Page 80 of Love Felt Like This

He nudges my waist and tugs my palm. I follow dutifully, rounding the corner and watching as Taylor disappears behind a wall.

Griffin removes his hand from my waist, slips it down my spine and back to his side. Shivers explode over my back and arms. He doesn’t let go of my hand, though, keeping our fingers tightly entwined. His hot palms to my shivering joints. He pulses a beat, as if reassuring me. Of what, I’m not sure.

“I don’t like her,” Griffin mutters under his breath.

I laugh, but it sounds like I’m an eerie, cackling witch, because his hand is still in mine and it’s warm and rough and distracting.

“She’s a kind person,” I say. “She’s just…nosy.”

“She isn’t kind, Bev.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Kind people don’t knowingly open old wounds, even if they say it in a kind way. She’s nice. Not kind. She’s stuck in the past. And you’re in the present. With me. Okay?”

I blink, finding that I’m squeezing his palm.

“Okay,” I murmur.

“B!” We both look down to see Ava holding a tiny toy truck. She pushes it toward me, but when I’m not fast enough, she just drops it and walks off.

Griffin chuckles, bending to pick it up. I take that moment to squirm away from his hand and follow Ava to another room. I immediately miss his warmth.

For the next twenty minutes, I pick out clothing with Ava. She seems to love every single option. Or maybe she just loves when her dad nods in confirmation at every piece I hold up. If he loves them, she loves them.

I get it, girl.

Griffin’s approval seems rare and unique, and I’m not sure what I did to earn any portion of it. Ava will thankfully never know how it feels to long for his attention like so many other women do. He will always give his love to her unconditionally, as he should. But as for me, my mind is still racing at the memory of his hand in mine.

When Ava leads us to the book room (aka runs off and we follow), I take the chance to browse the small section in the corner with Westerns. They’re tattered but smell old and lovely. Griffin walks into the tight space, almost the size of a closet. Not exactly fit for two. Or maybe it is if you like bumping arms, which I shouldn’t. But I’m already heating up from the inside out.

He’s Griffin. Just Griffin. Calloused hands and thumping heart Griffin.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“Westerns for Greg.”

Griffin hums, crossing his large arms over his chest and leaning against the opposite wall.

“What’s his deal?” Griffin asks. “He’s…”

“Weird?”

“Fun,” Griffin clarifies.

“He’s always been fun. He’s also been through a lot, though, so I think he finds humor where he can. His divorce wasn’t pretty.”

Griffin lifts an eyebrow. The unspoken question.

I continue, “My Aunt Andi…she cheated on him years ago. He forgave her once. He couldn’t forgive her the second time.” I sigh. “Greg’s a good guy. And sometimes the world isn’t so nice to a guy like that. But he just wants what everyone else wants.”

“And what’s that?”

“A soulmate,” I answer. “He’ll never say it, but I know he’d love to be married again.”

“Do you believe in that?”

“What? Marriage?” I ask.