Chapter Fourteen Nice, Not Kind #3
Griffin tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, traces his finger down my neck and then to my collarbone, where he nestles his thumb into the dip.
My breaths leave in shaky, uneven exhales.
“God, you’re stunning,” he says, at a gritty but normal volume. Enough for someone across the room to hear.
I know this is all for show. I know it’s to make Taylor walk off and tell anyone who will listen about how Beverly is absolutely not thinking about Beau one bit. Beverly has moved on. Griffin freaking Harvey cannot keep his hands off Beverly Lark for a single second.
“She still there now?” Griffin asks.
I flick my eyes behind him. My heart sinks. She’s not there. Taylor walked away, probably to call someone and gossip. Our job is done.
But when my mouth opens to confirm, I instead whisper, “Yes, she’s still there.”
I hate myself. I feel gross and selfish, and I just know some angel is looking down on me from a big fluffy cloud in heaven, ticking a mark in the not getting through the pearly gates box.
But all thoughts dissipate when Griffin’s hand tightens on my waist. His thumb reaches out, rubbing circles over my bone.
He buries his nose in the crook of my neck, exhaling, and runs his beard down and over my shoulder.
I wait for his lips to purse against my skin, for a feeling of softness and longing.
I wonder what it would feel like to have him kiss my skin—this juxtaposition of gentle lips and rough beard, causing a burn on my chin and heaven in my mouth.
But I get nothing.
You told him kisses were off-limits, didn’t you?
So no trailing kisses. No heady breaths. It probably looks like he’s kissing me, though, which is the point. It’s all for appearances, and he’s a master at it.
“She’s gone,” I choke out, sighing away all the nervous energy and letting it pool to the floor.
“Thanks,” I say. I run my palm over my chest, as if clearing myself of any remaining heat. I notice the window nearby coated in a small film of condensation.
“Anytime,” he responds, darting his eyes between mine.
I pull in a breath, then let it out with a shaky laugh. “Do we, uh, do we have everything?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think so.”
I slide past him and try my best to breathe again.
Griffin tells Ava to pack everything up and that we’re heading out. We make our way to the front counter. Taylor is notably not looking up, instead focused on her phone. When she finally does notice me, her cheeks are tinged pink. She sets her phone face down on the counter.
Definitely texting all of Elk Grove.
“Find everything okay?” she asks in a high-pitched tone.
“Yep,” I say. “We’ll probably need a second to narrow down our options a bit.”
“Why?” Griffin appears beside me with his arms full of tiny child-sized coats and long-sleeves. He splays them on the counter. The hangers clatter together.
“Because…it’s a lot,” I say.
Griffin shrugs. “It’s fine.”
My face flushes red.
Right.
Money is no object to someone like Griffin Harvey.
Taylor beams and begins ringing up every item without complaint.
Winding my hands together, I move back to the main room and sift through vintage pieces again—anything to distract myself.
I feel like I’m living a different life. Hot and heavy in the corner of a store. Shopping for winter clothes for a two-year-old. Buying everything on sight without a second glance. It doesn’t make sense. It’s not my life. It can’t be—
I let out an unhinged exhale at a gorgeous angel-sleeved chiffon dress hanging on the rack.
Perfect condition and perfectly my size too.
Maybe a little pilling on the neckline, but that can be fixed.
It’s vintage, after all. But the price…well, it’s also a typical vintage price, which is to say it’s completely out of my range.
“Want it?”
I jerk my head up to find Griffin staring.
“What?” I ask.
“It looks like it’d be perfect. Is it your size?”
It is, but I shake my head. “No. I’m just looking.”
He lifts an eyebrow, always speaking through those. This time, it says I know it’s your size.
He holds out his hand and flicks his fingers toward himself. A command, beckoning me to hand it over.
“Griffin.”
“Beverly,” he counters.
“It’s too much.”
“Impossible.”
My heart beats harder in my chest at that statement. How simple it was.
Then, after a small silent standoff, Griffin crooks his mouth into a smile and says, “Let me buy something nice for my gorgeous girlfriend.”
Behind the front counter, Taylor’s jaw drops.
Slowly, straining against every instinct I have toward frugality, I place the hanger into his open palm. He walks back to the register and sets it neatly on top of the clothing pile without another word.
When we leave and emerge back into the cold, I can finally breathe for the first time. I tell him thank you, but he scoffs it away. He doesn’t want to hear it. Instead, he links his fingers in mine and continues walking, keeping my cold hands warm in his.
I’ve never been starstruck by Griffin Harvey.
But I might be a little struck by Griffin Patrick.