Page 190 of Love Felt Like This

Wasn’t he dating someone? Are they about her?

34

What happened to Beverly Lark?

17

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Happy Griffin Day

Beverly

Three months later

“Is today Griffin Day?” Rob asks.

I sputter into my coffee.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Finch subtly twitching his head at my brother, as if to say Joke didn’t land, abort mission.

I grab a napkin and pat the coffee spill on Finch’s breakfast nook.

Rob loudly chews his bacon, making the awkward silence even worse.

After Birds on the Block was funded, I moved into Finch’s guest room in Los Angeles, along with Nana, who claimed Elk Grove was far too cold and that she dearly missed her old friend Finch. Rob tagged along at her insistence (“He needs to experience the world outside Elk Grove like Beverly and Albert did”). Reluctantly, my parents let their fifteen-year-old loose for the summer. Finch, whose only companions were Ken Jennings and reruns of Alex Trebek, asked if we had anyone else we could bring too. He, unfortunately, drew the line at Pudge.

Finch’s house is 50 percent open windows, 30 percent Birds memorabilia, and 20 percent loud noises. In a house with a teenager and two people over the age of seventy, there are more than enough shouts of What did you say? over Rob’s loud rock music.

The breakfast nook is in Finch’s stone courtyard. Normally, our mornings are filled with chaos and bright laughter. (Maybe even video games because I can finally reload my weapons, thank you very much.) Breakfast is when we drink our morning coffee and collectively agree not to acknowledge Rob’s obnoxious bacon crunches. But today feels a bit more somber, despite the perpetually perfect California sun overhead.

Nana stares at me over her coffee. Finch spreads strawberry jam, almost cutting the toast in half. Rob crunches bacon. Again.

“Okay, stop looking at me like that.” I straighten my spine and sip my coffee. “Yes, Griffin is on set today.”

Rob grins. “Hell yeah.”

“You will be professional,” I say, pointing at him. “No fanboying or anything. It’s the only reason you’re allowed as a spectator.”

“And because I’m the showrunner’s brother. And excuse me, I don’t fanboy. Plus, I know him personally, now. He’s a friend.”

I snort. “You still freak out, though.”

“I don’t, and I won’t! Scout’s honor,” he says.

“You were never in Boy Scouts. Make another type of promise.”

“Promise on my life, then.”

Finch hums. “You were fangirling—is that what they call it?—over that one actress.” He snaps his fingers in thought. “What was her name—”

I throw a thumb at Finch. “See? A promise on your life, Rob? Really? Now you’re hypothetically dead.”

Rob groans. “Fine. But she wanted a coffee, so I got her one.”

“Then spilled it everywhere when you tripped over nothing,” Finch adds.

“Whatever.” Rob ducks his head. “I’ll pretend like Griffin is just another totally normal musician on the show, then. No big deal.”