when her eyes landed on what she could see of Cynthia's kitchen from her spot on the loveseat in the farthest corner of the living room.

Only half the kitchen was visible, but it was plenty enough to keep an eye on Francis and Cynthia without being obvious. The two didn't actually need a chaperone, of course, but when Griffin's godmother had informed them over breakfast that Francis was coming over later that night for dinner and drinks, Beverly's boyfriend had been a bit . . . tense.

"You'll be here tonight, right?" he had asked Beverly quietly, a mixture of concern and frustration simmering as he watched Cynthia bustle about the kitchen, humming a rock song under her breath.

Beverly had nodded, since she had no classes that day and had only planned to buy a new computer before returning to Cynthia's. Griffin had then informed her that he wanted her to keep an eye on the older couple and "make sure Francis doesn't act like a total asshole, please." Instead of telling Griffin that Francis was more likely to throw himself into a pit of lava before hurting Cynthia again, Beverly had nodded placatingly.

If Griffin were there, though, she'd be sending him exasperated looks. The text she'd just received was his fifth of the night, and she was beginning to realize what others must feel like when they were in charge of keeping an eye on her and reporting back to Griffin.

Ah, well, at least we don't have to question whether or not he cares about us.

Looking at what she could see of Cynthia and Francis, Beverly had the feeling that things between the older couple would work out just fine. They'd been very friendly over dinner, throwing each other gentle smiles and cheeky winks along with quick banter and bright laughter; at the moment, they were working on cleaning the dishes, and their elbows and shoulders were brushing together in a sort of flirty, teasing manner.

Beverly figured it would only be about another thirty minutes or so before the two gave in and kissed, something she knew they hadn't done since that day in Francis's office a week ago.

Her phone buzzed, and she tore her eyes from the sweet couple in the kitchen back down to the device.

Peeking back up at the couple, Beverly's grin only widened when she saw the two mere inches apart, Francis's hand coming up to gently brush away some of Cynthia's hair as he murmured something that had the woman giggling softly.

Recognizing it was a tender moment that had nothing to do with her, Beverly returned her stare resolutely to her phone.

Beverly chuckled. Oh, he wished it was that easy.

She sent the message and then furrowed her brows when she checked the time. She hadn't realized it was getting so late; the shop was surely closed by now, so where was Griffin?

Yes, actually, she could

He may have texted the words to sound stern, but Beverly knew he was grinning at his phone just like she was at hers. As if he heard her, he sent another text: Good thing I love you anyway.

She added the kissy-face emoji before hitting Send, shaking her head at how much joy she got from just texting the man; really, it was sad how much of a teenager she'd become.

"Having fun over there, Beverly?"

Beverly squeaked, jolting upright and barely stopping her precious new laptop from catapulting off her lap at the sudden movement. "Francis," she scolded once she'd looked up and found the man watching her with a crooked smile, Cynthia standing right beside him with a matching expression. "That was so mean."

Francis chuckled, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. "I apologize, Beverly, I didn't realize that you tuned out the rest of the world when you were texting your boyfriend."

Giving him a droll stare, Beverly shifted to face Cynthia. "I don't think I like Francis anymore."

Cynthia threw her head back and laughed brightly, and Beverly wasn't blind to Francis watching the woman, the look in his face one of complete and utter adoration.

Sooooooo cute.

"Really? I don't mind him too much," Cynthia declared once she had calmed, mirroring Francis's expression.

"Wow," Beverly muttered before she could stop herself, watching as they unconsciously leaned closer, "I ship it so hard."

Oh, great job, Beverly—nice work using that filter of yours. Stellar performance.

Unaware of Beverly's inner scolding, the two adults resembled teens caught by a parent with how quickly they pulled away from one another, and Francis cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Right. I just came to say goodbye, Beverly. I'm headed out. Have fun at school tomorrow."

Groaning at both her slip-up and the reminder that she had two different classes to prepare for, Beverly just nodded tiredly. "Sure. Thanks, Francis. Come to my funeral when I die of homework overload, will you?"

He chuckled gamely. "For you, Beverly? Maybe." And then he was ducking out before Beverly could try to throw something at him, and she let him leave, watching with a smirk as Cynthia walked him to the door.

She could hear their hushed voices but not their words as they spoke, but it only lasted a minute or two before Cynthia strode back into the living room, this time without Francis. "I wasn't the only one having fun," Beverly pestered, grinning widely when Cynthia looked away from her.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Miss Bev. Now, I'm off to get some beauty rest—not that I need it, of course—so tell Griffin I said 'hello' and 'goodnight' for me."

"Will do, Cynthia." It really was getting late. Beverly almost felt bad for not noticing earlier that Griffin wasn't back from work yet, but she knew she often fell "into the zone" (Alicia's words) when she was completing homework.

The older woman blew Beverly an exaggerated kiss before dancing out of the room, and Beverly smiled, her heart filled with warmth at the knowledge that Cynthia was finally, truly happy.

