Page 74 of Common Grounds

“You read this, didn’t you?” he asks as if it’s obvious.

“It was a really nice article.”

“‘Really nice.’ Sure.” He slides the laptop back toward himself to consult it. “‘When you talk to Kovacic, the first thing you notice is the scent of warm coffee and sugar.’” He shoves it back to the middle of the table, an eyebrow raised. He folds his arms and leans back in his chair. “Dude.”

“I think love is a pretty strong word,” I counter half-heartedly.

Mike appears unconvinced. “You can call it a hyperbole if it makes you feel better, but let’s be real. That girl—sorry, that woman’s—got it bad.” He corrects himself.

“She’s trying to get clicks on an article so she can write something she is passionate about,” I say, but even I’m not convinced. Or, I hope she’s not writing this for clicks anymore.

I know how to write with heart, Trevor.

I remember exactly how her eyes sparkled when she said that to me in her office a few weeks ago, like she was begging me to give her a chance. Like she wanted more than anything to find the heart of her work again. And when I read this week’s article, I knew that if she hadn’t found it yet, she was close. My own stupid heart dares to hope that she found it because of the night we shared together, even though I know it’s foolish to jump to conclusions so soon.

Mike’s loud snort cuts through my thoughts. “She’s passionate about you, Trev. You can deny it all you want, but I saw her in here yesterday morning. Maybe punching her ex really did it for her. She was watching you like a hawk.”

I wince. “That would suggest I’m prey of some sort.”

He waves this away. “A hawk in heat, then. Do hawks go into heat?”

I gape at him. “Stop. Now.”

“Whatever, man. All I’m saying is she wants you. Where is she today?”

“She… uh…” I rub the back of my neck, which shifts my slouchy hat forward a bit. “She was tired.”

Mike’s smile turns downright naughty. “And how would you know that?”

Emery had asked me to give her a few days to sort things out, but I’m a terrible liar. And from the look on Mike’s face, he already knows exactly how I know how tired she is.

“After that thing with her ex, she stopped by,” I offer, knowing that won’t be enough.

“And…?”

“And she stayed the night.”

“And she came here with you the next morning, which is why I saw her shooting you glances hot enough to heat my latte?” he guesses.

I nod.

Mike lets out a whoop. James fumbles the porcelain mug he was holding, and it crashes to the counter.

“It’s okay, Boss! Nothing broke,” he says after a moment.

I grimace in Mike’s direction. “Can you please cool it?”

“The woman of your dreams runs by this very shop window on a day you’ve hit rock bottom—”

“I didn’t hit rock bottom.”

“You run into her at a bar that same night and take her home with you,” he continues, unfazed. “She leaves your apartment while you were asleep for no apparent reason—”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no reason.”

“And she shows up in your life again to save your ass. You win her over with muffins and coffee, and she stays the night at your place and comes to work with you the next day. No, bro, I cannot cool it. I’m excited for you. This is, like, all your little optimistic dreams come true in the span of a month.”

I try to hold my smile back. I really do. But it forces its way across my face. “I’m pretty excited, too.”

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