Page 83 of Love Felt Like This

“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.

Chapter Fifteen

Your Right Hand