Now, to worry about her boyfriend . . .

She pulled out her phone to find another text from him, this one reading, It had just been received, so—knowing it would take at least another twenty minutes or so for him to drive home—Beverly fell back into her new computer's wonderful screen.

It only felt like a minute passed when she heard a key scraping into the lock on the front door, and Beverly quickly finished typing before saving her project and shutting down her computer. She set it on the coffee table and settled back into her seat just as Griffin walked into the room, his smile tired but genuine.

"Hey," his voice was low. "You alright?"

She shot him a thumbs-up. "Are you?"

One side of his lips quirked upwards. "Always better once I get to see my favorite troublemaker. How was chaperoning?"

"I am not a troublemaker," she protested instantly, her eyes narrowing. "And I don't think you godmother needs a chaperone, Griff."

He huffed. "Anyone with Francis should . . ." he trailed off when he caught Beverly's unimpressed features. "Sorry." He stepped closer until he was hovering over the loveseat, reaching his hands down and pulling her so he could lead her to the couch. Once there, he helped her lie down, his expression soft.

"S'fine, Griffin." Beverly waved off his apology. She knew it was hard for him to rationalize the Francis he knew as having broken Cynthia's heart with the changed, caring man that promised to never make such a mistake again. If anything, Beverly was proud that Griffin was truly trying to be cordial. She came out of her thoughts with a happy hum as she relaxed into the sofa's cushions, her spine practically cheering at being stretched out after being hunched over for so long.

He smiled at the contentment on her features, before his eyes drifted over to the table holding her laptop. "New computer?" he asked, nodding towards the device.

Beverly grinned wickedly at the reminder of her daytime adventure. "Yep. I wasn't originally going to get it, but the salesman was very convincing."

Griffin's eyes snapped back to hers and narrowed. "What does that mean? He threaten you or something?"

Inwardly, Beverly rolled her eyes. Leave it to Griffin to automatically assume that a salesperson was threatening her instead of just offering her a discount or something. "Not quite," she chuckled. "He just knew his stuff, you know? I ended up talking to him for a while, and—don't tell anyone this—but he's actually a hacker on the side."

Both of her boyfriend's brows rose in mild surprise, before a look of understanding flashed across his face. "Ah," he shook his head. "You met Kenneth. I forgot he works at Best Buy."

Beverly tilted her head against the cushions and hummed. "Something tells me he doesn't really need to, but I like him; he's a real chatterbox."

Griffin snorted. "Trust me, I know." His expression shifted into one of worry. "He didn't . . . he didn't scare you or anything, right? You still . . ." he didn't finish, but Beverly suspected he was going to ask if she still loved him. It was silly, of course, to think that she could ever not love him, at this point, but she knew his fear wasn't unfounded. He'd worried constantly over what would happen when she finally met the people tied to his past and their less than legal way of life.

Smiling reassuringly, Beverly raised one hand in invitation, her eyes softening when Griffin took it in his own with care. "He's a character, but no, Griffin, meeting Kenneth doesn't change anything. I'll meet your other friends too, if you want, or I won't; it's up to you."

His eyes traced the wall behind her thoughtfully. "I'm only close with Kenneth nowadays," he confessed after a pause. "If that changes, I'll introduce you, but . . . I like things the way they are now." Their eyes clashed when he shifted to look at her, and Beverly suspected that the adoration in his expression was mirrored in her own.

"Me too," she murmured quietly, passing him another love-struck grin before changing the subject to satisfy her still-boiling curiosity. "Now, the real question: Where were you?" she asked, squealing when Griffin suddenly kicked off his boots and fell on top of her. He was careful to keep his weight from crushing her, though, and her smile grew gentle as she gazed into his hazel orbs.

He planted a swift kiss on her cheek, nuzzling his chilled nose against her ear. "I had to get something done."

She pulled back slightly, her brows furrowed in confusion. "'Something done'?" she echoed. "What does that even mean? Like . . . you got your hair done, or something?" she let her eyes drift over his locks, which were still—thankfully—hanging long and loose around his shoulders; Beverly would be tempted to cry if he ever got rid of his hair.

He chuckled huskily and shook his head. "Oh. Nails?" she tried again, and Griffin released a full laugh, shifting backwards and pulling her up so they were facing each other on the couch, their legs tangled together.

"Not quite. Try something else."

Beverly huffed, pulling up a hand and tapping a finger against her chin thoughtfully as she let her gaze drift over him. He was wearing a red flannel, a pair of jeans, and his favorite pair of black socks. With his hair down and heavy stubble, he looked like a man who'd spent the weekend hiking through the wilderness and befriending bears, before coming back and signing a modeling contract for I'm Rugged Yet Still Stupidly Attractive so You're Welcome magazine.

Or, in Beverly's opinion, he looked delicious. But she'd never tell him that—she'd probably burst into flames due to embarrassment, and that was more his style than hers.

