Page 37 of Common Grounds

“This is stupid,” I mutter. What was I thinking?

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “But we’re here, and you have three drinks and a shit ton of blueberry muffins in bags in the back seat, so we should probably at least get rid of them.”

I take in a fortifying breath through my nose. “Yep. Let’s do this.” I spring out of the car before I can second guess myself. I grab the drink carrier and the bag of muffins from the back seat of the car. Mike takes the other bag and motions for me to precede him into the building. Right. My stupid idea, so I go first.

My heart is pounding as I cross the parking lot and open the front door. I look around for a security desk or something but, seeing none, I walk to the elevator and punch the up button.

I don’t know what I expect when the elevator doors open onto the fourth floor, but the absolute silence that greets us isn’t it. I thought newsrooms the night before a deadline would have a hum of activity. The energy in this space is almost dead.

The elevator dings shut behind me as I scan the space. I find Emery almost immediately. She sits in a barren cubicle with gray walls and a white desk, her dark hair shining in the overhead fluorescent lights. She’s slouched over her desk. Her face is within inches of her computer monitor, and black glasses I’ve never seen on her before are sliding down her nose. She’s wearing a blouse the color of dark honey paired with navy jeans. She’s the only vibrancy in this drab space, and seeing her here makes me inexplicably sad. She always seems so tough and vibrant, but she’s out of place here. It’s almost as if the space takes some of the shine off her.

I study her for another moment before she sighs deeply and leans back to stretch her arms overhead. She tips forward again, resting her chin in her hand and gazing at something on her computer screen I can’t make out from this distance.

Mike nudges me with his elbow, but it’s not impatient. When I look back at him, his expression is almost sympathetic, knowing. Like everything I was just thinking was written plainly on my face.

Ethan’s head pops over the cubicle wall in front of Emery, and he rests his arms, elbows out, on top of it. He looks down at her, but before he can say anything, he notices me and laughs lightly.

Emery clearly sees the expression on his face and turns slowly to follow his gaze. For a second, I could swear her eyes light up, but it disappears as quickly as it started. She leans back in her chair and folds her arms. “What are you doing here?” Her voice isn’t cold, exactly, but it’s not warm either. It’s mostly curious.

I’m so engrossed in her at this point that I can’t even speak. Luckily, Mike the wingman steps in.

“We thought you all might be burning the midnight oil, so we brought muffins.”

“And a latte,” I add uselessly.

At that, a few more heads pop up above the cubicle walls. Emery turns back to leave her glasses on her desk, then comes over to me. My feet are planted to the floor, and I’m grinning like an idiot. She stands close enough for me to smell her cucumber scent from her hair. I want to bottle it up.

Shit. I’m a goner.

“That was really decent of you,” she says, her dark eyes meeting mine. She’s so tall, we’re basically at eye-level, which is super sexy.

“Well, I’m a decent guy.” I give her what I’m sure is a doofy, lopsided grin. I’m trying—and failing miserably—to play it cool.

She studies my face, her eyes bouncing back and forth between mine for a moment. Then, she smirks and raises an eyebrow.

It’s not a smile, but I’ll take it.

I hand her one of the cups I’m holding. “This one’s for you,” I say tenderly.

I might be dreaming, but her smirk actually widens. She doesn’t break eye contact as she lifts the lid and smells the contents. Her edges loosen as her eyelids flutter closed.

“Hazelnut,” she breathes, her lips parting as she takes a sip. Her cheeks flush ever so slightly.

She’s so gorgeous; I can’t help myself. I lean in closer, my voice low. “I know what you like, sreco.”

Her eyes fly open. I’m worried I’ve made her angry, but there’s a sparkle in them that wasn’t there before. It’s almost mischievous. She licks her lips, and I have to force myself not to stare at them.

I’m beyond infatuated with this woman. And I’m in deep trouble.

“Step right up,” Mike calls, shaking me out of my Emery-induced stupor.

“Do you think he was trying to be punny?” Emery mutters to me.

I furrow my brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She eyes me sidelong and raises an eyebrow. “Step write up?” she suggests. “Because we’re writers?”

I chuckle. A smile and a joke? I must be dreaming.

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