Page 12 of Common Grounds

“I know. It’s the perfect treat,” I respond.

We eat in silence for a bit, neither of us looking at each other. I’m thinking of a thousand questions I’d like to ask him, but all of them seem too invasive for a man I just met. Chalk it up to years of interview experience. You can take the woman out of feature reporting, but you can’t take the feature reporting out of the woman, I suppose.

Luckily, he breaks the silence first. “Do you have any pets?”

I shake my head. “I used to be gone too often. You?”

“My apartment is too small. What do you mean you used to be gone too often?”

I don’t really want to ruin this evening by talking about the career I thought I’d have by now, so I simply offer, “My old job at The Gazette had me working long hours across the state.”

He studies me for a moment before asking, “Why journalism?”

I take another bite to buy myself some time. How do I convey that the job was everything to me? Meeting people, digging for information, putting pieces together—it was exciting. It was magic. But now, it’s just a paycheck. I’m bouncing from one miserable feel-good story to the next with nothing to look forward to and no one who really cares about anything I’m writing. Why journalism? I’m trying to figure that out myself right now.

“I’ve always been a writer,” I start slowly. “Words were kind of my thing from a very young age. And I liked people a lot, too, you know? But I could never be a teacher or something like that. Journalism felt like the best way to put words and people together. I liked finding things out and telling stories people needed to hear. It was fun.”

If he notices my use of the past tense, he doesn’t let on. He nods in understanding, and he must be adept at reading the room, because he quickly changes the subject. “Do you go to The Tipsy Geezer often?” He takes another bite of his waffle while he waits for my answer.

I tilt my head back and forth. “Sort of,” I say. I used to go there all the time. It was our weekly hangout, back when Derek and I were still married. Back when Cass and Vi first started dating. We celebrated their engagement there. We used to slide right into that back booth Trevor and his friends were occupying earlier tonight and toast to pitches accepted and jobs acquired and anything else we felt worth a drink. I remember Derek and his arm slung loosely around my shoulder, Cass and Vi snuggled up on the other side of us. Everyone laughing, completely unaware of where our lives were ultimately headed.

But I can’t say any of that now. I may not be the relationship type anymore, but I don’t want to scare this poor guy off, either. I wouldn’t mind more of whatever that was on the bridge. More of his mouth on me. More of his hands on me. Just for tonight. Just… more.

I realize Trevor is gazing at me. He’s not annoyed by my silence, or impatient for me to talk, or judging me. He’s just looking. Expecting. Maybe wanting, but that could also be wishful thinking. Heat rises to my cheeks the longer we hold eye contact, so I break it to take the last bite of my waffle. Trevor collects my plate, and his fingers brush mine in the process. My skin tingles where he touches it, and that sensation makes its way all the way to my core. I’m suddenly feeling much warmer in the humid, summer air. I stand, just for something to do.

But when Trevor comes back to the table, his hand touches mine again. I turn toward him, and we’re only inches apart. His gaze dips to my lips and back to meet mine. My body is on fire, and I’m feeling bold enough to take one step into him and press my lips to his. He presses his hands to my lower back and draws me closer. The length of his desire presses against me. He catches my moan with another kiss.

He says quietly, suggestively against my lips, “My place isn’t too far from here.”

I might not need that vibrator after all.

A corner of my mouth turns up even as the dial also gets turned up on that heat in my belly. “Lead the way,” I say.

“I told you my place is small,” he says as we start walking. We’re walking away from the way I came, to the other side of town. “Really small. Studio small.”

“That sounds like a disclaimer,” I tease as I match my stride to his, which isn’t difficult. We’re almost the same height. But our pace is faster now. Not hurried, exactly, but anticipatory. Excited.

“That’s because it is.”

I shrug. “You’re a single guy. How much space do you really need?”

“Right,” he says, accepting my explanation.

He wasn’t kidding. His place is really close to The Tipsy Geezer. He stops in front of a door on the outside of a beautiful, old, brick building. He fumbles with his keys, then leads me up two flights of stairs where he stops to unlock another door.

I brush past him as he holds the door open for me. His entryway, like the rest of his place, is cramped. As I pass, my hand brushes his, and his fingers almost instinctively close around mine.

My eyes widen slightly as I face him. My chest brushes against his, and my breath quickens. He doesn’t let go of my hand.

Then, not wasting any time, our lips meet again.

Chapter six

Trevor

I don’t know who moves first, but before I can process any of the good fortune that has befallen me in the past couple of hours, Emery and I are kissing in my cramped entryway. And while I know this is exactly what we came here for, I still can’t believe it’s really happening.

Emery. It’s a beautiful name. She’s a stunning woman. And we are making out in my apartment, which somehow feels more monumental than making out on a pedestrian bridge.

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