Page 72 of Common Grounds

The woman shakes her head. “No, mine is of the male variety. And if I would have known he was going to be late, I would have gone back to the hotel to shower.” She rolls her eyes. “Sorry I’m stinking up the place.”

He waves that off. “Not at all. Can I get you a water or something?”

“Water would be great.” She smiles and wipes her brow, then wipes the sweat from her hand off on her shorts. “It’s a hot one out there.”

“Looks like you went for a run,” I say as Trevor pours a glass of water.

The woman sits at the counter and chugs half of it before responding. “I did.”

“Oh no.” I reel back. “Why?”

She chuckles. “I actually love this heat. It’s cleansing, in a way.” She twists in her seat to look out the front windows. “This is a great town for running, too. I didn’t want to pass up the trail that follows that creek on the other side of town.”

“You’re not from around here?” Trevor asks, wiping at an invisible spot on the counter and slinging the towel over his shoulder again.

The woman shakes her head. “Chicago suburbs,” she says, then finishes off her water.

Trevor takes the glass to refill it and returns it to her. “What brings you out this way?”

“My husband”—she pauses to check her watch and sigh—“is here for a book signing. I’m just tagging along while I’m still on summer break.”

“Teacher?” I guess.

She nods as the bell over the door chimes again. She turns to face the door. “You’re late,” she says, but there’s no malice in it. Her smile is positively radiant as a lean man with dark hair and piercing, gray eyes enters. He’s wearing an impeccably tailored navy suit, white button-down shirt, and bright purple tie. He looks vaguely familiar, though I can’t put my finger on why. His wife said he was doing a book signing. Maybe I’ve read one of his books or something.

He crosses the shop in a few steps and pulls the woman into a side hug so he can kiss her sweaty temple.

“How was your run?” the man asks into her hair.

“Great.” She leans into him. “But it is hot out there. Were you able to set up the space for your signing?”

“The whole thing was a mess.” He sounds exasperated. “It took longer than expected. You want to grab some coffee and go back to the hotel to shower?”

The woman closes her eyes and inhales deeply. A small smile appears as she exhales, as if she just breathed in her very own sense of calm. “Yes, but I wish we could stay here.” She opens her eyes and looks at Trevor. “We prefer smaller coffee shops, so we were delighted to find this place when we searched on the internet. We read a couple of articles about it and had to check it out.”

Trevor’s smile widens and he glances in my direction. If I’m not mistaken, his chest puffs up with pride. “Those are Emery’s articles. We’re working together to try to get more people through the doors.”

The woman purses her lips, her eyes bouncing back and forth between us. She has the look of someone who knows a thing or two about a workplace romance.

Is that what this is? A workplace romance?

“Really.” Her skeptical comment snaps me back to the conversation.

I clear my throat. “That’s the idea, anyway,” I say sheepishly.

The man looks at each of us in turn, then chuckles. “Well, we’ll order and leave you to it, then,” he says, clearly amused.

My stomach rolls with embarrassment or anxiety, I can’t tell which. Are we that obvious, even to complete strangers? His wife saw us holding hands when she walked in, but he didn’t. I’m suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of people knowing we’re sleeping together. I had hoped to control that information a little. At least until this project is over, or until I can get a better handle on my feelings.

“I’ll have a medium coffee. Black,” the woman says.

“I don’t suppose you can make a sugar free caramel latte, extra shot, extra whip?” the man asks. His wife rolls her lips between her teeth as if she wants desperately to tease him but is trying very hard not to.

“No problem.” Trevor springs into action. As he works, the man whispers something into the woman’s ear, and she laughs. She looks up at him, and he looks down at her. It’s so painfully obvious how in love they are, how comfortable they are with each other.

I used to think I had that with Derek. I remember his arm slung around my shoulders, him whispering what I thought were sweet words into my ear.

How did I ever think anything he ever said to me was sweet? Why didn’t I hold out for someone like Trevor, whose words and actions are sweeter than all of Derek’s combined?

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