Page 47 of Common Grounds

As I’m pumping mocha syrup into a cup, the bell over the door rings. I look up just as Emery walks in. She stops short when she notices her sister sitting right in front of her. Cass has turned around, but I can see just enough of her face to see that she is trying—not very hard—to hide a wicked grin.

“What are you doing here?” Emery demands. She looks beyond pissed. I guess I kind of assumed Emery sent her here, but it seems they hadn’t discussed it. I pour in some espresso and decide to stay as far out of it as I can.

“I’m here to help. What are you doing here?” Cass doesn’t sound angry. She sounds like she’s holding back a laugh.

Emery’s nostrils flare ever so slightly. “I’m here to write. How do you possibly think you can help?”

Cass scoffs. “I’m an investment manager. I know money. Trevor is trying to make money. Frankly, I’m offended you didn’t ask me to help before now.”

“I didn’t ask you to help now.” Emery looks as if she would give anything to fall right down into the floor.

“Well, I’m here. So, Trevor,” she addresses me, as I stir the drink with a reusable straw, the ice clinking against the glass a little louder than necessary. “Statements?”

“Coming right up,” I say as I step out from behind the counter to deliver the drink to her.

I quickly make my way to the back office. When I enter, James looks up at me, then he glances over my shoulder, his eyes growing huge. I turn around slowly to find Emery right behind me. I straighten up and pray to all that is holy that my hair isn’t a rat’s nest from all the grabbing it I was doing earlier. Her eyes flick upward to my hairline, and her cheeks color ever so slightly. It must be a mess, then. I busy myself by stacking some of the papers on the desk. I snap the laptop shut and add that to the pile for good measure.

Emery composes herself quickly as I avoid looking at her. “You’re not going to let Cass do this, are you?”

“James, can you watch the front, please?” I ask without looking at either of them. He rushes out of the office, seemingly all too happy to escape whatever is about to happen. “Do what? Help?” I ask as soon as James is gone. I don’t mean to sound bitter, but it comes across that way. I shrug, trying to lighten up a bit. “Yeah, I guess. I could use it, honestly.”

When I finally look at her, she looks taken aback. “Are you…” she trails off, then stands straighter, tugging at the bottom of her cropped blouse. She’s nervous, I think. What does she possibly have to be nervous about?

“Are you okay?” I ask, frowning softly.

“I don’t like my sister in my business,” she says unconvincingly.

I take a step toward her without even thinking about it. “Since when is this ‘your business?’” I emphasize the words, my eyes not leaving hers. Dammit, I could drown in those warm, brown depths. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.

“Since I have a vested interest in the success of this place.”

“The success of your articles, you mean,” I say quietly, taking another step.

She shakes her head. “If you succeed, I succeed.” It’s almost a whisper. She can’t seem to tear her eyes away from mine, either. I can’t say I’m mad about it.

“It’s okay to admit you care about m—” I stop before I can say “me,” but I’m dying to say it. Now that she’s here again, and now that she’s been so embarrassed to be caught by her sister coming to work in the shop, I have a sneaking suspicion she isn’t coming here only for the ambiance. I want so desperately for that to be true. I want her lips on mine again, my hands tangled in her silky hair. Right now, I want to take three more steps and be pressed up against her, begging her to dive in with me again. “This place,” I say instead before swallowing hard.

Her gaze slowly trails down to my lips. She lingers there, desire unmistakable in her shallow breathing.

Holy shit. She’s thinking the same thing I am. I’m sure of it. My heart soars, and in that moment, I would give anything to kiss her. I’d even call off this whole project and walk away from this shop if it means I could be with her.

And, for a minute, I’m considering it. Until she says, “I talked to Donna on Saturday.”

The shift in conversation throws me. I tilt my head, pinching my eyebrows together, trying to place the name. “Donna?”

“From the diner,” she explains. “She says she knew your family. That your business is almost as old as hers, and she insists it matters to the neighborhood. I thought about it all weekend. She’s right. So, yeah, I guess I care.”

I clear my throat. “About the business.”

She nods curtly and tugs at her blouse again. “Yes. About the business.” I’m starting to think that tugging at her blouse and fidgeting with things is her tell that she’s either lying or uncomfortable, but I let it go. That tiniest glimmer of hope from when she looked at me the way she just did is enough for now. I can certainly work with hope. I’ve been existing on hope for years.

“Okay then.” I turn abruptly to get the papers and laptop off the desk. I feel more than hear Emery let out a long breath. When I try to leave, papers in hand, she’s still blocking the door. She stands there, looking a little dumbfounded, until I indicate that I need to get around her. Instead of moving to the side, she turns on her heel and stalks out into the shop.

Her cucumber scent trails behind her, and I take an extra second to breathe it in. Even mixed with the overwhelming smell of coffee, it’s refreshing.

I hold my breath to try and calm my racing heart. It helps a little, but it occurs to me that I’m falling a little more for this woman each time she’s near me.

And all I want is to be near her more often.

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