46 | Igniting the Spark

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Beverly woke up when a gust of cold air hit her side; scrunching her nose in distaste, she tried in vain to get away from the sensation, only for a pair of familiar, calloused hands to grasp her arms gently.

"Griff?" she murmured blearily, cracking open her eyes and squinting up at the shadow hovering over her. His face appeared directly in front of hers a moment later, his eyes displaying his relief at seeing her in one piece.

"Yeah, it's me. You alright?"

Nodding, she scrubbed a hand over her face. "Alright."

He blew out a heavy sigh, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her lips. "Thank God. We're going to have to talk about you running off on me; I'm beginning to develop a complex." The words were teasing, but Beverly wasn't blind to the underlying sense of stress and frustration, even in her half-asleep state.

"Sorry. Francis okay?"

"Right here, Beverly," she shifted just enough to see Francis in the dim lighting of the SUV's interior, and she smiled crookedly; he tried to return her look with a smile of his own, but it looked more like a grimace as his eyes darted to Griffin. "Griffin," he greeted.

"Asshole." Griffin returned acidly, and Beverly spun back to her boyfriend with a gasp.

"Griffin!"

His expression showed no remorse. "What? He is." There was a loud sigh from Francis, and Griffin's eyes flashed dangerously as he opened his mouth to say something further to the older man. Before he could, Beverly looped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, forcing his own arms to grasp her waist.

As she'd hoped, his attention was quickly focused back on her. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice conveying his concern. "What is it?"

"I'm tired, cold, and need my medicine," she complained, nuzzling her nose into his jacket-covered chest. "Take me inside and give me hot chocolate?"

"Of course, Beverly." He shifted slightly, winding one arm around her back and the other under her rear before pulling her up so her legs were wrapped around his hips. She probably looked like some kind of sleep-deprived monkey, but she didn't care at the moment.

With a quick grumble at Francis ("Cynthia's inside, asshole; we're not finished here, either."), Griffin spun around and carried her into the house, the hand he had on her back running up and down soothingly as the warmth engulfed them. He carried her to the living room and set her gently on the couch, snagging a blanket from over the armrest and tucking it around her carefully.

"Good?" he asked after he had slipped off her shoes and ensured her toes were covered by the blanket, and she smiled at the familiar question, snuggling into the fuzzy fabric with a nod.

"Good. Hot chocolate?"

Griffin chuckled huskily, placing a kiss against her brow before stepping back. "Yes, Beverly. I'll be right back with it."

She hummed in acknowledgment, burrowing deeper into the plush couch with a happy sigh. "So warm," she mumbled to herself, shifting her half-open eyes to glance out the large bay windows that provided a perfect view of the circular driveway in front of the house.

Standing by Francis's SUV, illuminated by the many outdoor lights, was Cynthia. She was tucked into a thick jacket, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she watched the driver's side of the SUV closely; Beverly couldn't see her face, but she imagined the woman was wearing a look of wariness.

A moment later and Francis climbed out, his expression one of caution and barely-there hopefulness. His lips moved as he no doubt greeted Cynthia, and Beverly was pleased that the other woman didn't seem to tense up or panic.

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