Page 18 of Common Grounds

I clear my throat and shake my head vigorously. “Right. Hi. What can we get started for you?”

Emery’s friend with the purple hair—Violet, I’m pretty sure, though that seems too on-the-nose with the hair, so maybe I’m wrong—hums. “Oh, no way. We’re not going to acknowledge this at all?”

Emery whirls on her, practically shooting daggers with her eyes. “Acknowledge what?” she asks through clenched teeth.

“That we just happened upon your one-night stand’s place of employment?” The question is innocent enough, but hearing her call me Emery’s one-night stand hurts more than I expect it to. That was all it had been, after all, even though I had maybe wanted more.

The man standing on the other side of Emery makes an “ohh” sound that devolves into a gleeful laugh. She shoots her dagger-eyes at him next, and he rolls his lips together, indicating he’s trying to keep his opinion to himself. His dark complexion reddens with the effort.

Emery sucks in a breath. “Dammit,” she mutters, closing her eyes. When she opens them, she looks resolute. “Fine. Everyone, this is Trevor. We, uh, met at the bar the other night.” She says it quickly, as if she’s trying to get it out of the way. “Trevor, you remember Vi. She’s currently canoodling my sister, Cass. And these two are Ethan and Josie, my coworkers.” She shoots a warning glance at Vi and her sister, then pointedly asks, “We’re good now?”

Cass’s grin matches Vi’s as she says, “Nope. But I’m going to need some sustenance before I thoroughly interrogate you.” She turns to me. “What’s good here, Trevor?” She says my name like she’s taunting Emery with it, and Emery turns an even darker shade of red. To her credit, though, she stands tall and doesn’t cower from embarrassment.

Her stoicism is incredibly hot.

“Hey, Lover Boy, the lady asked you a question.” It takes me a second before I realize Mike has joined the crowd. I groan internally. If I know Mike—and I definitely do—his presence is only going to add fuel to this fire.

When I don’t immediately say anything, Mike answers. “The blueberry muffins are my favorite. Trev makes them from scratch every morning.”

“Mmm,” Cass hums. “Yes, please. Two of those.” When Emery scoffs, she says, “Hey, I’m eating for two over here.”

“That baby is the size of a papaya,” Emery grumbles. Cass shrugs.

Everyone else places their order, then Emery stalks to the corner that’s the absolute furthest she can get from the counter. Everyone follows her, though Vi shoots me a sympathetic smile before she turns around. I get started making everyone’s drinks while Mike slides himself behind the counter.

“Employees only,” I say, pointing at a sign hanging on the wall.

“Get the fuck out of here with that,” he says, then washes his hands quickly in the sink and starts plating the muffins. “I might as well still work here, and you know it.” Then, he drops his voice so Emery and her friends can’t hear him. “The girl of your dreams walks into your shop, despite the fact that you were sure you’d never see her again. What are you going to do, man?”

James glances curiously at me, then wisely grabs two cups and walks to the other side of the counter toward the coffee pots. I resist the urge to drag my hand down my face. It would only mean I’d have to wash my hands yet again before making the rest of these drinks. I focus on the steaming milk in front of me, contemplating my next move.

“She won’t sit there forever, Trev,” Mike warns.

I turn my attention to him. He’s leaning against the counter, his arms folded and three blueberry muffins on plates next to his hip.

I point to them, trying to stay on more solid ground. “She only ordered two.”

He shrugs. “Talking about them made me hungry. Quit evading.”

I sigh. “I don’t know,” I whisper, grateful to the milk steamer for masking the sound of our voices. “You saw that whole exchange. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“That’s not the impression I got,” Mike insists.

“What do you mean? She couldn’t get away from me fast enough just now. Over a week ago, she left my place while I was sleeping. How many more hints does a guy need?” I pour the steamed milk over the espresso, finishing it off with a Rosetta on top.

“That’s not what I saw,” Mike insists.

I glower at him as I grab two of the plates and balance them on my arm while also carrying two lattes. I glance at James, who is coming behind me with the coffees he poured, and I send up a silent prayer to the universe that he doesn’t drop them or otherwise mess this up. Just this once.

The universe must be listening, because he doesn’t drop them, though he does put them in front of the wrong people. There’s some shuffling of drinks on the other side of the table as I set Emery’s and her sister’s orders in front of them.

Did I reach my arm between them to get closer to Emery? Maybe.

Did I notice her throat bob as she caught sight of my forearm within inches of her cheek? Definitely.

She doesn’t dare look at me as I deposit her order—a decaf hazelnut latte—in front of her, but her sister catches my eye, and the only way to describe the look she gives me is impish. I give her a quiet smile back. She nods before turning her attention back to Emery, and I feel a little warmth at the solidarity.

Emery, though, is sitting with her back ramrod straight, and it is clear she is doing everything she can to ignore my presence. She sits with her back to the counter, so I take the hint and turn on my heel toward Mike. His arms are folded and he’s grinning smugly.

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