Page 96 of Common Grounds

And now, I’m nervously standing outside Baker’s Blend Coffee Shop, hoping Trevor understands what I was trying to say in that piece.

“This is stupid,” I mutter. “I should just go in there.”

“It’s a big moment,” Cass insists. She’s been practically giddy about it since yesterday. “Let it happen.”

Trevor finally, finally looks up from his phone. His jaw is slack, and he wipes at his cheeks.

Panic starts to rise from my chest through my throat. “I think he’s crying. Oh, shit. That is not what I wanted.”

“It’s an emotional piece, Em,” Vi assures me. “He’s feeling things. Let him.”

I shift from foot to foot again, shaking my hands out like a boxer entering the ring. “Right. Emotions. Got it.”

Mike puts his hands on Trevor’s shoulders and slowly, gently, turns him to face me.

Time stands still. The edges of my vision go fuzzy, almost like I’m in a tunnel. The only thing I can see is Trevor, his amber eyes shining and an achingly slow smile spreading across his face.

I let out a half-laugh, half-sob and try really hard not to jump up and down to release some of this nervous energy. Luckily, I don’t have to wait too long. Trevor, with all the professionalism expected of the owner of this establishment, comes out from behind the counter, crosses to the door in six measured steps, pulls it open, and stops a few feet in front of me.

His back is to Cass and Vi. I’m not even sure if he saw them or if he only has eyes for me. Probably the latter, because Cass loudly clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle a squeal, and he doesn’t bat an eye.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. It sounds as if he ran a mile to get to me. His cheeks are wet, and I have to curl my hands into fists to keep myself from reaching out to brush the tears off them.

“Hi,” I return. “Trevor, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts me. He leans toward me a little but doesn’t take another step. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“No. I planned this whole thing. I need to say this.” I shake out my hands again. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this nervous in my life.

Trevor’s expression turns indulgent. “Okay,” he says, his voice husky. It rumbles through me and pools right in my middle. “Go ahead.”

“Okay,” I whisper. I clear my throat. “Okay, listen. I might have started this project with entirely selfish motivations. I’m sorrier than you can ever know that I hurt you because of it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was closing myself off to new possibilities. Running from my past. Trying desperately not to make the same mistakes and fall into the same traps. But you were right. I’ve been stuck. In an effort to not repeat the past, I’ve inadvertently made myself afraid of the future.”

Trevor starts to shake his head, but I press on. “And you… you have never been afraid of any of that. You embrace your past and your history. And because you can do that, you can also see ahead of you. I admire that about you.”

I pause to take a deep, shaky breath. “I meant every word of that article. I wrote it for my job, I guess, but I really wrote it for you. Because you’re more than just your forearms.” I laugh nervously, hoping the joke lands.

He chuckles, and it’s the best damn sound I’ve ever heard. Another little knot loosens in my chest. I close my eyes briefly to soak it in, and my own breathy laugh escapes me. I open my eyes to meet his, still intensely focused on me.

“But my forearms are pretty great,” he insists, finally taking a step toward me.

“That goes without saying,” I assure him.

“‘To know Trevor is also to love him,’” he quotes, his eyes never leaving mine. “Did you mean that, too?”

My heart skips a beat. Here we go. “I told you I meant every word.” I search his face for any sign that he is either going to return the sentiment or run away screaming. “Unless that’s a lot. Then I meant it in a very universal sense. Strictly platonic. Like I love hazelnut, or whipped cream.” I can’t help the smirk at that last one.

Tears have been escaping over his long lashes and running unchecked down his cheeks this whole time. He’s looking at me as if he wishes he could drink me in. “Is it my turn, now?” He waits for me to nod. “It is a lot,” he says, and my heart just about falls out of my chest and to the ground. He takes that last step to close the distance between us and brings a hand to cup my cheek.

I had been holding my breath, but I breathe him in now. I’m completely enveloped by coffee and sugar and vanilla. A smell at once so new and so old. Sweet and bitter. I let him fill my senses and spill over into any of the remaining cracks in my heart.

He leans his forehead against mine. “It’s a lot,” he repeats, his lips an inch from mine. “But I’ve been feeling a lot for you for a while now. To know you is to love you, too, Emery Darlis. And I plan to spend every day from now on proving it to you.”

“Oh,” Cass whisper-shouts. “They’re the perfect blend! Get it?”

Vi groans. “Will you just let them have a moment?”

I laugh, the sound lighter than it has been in a while. “We have an audience,” I tell him.

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