Page 136 of Love Felt Like This

Beverly must know how I feel by now.

We’ve been so close. Touching but not. Tiptoeing around truths.

She must know how I feel.

Who wouldn’t feel this way around her?

When you find someone who laughs like Beverly, who is kind like her, who makes silly voices for fun and is so unabashedly genuine like her, you don’t let that go. My thumb strokes over her pink cheeks. I’m drawn to her, like a greedy moth to a bright, everlasting flame.

Suddenly, Beverly slowly blinks awake, bleary-eyed and tired. I should look away—be ashamed that I was watching her sleep—but I’m not.

She sits up. She looks barely conscious. Her palms immediately rush to her shaking shoulders. Goose bumps erupt over her skin right as another breeze hits the front door.

“Come here,” I murmur.

I tuck my palm under her elbow. Maybe still thinking she’s asleep, she stands without question. I scoot over—the mattress squeaking miserably as I make room on the pullout couch. I open the covers. Beverly crawls in beside me.

Her limbs are cold as ice. I take her hands and breathe into them to warm her palms. Her body is stiff, but she doesn’t pull away. As I wrap my arms around her back and tuck her closer, her head fits like a missing puzzle piece against my chest.

Together, we both ease into sleep once more, holding each other under the covers.

I’m being indulgent. I’m being selfish.

But I can’t stop growing closer to Beverly, even if I wanted to.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Griffin and His Lap

Beverly

It’s almost Valentine’s Day, and the diner is bustling with conversation, clanking utensils, and laughter. The town is always more relaxed after a good snowstorm, as if we’re thankful we survived another one, only to do it a million times more. I almost can’t hear my phone buzz over the hum of activity, but when that familiar name pops up—that name that keeps haunting me—it feels less like Cupid is approaching and more like Michael Myers.

I turn my phone face down on the table. When I look up, Griffin meets my eyes. He is the opposite of our holiday decorations, which scream in frilly pinks and red ribbons. Hearts and love letters stick to the bulletin board. Paper chains made of cardstock in red, white, and pink dip over the breakfast bar. And then there’s Griffin, with his dark hair and black long-sleeved sweater, raising a single eyebrow in my direction.

Maybe he’s the true Halloween stalker.

It’d be eerie if it weren’t so attractive.

“You all right?” he asks.

“Mm-hmm,” I say, bringing my coffee up to my lips.

I’m fine. I’m absolutely not thinking about cuddling with him in bed. My argument is that I was tired and in a sleepless stupor, which meant anything sounded like a good idea. I could have run a marathon! Okay, not really, but…I followed my sleep-fueled base instincts, and that’s never a good idea.

Ava had my bed, and I had nowhere else to sleep. That’s all it was.

Griffin forks a piece of pancake into his mouth. I shamefully linger, watching the fork slide out between his lips when he’s done.

“Need a refill?”

I jump when my dad arrives with the coffee carafe.

“Yep. Please.” Parched.

Sitting beside Griffin, Ava grips a handful of pancakes and shoves it into her mouth. Dad chuckles.

“She’s feeling better, huh?” he asks.