I Like You a Latte {Completed}

22 | Introducing the Friend

They were in the forest by the lake several days later, and Beverly wobbled her way over a half-rotten log while Griffin chuckled from his spot leaning against a tree nearby.

"Getting ready for the Olympics?" he joked, his smile small but full of amusement.

Feeling especially playful, Beverly did an exaggerated spin before nearly toppling off the log; once her feet were on solid ground, she threw her arms up over her head, like she'd always seen the professional gymnasts do on TV.

"Thank you, thank you!" she cooed to an imaginary audience, blowing kisses at a cluster of ferns.

Griffin released a full-on laugh at her antics, and a now-familiar swelling of adoration grew in Beverly's gut. He had the most beautiful laugh. "C'mere, Peach," he coaxed, holding out a hand in invitation.

Bouncing over, Beverly took his hand, squeaking when he pulled her into his chest, her ear pressed against his racing heartbeat. She smiled at the feel. It was nice to know that she wasn't the only one who got nervous when they were together.

Griffin nuzzled his nose into her hair, his shoulders relaxed, his large frame equivalent to a safety blanket around her. "Good?" he asked softly, his lips pressing against her brow.

She snuggled closer, humming, "Good," and squeezing her arms around his waist.

After a moment, Griffin shifted slightly and questioned, "Will you tell me something?"

Running her fingers over his jacket-clad lower back, Beverly nodded. "I don't see why I wouldn't, unless you're asking for my social security or credit card number, in which case: Nice try, buddy."

He snorted. "No need to worry, Beverly; I don't plan on asking for those things anytime soon."

"Well, in that case, ask away."

Griffin was silent for a moment, the fingers on one hand playing with her hair thoughtfully, before he murmured, "What's your family like?"

Beverly had to stop herself from pulling back and looking up at him, curious to see his expression. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by the question, though. As close as they had gotten, Beverly hadn't mentioned much about her family; she hadn't wanted to make Griffin feel self-conscious about the fact that his parents had passed.

If he was outright asking her, however . . . "They're great," she confessed, lips twisting into a smile. "Mom's outgoing, really funny, and a bit of a mess, but I love her to bits; Dad doesn't talk much and looks really intimidating, but he's a big sweetheart on the inside."

"And the twins?"

"Felicity and Abraham, though we just call him Abe," she chuckled at the thought of the troublemakers. "They're nuts; they're both really smart, very energetic, constantly causing trouble, and always communicating with one another through some weird twin telepathy link.

"Felicity loves theater, and she's extremely artistic too. Abe's a talented baseball player, even though he's only fourteen—he's hoping to be named captain of the junior varsity league this year and wants to join the varsity league when he's sixteen."

"They sound wonderful," Griffin mumbled, his voice tinged with wistfulness.

Beverly couldn't stop a swell of sympathy from rising in her gut, and she was glad he couldn't see her face; she knew he wouldn't appreciate pity. "They are." She agreed. "I know your dad was an asshole, but what was your mom like?" She hoped the question wouldn't upset him.

Thankfully, Griffin wasn't upset; in fact, he chuckled heartily, his fingers staying steady as they stroked over her scalp. "Crazy. Around my dad, she was quiet, submissive, and completely unlike herself," Beverly didn't miss the loathing for the man clear in his words, "but when it was just her, me, or Cynthia . . . she never stopped talking, and her mind jumped from topic to topic like some kind of hyperactive kangaroo. She was always looking for an adventure, and—when she couldn't find one easily—she'd create her own."