I know I said that I would wait to post until the majority of this story was written, so no one's left waiting for an update, (though technically I've already finished the outline) but I'm bending the rule slightly. I'm in the need for something uplifting, so I'm publishing this chapter early. It may not be the most exciting installment, but it is necessary!
Also, a huge thanks you to both Kuneko and Singkatsu for such positive reviews! They were so thoughtful, and gave me the motivation to continue writing this. I hope Quiet Tenderness lives up to your expectations!
The Muffin Tree
A suede jacket had been retrieved and wrapped around the woman's shoulders. More than once she had tried to squirm out of it, saying she didn't want her wet hair to drip, but Griffin reassured her a bit of water won't hurt it none. The fabric tents around her small frame and the fringes brush her shins. Once she had teetered onto a bar stool, Griffin asks if she would care for a drink. Neither one mentions the puddle growing on the floorboards behind her seat.
He rummages through the cupboards in the interior of the bar. "I got some tea, milk, hot chocolate…"
"Hot chocolate would be nice."
Griffin tries to hide his relief. He doesn't know what he would have done if she had asked for a cocktail. If Ruby had found out he had given her alcohol, she would no doubt scold him for "taking advantage of a young girl"—disregarding the fact that serving drinks is his profession. He sets the milk and chocolate powder on the counter.
"Whipped cream?"
"Oh, yes, please! And sprinkles, too, if you have some."
He pauses for a second before reaching under the cupboard where he keeps rainbow sprinkles for the local kids when they sneak in for milkshakes. He adds this on the counter next to the cocoa and milk, and then reaches for a mug. Soon the woman is warming her palms against the steaming drink, piled with a cloud of whipped cream and sprinkles. She had to push up about half the length of the jacket's sleeves just to free her hands. The oversized garment, plus something in the way her mops of blonde hair are plastered to her face, make her look like a child. A rosiness flows back into her cheeks. Her shudders subside.
"Thank you. The hot chocolate is wonderful."
Griffin tilts his head in acknowledgement, leaning his hands on the counter. The drip-drops of water from her hair are seconds slower than the patter of rain outside. As she sips her drink, he notices that on one of her fingers is a dark blemish, like the type he sees on Ruby whenever she changes her rings.
Strings of remarks run through his head, but none seem quite right to say to a stranger he'd found in the rain on his doorstep. Small talk is a second language to Griffin; years of tending the bar had taught him how to keep conversations flowing and set people at ease after a stressful day of work. And yet Griffin feels like he is fumbling for the words of a song.
He clears his throat, and suddenly finds it dry when her green eyes flit up to him. A heat rises to his face. Then he mentally cusses himself for forgetting the basics. How his mama would have been put to shame.
"You can call me Griffin, if you'd like, ma'am."
"Griffin." She smiles, and dimples like the impressions of a baby's fingertips surface on her cheeks. "It's nice to meet you. My name's Muffy."
He raises a brow. "Isn't that short for muffin?"
"I hadn't thought of it that way before, but I guess you're right. My mama named me after my auntie's cat. It's cute, don't you think?"
"That it is, Muffy."
Quick comment about the title: you do not know how tempted I was to name this story after Michael Bublé's song, "Try A Little Tenderness."