Page 29 of Common Grounds

“I wonder if I could lean into the nostalgia while also appealing to a younger audience. Our generation is more likely to share things,” I muse.

“I don’t know.” Cass’s mouth is finally free of food. “People Donna’s age sure seem to spend an awful lot of time sharing links on social media.”

“Sure,” I concede. “But they’re not going to push a story to a million clicks.”

“No, but a thumbnail of ‘Coffee Shop Hottie’ attached to the link they share might get the attention of their kids or twenty-something grandkids,” Vi suggests.

I’ve seen the comments. I know what they say. There was a rush of them at first, all women ogling Trevor in the picture Ethan submitted with the article. And I’m not surprised. That smile coupled with those forearms is the fatal combination that had me jumping into his bed the night we met. Those comments should have given me hope that Trevor’s objective attractiveness could help drive viewers to the articles.

But, instead, a pebble of white-hot rage burned deep in my gut each time my computer pinged with another one. Which is ridiculous. We slept together once, and I’m not interested in anything more than that. Even if the sex was amazing. And even if that smile of his does things to my insides I’ve been trying desperately to ignore since Ethan showed me the photo options on Wednesday.

My brain joins my body back at the table, and Cass is studying me intently, her head tilted to the side. “I can’t tell if you’re pissed or turned on.”

“That’s just Emery’s resting bitch face,” Vi provides helpfully.

I point at her. “RBF, definitely,” I insist.

Cass looks unconvinced. “I’ve been looking at your resting bitch face since I came out of the womb, and that’s not what it looks like. You’re thinking about Trevor.” She says it like a schoolgirl teasing her friend on the playground.

“I’m not,” I insist. Cass thins her lips and raises an eyebrow in skepticism, so I continue. “And even if I was, it doesn’t matter. We’re working together now.”

“You’re not working together. He’s working, and you’re avoiding him,” Vi chimes in.

“Whose side are you on?” I ask.

“We’re both on your side, Em.” Cass’s voice is suddenly empathetic, which makes me suspicious. “It’s just been a while since you’ve taken an interest in a guy.”

Something in her tone makes me pause. Our sisterly default has been jabs and sarcasm our whole lives, so her sudden compassion is out of character. But I also don’t want to go any further down this rabbit hole with her. Trevor is off the table.

Vi squints at me as if she’s looking for whatever Cass sees. Suddenly, her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “You are kind of interested in him, aren’t you?” she asks with a note of surprise.

What is going on with these two today?

Thankfully, whatever is happening is interrupted by Donna delivering Vi’s burger. Cass steals a fry off the plate before it even hits the table. Vi makes a noise of protest, but Cass stares at her.

“I’m growing eyelashes and fingernails right now, and I’m starving.” Her voice is a challenge that Vi quickly—and wisely—decides not to accept.

“Hey, Donna,” I call. She faces me expectantly. “The story that came out today is the first in a series about Baker’s Blend, actually. Any way I could interview you for the next piece?”

“You’re really going to do anything you can to avoid talking to Trevor, huh?” Cass scolds.

Donna takes a few steps back toward the table. “Why would you avoid talking to Trevor?”

“They have a history.” Cass waggles her eyebrows on the last word. I groan.

“History makes it seem expansive,” Vi points out. “It was only one night.”

“Dammit. That’s private,” I hiss as I sink back down into the booth and try to hide my face with my hand.

Donna chuckles. “Oh, I see. Can’t say I’m surprised. That boy is a heartbreaker.”

I shoot upright again, vindicated. “See! That’s what I’m trying to avoid. Heartbreak.” I grab a fry off Vi’s plate, suddenly voracious.

“Oh no, honey. I wasn’t being literal. Certainly, a professional writer such as yourself can recognize figurative language when you see it. I meant he’s a looker.” She chuckles to herself again as we all gape at her. “I may be old, but I’m not blind!” she calls over her shoulder on her way back to the kitchen.

My sister and best friend—or maybe former sister and former best friend—are trying so hard not to laugh, their faces look like tomatoes. I flatten my lips into a harsh line as my gaze bounces back and forth between them. “You know what? Go ahead. Let it out. Laugh at my expense. I’m over here trying to respect my own boundaries where it comes to men and dating, but laugh it up.” I steal another fry, but now it’s to piss Violet off.

She schools her face by coughing and lowering her eyebrows. “We would never, Emery,” she insists. Cass snorts, belying Vi’s words. Vi shoots her a look, and Cass turns her head away, pressing her lips together to keep the rest of her laughter in.

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