Page 69 of Common Grounds

“I’m going to hate myself for this, but how about I meet you there? I need to work on this next article anyway, but I could use a shower. And a change of clothes. And my laptop.”

I kiss her collarbone. “Why would you hate yourself for that?” I ask, looking up at her.

She glares down at me. “Because it’s before the crack of dawn, Trevor. And I… we…”—she smirks at that—“barely slept. I don’t think there’s enough caffeine in the world to make this a productive day.”

“Lucky for you”—I punctuate it with a kiss—“I know a guy.”

***

I’m not anxiety-baking per se, but I might be over-stirring the muffin batter, and the cookies look a little lopsided. I don’t want to admit it, but there’s a small part of me that’s afraid she won’t show.

Forty years old, and I’m giddy like a high school kid waiting for his prom date. Absolutely ridiculous.

But when a knock sounds at the window and I look up to find Emery waving at me in the dark, I get even more giddy at the sight of her. I almost drop the mixing bowl in my haste to rush and unlock the door.

She slips by me into the shop, and I catch her cucumber scent, stronger now because she just showered. She’s wearing a loose, white t-shirt and cutoff shorts that are going to haunt my dreams for years. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head in a giant bun. She’s summer personified.

She looks amazing.

“What?” she asks, and it’s then that I realize I’m standing there, holding the door open and staring at her.

“I’ve never seen you this casual,” I say, locking the door again.

She frowns, and her shoulders slump forward slightly. “Oh. I figured I wouldn’t be going into the newsroom today, so I didn’t see a reason to look professional.” Her voice ticks up at the end like a question.

I turn to find her fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She shifts her laptop bag higher on her shoulder and twirls an escaped strand of hair between her fingers.

“Don’t get me wrong, your professional clothes are hot,” I say, taking a step toward her and catching that strand of hair in my own fingers. “But you…” I don’t even have words. I swallow hard and tuck the hair behind her ear. “I like this look more.”

Her dark eyes meet mine as she leans slightly toward me. “Oh.” Her eyelids are hooded, and she drags her bottom lip through her teeth.

I catch her bottom lip with my thumb and drag it over the spot where her teeth just were. “Are we at the point where I can kiss you in public?”

Her gaze flicks around the empty coffee shop and the equally empty street outside. “This looks pretty private to me.”

“Good,” I say as I replace my thumb with my own lips. She drops her laptop bag on the ground and circles her arms around my waist, pressing her torso against mine. I force myself to break away sooner than I’d like. She makes no move to step away from me, so I don’t either.

“I’m not in the business of hiding things, but maybe you can give me a few days to fill my sister in? You know, in case she randomly shows up here again.” She considers something, then adds, “And maybe to sort out what’s appropriate when we’re dealing with the magazine for the next few weeks.”

“Can I get you all to myself again sometime soon?” I ask, my eyebrow ticking up in question.

She hums. “I can’t be functioning on three hours of sleep every night this week.” She bites down on her pink bottom lip again. “But, yeah. How did you put it? I’m… open to more than one night.”

I press my lips to hers again, filling up in case this is the last time I’m able to kiss her until closing. I am so far gone for this woman, but I don’t even care. If it were up to me, I’d shout from the rooftops right now that she’s mine. But she needs time, and I want to respect that.

Doesn’t mean I can’t kiss the shit out of her while I wait.

The oven timer sounds, but I ignore it, my hands skating over her body and finding a place on her ass. I squeeze, my fingers reaching under the torn hem of her shorts. She’s the one who breaks the kiss this time, a breathy laugh tickling the hair on my face.

“Sex in the shop is surely a health code violation,” she teases.

“Health code violation is probably the best-case scenario,” I return.

“A fire is the worst case, I imagine.” When I look at her in confusion, she clarifies, “The oven?”

“The oven. Right. Okay, I’m going to get another batch of muffins in. You go ahead and get set up. I’ll get you some caffeine. Anything special?” I ask as I put some distance between us on my way to the back-room kitchen. I have to, or I’m going to be kissing her all morning.

“Dealer’s choice,” she winks. I almost growl at the reference and take her on the counter right here, but she drags her lip through her teeth, suddenly bashful. “Actually, no. Can I have the lavender latte?”

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