Page 31 of Common Grounds

We grab our bags and laptops and head out, opting to walk instead of drive because it is a rare, perfect summer day in Indiana. Usually, August is miserably hot and humid, but there’s plenty of sunshine and a nice breeze today.

On the way, I fill him in on my plan to interview Donna and focus on what it means for the community to have a place like this downtown. He reiterates that Trevor needs to be involved in every story, but begrudgingly admits it’s a good idea.

When we arrive at the coffee shop, Ethan pulls the door open wide and gestures for me to go in first. I give him the side-eye. He never opens doors for me. Ever.

“Ladies first,” he says between gritted teeth.

“You’ve never given a shit about chivalry before this very second.” My voice is low so anyone inside can’t hear me.

“Age before beauty, then.” He gestures again, but more harshly this time.

“Are you calling me old?”

“If the shoe fits.” He kicks the door with his foot, then shoves me—gently, but still a shove—through the door. I stumble, but thankfully catch my balance before looking up straight into Trevor’s stunning brown eyes. He looks amused as he wipes his hands on a towel that’s threaded through the waistband of his apron. He has on a blue-and-black plaid button-down shirt that’s rolled up at the sleeves and a black slouchy hat that somehow seems to accentuate his sharp jawline lined with stubble.

I know what he looks like. I’ve seen him before. I stared at the picture on the first article for longer than I’ll ever admit to anyone. And yet, I’m still taken aback by how handsome he is.

My stupid heart skips a beat as his smile widens.

“Um, Emery?” Ethan says behind me. “Care to move out of the way?”

I realize I’m blocking the doorway and quickly step to the side to let him through. Trevor’s gaze lands on him, and his grin turns almost chummy. He tosses the towel over his shoulder—why is that such a sexy move, and what the hell is wrong with me today?—and comes around the counter, extending his hand for Ethan to shake.

“Hey, Ethan. Good to see you again.”

For a second, I wonder if I’m chopped liver next to Ethan, but then those light brown eyes meet mine again and, nope. I’m sure I’m the only person in the room he cares about. Trevor is just really… nice.

“Emery.” His voice is a register lower. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Dammit. That voice does things to me I’m not proud of.

And, you know what? This is exactly why I wanted to stay away from this place.

I clear my throat and stand a little straighter. “Hi, Trevor. I’m here to ask a few questions, and then I’ll be out of your way.”

His smile falters a little at that. He sweeps an arm to the side, encompassing the space. “You’re definitely not in anyone’s way.” He’s not kidding. There’s not a soul in here. Not even his employee seems to be present.

“Has anyone been here all day?” I ask before I can think better of it.

“A few regulars this morning, but no one since ten.” He says it as if the fact doesn’t bother him, but I can tell from the tick in his jaw that it does.

I hold myself rigidly tall, taking in the reality of the situation. “That article did absolutely nothing for you.” It’s a statement and not a question, but he shrugs in response anyway.

“Honey, that article did absolutely nothing for anyone,” Ethan mutters as he walks around me to set his bag on a table.

I know that article wasn’t what I wanted it to be, but fifty thousand clicks should have generated at least some business for him. I guess just because someone clicked on the headline doesn’t mean whatever was there resonated with them.

And then it hits me. I really messed this up. In trying to put a wall up to keep Trevor out of my personal life, I ended up keeping everything out of this project. The result was a shit article that, as Ethan so rudely pointed out, did nothing for anyone.

To add insult to injury, Ethan is right. I hate it when Ethan is right.

But my personal—and very conflicted—feelings about Trevor aside, it’s not fair to him. I saw the hope plainly written on his face when he talked about what this could do for him. He told me himself that it’s a special place to him the night we met. And, from what Donna said, he practically grew up here. It must be like a second home.

I glance around and catch something glinting in the sunlight on top of the back counter, almost like the sun is reflecting off glass. I take a few steps toward it. “What’s that?” I ask, shielding my eyes as I step right into the glare.

Trevor hums sheepishly. He walks over and pulls out two eight-by-ten-inch frames with pictures inside. One is a black-and-white picture of a man in front of this shop. He’s standing with his arm around a woman, and his chest is puffed out. He’s smiling, and I have to do a double take. I look at the picture, then back to Trevor, then back to the picture again. It’s Trevor’s smile, but that’s not him in the picture.

“This must be your grandfather?” I ask.

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