She narrowed her eyes as she continued to scrutinize him. Everything seemed normal, but there was a light bulge underneath his shirt, directly where his heart should be. "Holy crap," she hissed, leaning closer until her nose was inches from his chest, "did you get into a fight? Are you dying?"

There was silence, and when she looked up at Griffin she found him watching her with obvious amusement. "No, Beverly," he grinned widely. "I did not get into a fight, nor am I dying. I got a tattoo."

Blinking dumbly, it took several long beats for her mind to catch up with his words. "A . . . tattoo?" At his confirming nod, she continued, "Over your heart?"

Griffin nodded once more, his lips pulled into a gentle, adoring smile as he watched her. "I originally hadn't planned on getting anymore, but I made an exception. It'll be my last one, though, I think."

Beverly bobbed her head slowly. "Okay. Can I see it?" She didn't mind him getting another tattoo (in fact, her stupid heart was beating twice as hard at the prospect of her not-so-bad boy looking even more intimidating), but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't dying to know what the ink depicted.

Griffin tugged off his flannel and, as usual, Beverly struggled not to get distracted by his physique. I am not a shallow bitch, she remined herself fervently. I will not openly drool at my boyfriend, even though he is insanely attractive and stupidly sweet.

Carefully avoiding his abdomen and looking resolutely at the bandage taped over his chest, Beverly inched closer, her fingers trailing over the tape holding the bandage before she looked up at him for permission. "May I?"

Eyes sparkling, Griffin brought one hand up to trace his fingers over the side of her face. "Yes." His voice was a croak, and part of Beverly was glad to be reminded that she wasn't the only one affected by their close proximity.

Being careful not to tug at his skin painfully, she peeled off the tape, leaving the bottom strip intact so the bandage hung against him. "Oh," she breathed, bringing her fingers up so they danced just outside the inflamed skin, her eyes soaking in the dark ink.

It was several blooms of the same flower, all stemming from one branch, but she didn't recognize the plant. The multiple blooms spread across the left of his chest, over his heart, while the branch twisted sideways and stretched down the middle of his chest. Like the tattoos making up his sleeve, there was no color in the plant; she noticed that the branch wasn't quite filled in, however. It almost looked like . . .

"Are those words?" she blurted, trying to bring herself closer.

Griffin's breathy chuckled brushed against the top of her head. "Yeah. Can you read them?"

Humming thoughtfully, Beverly tilted her head sideways ever so slightly. The words were in cursive and intricately done—the artist was obviously skilled. "Let's see," she muttered. "Okay, it says . . . Griffin!"

Her head snapped up, and she stared at the man in front of her with huge eyes. "Why . . . I mean . . . what?"

Tugging at a strand of her hair, Griffin's smile was so gentle and precious that she wanted to box it up and keep it somewhere safe. "Because I want you to be on my heart—you always are, of course, but having some proof never hurts."

Beverly fought to push away a sudden bout of tears; how on earth had she come to deserve such a sweet man? "But you can't get rid of it." She told him stupidly, her brain having long since ceased to function.

"I know," his lips shifted into a teasing smirk. "That's the point." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then replaced the bandage over his tattoo; once he'd done that, he pulled on his flannel and changed their position, until Beverly was snuggled against his side, her head cradled to his chest, opposite his new ink.

Placing a hand just beside the spot where it resided, Beverly mouthed the words etched into the branch, her heart racing at the mere thought of what it meant. My Favorite Thing, it read, and Beverly knew exactly who it was referencing.

"What kind of flower?" she asked, her soft voice sounding loud in the otherwise silent room.

She didn't need to see Griffin's face to know he was smiling. "They're peach blossoms."

Beverly snorted, knowing she shouldn't have been surprised—of course Griffin had gone and gotten a tattoo based on the story she'd told him. She was touched by the gesture, but she wasn't blind to the humor in it. "I should've known," she groaned, tugging playfully at his shirt.

"Yes," he replied gamely, "you should've."

"Right. I am, after all, your—"

"Favorite thing." He finished resolutely. "That's right."

What kind of heart problems result from having such a loving boyfriend? I should check WebMD later.

"And you're mine."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "That's right, Peach."

Yeah, that's right.

Their love, Beverly decided in that moment, was just that simple. In fact, it was just as simple as Griffin's double chocolate mocha—a few outstanding ingredients, a little bit of TLC, and a sprinkle of trust—and provided just as much comfort.

Beverly smirked into Griffin's neck; she'd have to tell him about the comparison later. It was only appropriate, after all, since this relationship had started in a coffeeshop, over the rim of a mug holding said drink.

And to think, she mused, breathing in his scent and letting her eyes droop shut, I went in for a coffee and ended up with a Griffin—all in all, not a bad deal.

"Love you, Beverly," the man above her murmured huskily, and she sighed happily.

Nope, not a bad deal at all.