Chapter Nine Cake, Crocs, and a Cat #3
I flick on the light. It’s the same as it’s always been.
The floor is an orange shag carpet. A big antique wood-grain TV consumes most of one wall, set in front of an oval crocheted rug.
Facing it is a tangerine floral couch with a blue granny-square quilt slung over the back—the only pop of cool tones in this sunny room.
There’s a bathroom in the back and a small bedroom off to the side.
It’s probably no bigger than my old college dorm room, but it was always enough whenever I wanted to spend time outside the house with Nana.
This place is where Grandpa taught me how to puppeteer.
“You really don’t have to stay with us,” I say.
“The key says otherwise,” Griffin counters. I smile, dropping it back into his palm.
“They can be a lot.”
“Not a lot at all.”
“Sorry for saying she’s your sister.”
“Seriously, Bev. It’s okay.”
Ava squirms in his arms, reaching down to Pudge, who followed us across the driveway. Steak lurks in the bushes outside, eyes glowing.
Griffin sets down Ava. Pudge lopes over and licks her face, probably trying to get any remaining strawberry icing. Griffin winces.
I pull in my bottom lip. “I didn’t even think to ask: Is Ava allergic to dogs?”
“No.” He sighs. “Her mom was, but she’s not.”
Her mom.
My stomach is gripped in a fist.
“I didn’t…” I sigh. “I didn’t know she’d passed. I’m so sorry.”
“I…” His arms tense by his sides. “Yeah. She died when Ava was one.” He runs a palm over his beard. “She would have loved all this,” he says, gesturing around the apartment. “The big family dinner. She liked this kind of life.”
I want to ask more, but we don’t know each other like that, and I’ve already overstepped.
“Anyway,” he says, kicking out a boot. “Thanks again for dinner.”
“There’s bound to be more, if you’re actually moving in.”
“I might. Not sure.”
I catch Ava toddling toward the window to look at Steak, smiling unlike I’ve seen her so far. No tears from winding roads and ears popping.
The longer we stand there, the more I start to consider. Maybe it’ll be good for Ava. And if Griffin’s closer, we could work on the show more. We could get this prepped for pitching. I could get back to LA sooner.
“Could be good,” I blurt out.
“What?”
“Moving in. And I’m all right with it if you are.”
He narrows his eyes. “You are?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Oh. Well. Good.” But he’s awkward. I wonder if he even wants to move in, and I’m over here pressuring him. Way to go, Beverly.
I smile, but it’s tense. Quiet. Then I finally say, “We don’t know each other well, do we?”
“No,” he agrees. He clears his throat. “That’s my fault, I guess.”
“How?”
“I followed a stranger to her hometown just so I could write music.”
“And now you’re moving into her guesthouse.”
“Maybe moving in.”
I lean back against the wall, scratching a thumb over my nail polish.
“Then let’s not be strangers anymore,” I say. “I can’t have a stranger in my backyard, anyway.”
“Okay, so not strangers.”
“See? Easy.”
“And what are we, then?”
“Friends.”
“And I’m your boyfriend?”
My heart hammers so fast it almost chokes me. “W-what?”
“The town. What you said earlier.”
I cringe. “Oh God,” I look at the wall—anywhere but at him. “Yes. Probably. I’m so sorry.”
“No, I started it back in LA.”
“But I continued it.”
He shrugs. “It’s only for a couple months. Then we’ll…figure it out from there. You never got your apology from Beau, anyway.”
My face heats. “I…that’s not important.”
“It’s important to me.”
I swallow. There’s a very intense divot between his eyebrows. He’s dead serious about that apology.
Nervous energy bubbles up into a laugh. “So, weird question for you…”
“Shoot.”
“Is Griffin your real name?”
“Yes.”
“Griffin Harvey?”
“Yes.”
I faux grimace and pull an exaggerated breath between my teeth. “Well, I can’t trust someone with two first names.”
He thinks for a second, then adds, “My middle name is Patrick.”
“Three first names?” I tease. “Oh, completely untrustworthy. Or maybe two of them cancel each other out, so it’s like you just have one.” I narrow my eyes. “I haven’t figured out which option yet.”
A tiny smile hooks into the corner of his mouth. The same shy one from earlier that he shared with Nana.
“May as well have remained a stranger,” he says.
“Absolutely. I would have trusted you more without knowing.”
“And what’s your full name?” he asks.
“Beverly Alice Lark.”
“That’s pretty,” he says. The compliment slides off his tongue so easily. I feel my cheeks flush, thankful for the low light.
“Alice is my nana’s name,” I say.
“I remember. Yeah, it’s fitting.”
“Fitting? You don’t know me, Mr. Three Names.”
“You two are similar. I can tell.”
I smile. I like to hear that. I’d love to be like my nana.
Behind him, Ava bursts into giggles. Steak has made his way over to the window, nudging his nose against the glass and arching his spine.
“She’s charmed him,” I say. “He doesn’t like anyone but my mom.”
“Ava just has that way about her.” He scoops up his daughter, even though she squirms. “We’ll see the kitty later, munchkin. We’ve got a trip ahead of us.”
One hour.
“Griffin, that really is a long time…you should consider staying.”
He stares, then shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe. It’s nice of you to offer.”
I flush. “Hey, we Larks try.”
I step into the outdoor wind. It whips against my cheeks as we cross back to the main house. It’s cold, but that’s good; I’m much too warm now.
They stop at his SUV. “Say bye to Miss Beverly, Ava.”
Her tiny hand raises, and she very quietly murmurs, “Bye, B.”
“Bye, A. Bye, G.”
“I’m okay with just Griffin.”
“Griffin Patrick?”
He snorts. “Sure.”
I smile. It’s not exactly a laugh, but I’ll still take it.