I’ve almost worked up the courage to go over and face them, under the guise of finally getting a break, when I dart a quick glance over to their table. Gemma has disappeared. A quick scan of the bar shows me she’s chatting up one of our regulars. One of the regulars who’s not a total tool, so I’ll allow it. Nick and Harley are sitting suspiciously close together. I try to peek under the table, but I can’t get a clear view. But if I were a betting woman, I’d put money on their hands being intertwined beneath the sticky marble top.
All those revelations aside, my attention snags on Jack. Still looking like the after version from some nineties teen-makeover movie. And he’s sitting next to some girl, his head bent low so she can whisper in his ear.
I want to lie and say it has no effect on me, because clearly, no matter how great the glow-up, Jack and I will never be a thing. But I do feel a little burst of a stabbing pain, right in the chest, as I watch him bust up laughing at something the girl says.
And yeah. I’m definitely not here for that.
He never laughs with me like that.
So I turn away from their table once again, focusing all my energy on wiping down some already spotless glasses.
Gemma and her new friend leave first, Gem blowing me kisses and giving me theCall me tomorrowhand signal.
Once she’s safely vacated the building, Nick and Harley head out soon after, not fooling anyone with the tiny sliver of space they keep between them as they walk out the front door.
I side-eye Jack’s table and definitely do not breathe a sigh of relief when I find him sitting there alone.
I pour him a beer and finally head over. The rest of the bar is mostly empty, everything winding down for the night. My coworkers are in cleanup mode, and everyone’s anxious to get out of here as soon as we can.
Setting the glass down on a fresh coaster, I stack up the empties still sitting on the table. “What happened to your friend?”
He furrows his brow. “Everyone left. Didn’t they say goodbye?”
I pull a rag from my apron and wipe down the marble high-top. “Not them. Your friend.” I wiggle my eyebrows a little so he gets the hint.
“Oh.” He shrugs and takes a long pull from his beer. “I’m not sure actually.”
“Oh.” I keep wiping, even though the table is now spotless and stickiness-free. “I like your new look.”
He glances down at himself, and when he raises his eyes again, his cheeks are flushed. “It’s an old look, actually. Believe it or not, I haven’t spent my entire adult life dressing like a hormonal teenager.”
“Oh.” It’s the only word I can form right now because I think Jack Thomas just revealed something about himself. And it does something to soothe the leftover sting on my heart. “Well, it suits you.”
“Thanks.” He spins his coaster around on the table, not meeting my eyes. “Is it cool if I just hang here until you’re off?”
“It’s going to be a while. I’ve still got cleanup and stuff to do.” I gesture to the tables around me, which are suddenly all empty and sparkling clean.
“I don’t mind waiting.” His gaze finds mine, those green eyes boring into me.
And suddenly I can’t breathe. Suddenly,I don’t mind waitingdoesn’t feel like a casual phrase among friends. I move a step closer to him, like there’s some kind of magnetic force in his words.
“Sadie! Grab that glass and let’s get the fuck out of here!” my bar partner, Sam, hollers across the room, pulling me out of my haze.
I give Jack a tentative smile. He returns it just as tentatively.
Then he chugs his beer and hands me the glass.
I take it with me back behind the bar, dunking it in soapy water before rinsing it clean and hand-drying it. Sam hands me a stack of cash I don’t bother counting, shoving it in the back pocket of my tight jeans. I clock out, say my goodbyes, and gesture for Jack to meet me at the front door.
The streets are mostly empty of late-night walkers, or as empty as New York streets can ever really get. The evening air is warm, not too sticky, and there’s even a slight breeze as we head the couple of blocks back to the brownstone.
Jack walks with his hands in his pockets, like he doesn’t know exactly what to do with them. “How was your first delivery today?”
A smile breaks across my face. I’d meant to regale the whole crowd with the story, but since I spent most of the night avoiding them, I didn’t really get the chance. “It was amazing. She loved it and told meshe’d definitely order from me again and tell all her friends.” Pulling my phone from my crossbody purse, I open up Instagram. “And the photo of the arrangement got a shit-ton of likes.”
“Is that the official measurement these days?” He takes the phone from me, squinting a little as he studies the picture.
I placed the bouquet in one of the bottles I cut a couple of weeks ago, a gin bottle with a cool old-timey label on it. The flowers themselves are an explosion of color and texture, bright pink dahlias and orange and yellow ranunculus. I photographed it sitting on the table in front of the bay window in my room, and the colors pop against the white walls.
