Page 49 of Common Grounds

“Uh,” I say, trying to get between these two before we stumble any further into whatever sibling thing is going on here. “I do have some ideas, actually. I’d love a taste-tester?” I direct the question to Emery, who immediately softens. “I mean, if you want. I’ve gotten the impression you like coffee.”

“Sure.” She straightens in her seat. “Yeah, I can do that.”

I stand, suddenly nervous. I feel like a goddamn schoolboy trying to impress a girl on the playground, but when our eyes meet across the room, I grin. “Perfect.”

Cass snorts, effectively breaking the moment. “Get a room, you two.”

Emery’s head whips in her sister’s direction. “Cassandra Darlis,” she hisses.

Cass rolls her eyes again. “Fine. Seriously, though, can you both go… somewhere else? I need to talk to…” she trails off, indicating James, who has been watching this entire exchange looking like a deer in headlights.

He points at himself, then looks behind him as if hoping to find someone else standing there. Cass nods, clearly irritated.

“Uh, this is James,” I say by way of introduction since he’s clearly not going to do it himself.

“James. Come sit,” Cass says. I wince sympathetically at him as he comes around the counter to sit down by Cass. Poor kid.

I drag a chair over to the counter from one of the high-top tables and motion for Emery to sit. She carries her laptop and bag over and slides onto it, leaning her elbows against the countertop and putting her chin on the palm of her hand. I take a deep breath and force myself to think about something else—anything else—besides how breathtaking she is in her blouse, her black hair falling straight past her shoulders and her dark eyes trained expectantly on me.

“Allergies,” I blurt out. She frowns, and I cough. “Do you have any allergies? Anything you can’t stand the taste of?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll put pretty much anything in my mouth,” she says.

I just about choke on my own saliva, and she goes completely still. “Shit,” she says. “I didn’t mean that—”

I can’t hold back my laughter. “No, no. I understand what you meant,” I assure her, though my dick seems to have other ideas as I feel it press uncomfortably against my jeans. I grab an apron and quickly tie it around my waist.

“Iced or hot?” I ask, gathering cups and ingredients from under the counter.

“I feel like if I say ‘hot’ now, it’ll sound like some kind of innuendo.” She’s teasing. I know she is. And fuck, it’s sexy as hell to see her loosen up like this.

Should I tease her back? I want to, but I definitely don’t want to push too hard. When I risk a glance at her, though, she’s smiling this beautiful, radiant grin and her eyes are sparkling.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say playfully, leaning closer and lowering my voice so Cass and James can’t hear. “I’ve heard of some tricks people do with ice cubes, too.”

She barks out a surprised laugh, and her hands fly to her mouth. “Will you not?” she whispers.

“You started it.” I wink. But before I can start making the drinks for her, two young women come through the door, giggling and scanning the shop as if they’re looking for someone. When they see me, their expressions turn playful, but they compose themselves enough to walk to the counter.

It almost pains me to have to look away from Emery, but I suppose paying customers deserve some attention, too. “Good morning, ladies. What can I get started for you?”

“Hi,” one says dreamily. “Can I get a medium nonfat latte with three pumps of mocha?”

“Sure thing,” I say, punching that into the register. Thank god my father updated this thing after Dida retired, because there’s no way I’d be able to handle these orders that have been coming in otherwise. “Anything else?”

“I’ll have a large nonfat extra dry cappuccino with four sugars, please,” the other woman says shyly.

I process their payment and get started on their drinks as they select a table with a clear view of the counter. I avoid looking at Emery because I know what her face will say: these orders are bonkers. She’s not wrong, but I suppose in the age of the big coffee shops, I’ll have to be able to make them to keep up. It almost seems wrong to make them on my grandfather’s original espresso machine, but I tell myself he wouldn’t mind so much if he knew it was keeping this place afloat.

I deliver the drinks to the two newcomers. They bat their eyelashes at me, so I shoot them a friendly grin for good measure, though I know it’s strained. Something about their attention doesn’t sit well with me, and when I catch Emery’s eye on my way back to make the drinks for her to taste, I realize it’s entirely because she’s here. There’s not a woman in the world who can hold a candle to her, and I have zero interest in even pretending to flirt with some twenty-somethings who are coming in to ogle me because of some pictures on the internet.

I could swear a look of apology flashes over Emery’s face when I make my way back around the counter, but it’s gone too soon for me to be sure. I get started on her drinks without thinking much about it.

I decide to make two of them iced and two hot for some variety. I set them in front of her in a very specific order. The first is a straight shot of espresso, just for fun. The second two are iced—a matcha latte with cucumber syrup and a coconut and banana latte. The last drink is a hot honey lavender latte with cinnamon and oat milk. I’ve topped that one with a lavender whipped cream I’ve been playing with in my ample free time.

“I want you to try them in this order,” I say.

“Why?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me in suspicion.

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