Page 43 of Common Grounds

She nods and places the second earbud in her ear. She jiggles the touchpad on her laptop to wake it up, then starts typing.

“Uh, Boss?” James says, the trepidation evident in his voice.

“Yep. Right,” I say to myself. Then, I address the newcomers. “What can I get you this morning, ladies?”

Chapter seventeen

Emery

I’m absolutely shameless. I fully know it as soon as I walk in that coffee shop door on Saturday morning. The whole time Trevor is talking to me, I try to resist giving the stink-eye to those tittering idiots across the café with only moderate success. They’re just here to check him out. Which is entirely NewsJunkie814’s doing, I’m sure of it. Last I checked, half of the four hundred comments were about Trevor. And NewsJunkie814 responded to a lot of those. But considering we are the same person, I only have myself to blame.

What the hell am I even doing? And maybe more importantly, what am I doing here, in Trevor’s shop, watching him sling lattes and flash his shiny grin at his customers? His almost exclusively women customers.

I try to tell myself at least he has people coming in now. It’s not a stream, but there’s a steady trickle of them throughout the time I’m there.

I thought coming to the shop this weekend to write would be productive. I thought I’d be able to soak in the ambiance of the space in order to better write about it. That’s what I told myself, anyway. That, and the objective truth that his hazelnut lattes are the best I’ve ever had.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that, ever since he dropped by the office Thursday evening, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how good he smelled as I was standing next to him—all coffee and vanilla and cinnamon. It certainly has nothing to do with the smile he was flashing me in that picture.

I try to get words on the page. I really do. Instead, what I get is an eyeful of Trevor every time I look up. He’s wearing his mustard yellow beanie that complements the amber color of his eyes, and a yellow-and-gray plaid shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. I hate myself for noticing any of it.

Three hours later, all I have to show for my efforts is about fifty words on the page and a burning-hot nugget of jealousy in the pit of my stomach.

I really need to get it together.

When I’ve had about as much as I can handle of watching Trevor smile at giggly women, I snap my laptop shut a little more forcefully than I intend. I slide it into my bag and bring my cup to the bin where people have been depositing their ceramic plates and cups. As soon as I drop it in, James rushes over to bus it to the back room. Trevor watches him with his hands on his hips, then shakes his head slightly.

I chuckle. “Is he avoiding working the register?”

Trevor sighs. “No. He’s avoiding making drinks. He’s still learning.”

“How long has he worked for you?” I ask.

“About five months.”

I bark out another laugh, and Trevor smiles at me. This one is different than the smiles I’ve seen him handing out like candy all day. It’s gentler, more genuine.

“Five months and he’s still learning?” I’m unable to tear my eyes away from his smile—the way it crinkles around his eyes and creases the corners of his lips into dimples. It feels like a smile that’s only for me, and it makes me all tingly.

Trevor slides his hand to the back of his neck to rub it sheepishly. I hate that I know exactly what that spot of soft, short hairs feels like. I hate it even more now I’m thinking about it.

“He may not have been the best person to hire. His mom used to be in my mom’s book club, and she begged me to give him a chance.”

“Ah,” I say. I’m not sure why, but I continue to stand there awkwardly, just looking at him across the room.

His gaze turns earnest as he regards me standing there like an idiot. “Did you get some writing done?” His voice is quieter, caring. It’s the voice of a long-term partner asking how my work is going when I come home after a long day.

And that’s the exact moment I realize that I wouldn’t mind having that in my life. I never felt that with Derek. I always told myself it was because we worked together. He knew how my day was already, so he didn’t have to ask. But he never really asked me at work, either. In retrospect, that was probably a big red flag.

I clear my throat. “A little,” I say, unwilling to admit more than that. “I was thinking. We should probably exchange phone numbers since we’re going to be working together for a few more weeks.”

Trevor’s face lights up. “Yeah? I mean, yeah. Yes. Here, give me your phone, and I’ll enter mine.”

I hand it over, trying not to laugh at how excited he is to be exchanging digits. He quickly taps the screen to enter his number, then calls it so he has mine.

“Thanks,” I say when he hands my phone back to me. “I’m sorry if I made that awkward. I don’t… It’s been a while since I’ve asked someone for their number.”

He tilts his head as he looks at me, those gorgeous, amber eyes turning inquisitive. I could look at those eyes all day long. “Why’s that?”

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