Page 53 of Common Grounds

“She told me when she was in here Saturday. I made a crack about someone making an honest woman out of her, and she said she’d been there.”

“That’s… huh.” Cass chews at her bottom lip, her brow deeply furrowed.

“What?”

“That’s so unlike her. She’s deeply private. I don’t think you fully realize the lengths she’ll go to avoid telling anyone about her divorce.”

I take a deep, satisfied breath. I had a feeling she was trusting me with a piece of her when she told me, and I was right. But Cass is still gnawing at her lip and staring at me.

“Isn’t it a good thing she told me?” I ask.

“She never tells anyone because people make such a big deal about it. She hates that.”

I shrug a shoulder and lay my palms flat on the counter. I’m determined to make her understand the truth in what I’m saying. “It’s not a big deal to me.” When her teeth still don’t release her bottom lip, I continue. “You said yourself I have it bad for her. I won’t deny it. A divorce isn’t going to change that.”

She laughs humorlessly. “She might have told you, but my guess is she bolted right after that.” She raises her eyebrow and waits for me to confirm, which I do. “Right. So good luck proving to her that it doesn’t bother you. She’s practically made a career out of avoiding relationships since she left him. And no, I’m not going to tell you why,” she adds before I can ask. “You’ll have to get the full story from her when she’s ready to share it. I was trying to save you from heartbreak, but it seems you’re determined on that count.”

“Would you want anything less for your sister?” I ask, half-teasing.

But she’s all seriousness when she shakes her head. “No. I want that and so much more for her.” She eyes me up and down, one corner of her mouth tipping up. “But that’s a good start.”

Chapter twenty-one

Emery

Trevor has me pegged with lavender and cucumber and whispered innuendo. So much so that I run out of his shop feeling vulnerable and raw. Who knew coffee could make someone feel so seen? I’m entirely cracked open, and I don’t like it. Those drinks feel distinctly like relationship drinks. His amber eyes dragging themselves over my face, lingering on my mouth or the curve of my jaw feel distinctly like relationship eyes. His raspy voice feels distinctly like a relationship voice.

It’s special because it’s for you.

This has gone entirely too far. I’m not a relationship person. Not anymore.

I mean, sure, I’ve thought about getting serious with someone else at times, but it’s easier this way. No risk, no heartache, no husband and job and parents vanishing into midair in the span of a few months. No broken pieces to pick up. No heart to stitch back together. No life in shambles to try to rebuild.

But if that’s true, then why do I feel like I want to crawl out of my own skin? My clothes are all itchy and too tight. Even when I try to sleep at night, I wake up with the comforter kicked onto the floor because everything feels so hot.

By Wednesday, I have the beginnings of a draft going—finally—after staring at the monitor in my cubicle for hours. It took a while for me to find the angle I wanted, but I am leaning heavily on my conversation with Donna and the community aspect of the shop. I want to couple it with the cultural history Trevor told me when we first met. I’ve made a few notes where I need to ask Trevor for some more history—and not just because I want to see him again. Which I do, even though I shouldn’t. But I have to. For the article.

My phone buzzes next to my monitor. I glance down at it to see a message from Cass. It’s when my phone buzzes three more times in rapid succession that I realize I haven’t talked to her since we were in the shop on Monday, which is unusual for us. My pulse picks up with each urgent vibration until I push forward in my seat and grab the phone.

Cass: Hi.

Cass: So.

Cass: This is awkward.

Cass: Are you there? I don’t want to text this to an empty room.

My body goes cold and my stomach drops. This isn’t like her at all, and for a moment, I’m sure something is wrong with her or the baby. I type rapidly, letting autocorrect fix mistakes in my wake.

Emery: Are you okay? What’s wrong? Is it the baby?

Cass: Oh. Shit. Sorry. I’m fine. Baby’s fine.

I breathe a shaky sigh of relief and press my hand to my chest as the dots appear at the bottom of the screen, signaling she’s typing again.

Cass: I actually wanted to make sure you’re okay? Vi told me to leave you alone about it, but we all know I don’t leave you alone about anything.

Emery: Leave me alone about what?

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