Heading back to the bar to pour his beer, I take longer than I really need so I can get my head together. I’m not going to pretend like the sight of Jack sitting in my bar, coming here just to see me (and also collect his free beer, but minor detail) doesn’t make my heart squish. Because it does. The squishiest. Even though it shouldn’t. But the whole thing seems very out of character for my boy here.

I deliver his beer but don’t get the chance to chat before I’m needed back at the main bar. The place fills up, the Saturday-night crowd loud and demanding, not leaving me with even one minute to catch my breath. But I manage to keep an eye on Jack as I mix drinks and deliver sliders and wipe down spills. A couple of different people of the female persuasion approach him, and while he seems to engage in brief conversations, they never linger, heading on to greener pastures after just a few minutes.

Eventually Jack pulls out a book, somehow managing to read in the dim light of the bar, and his novel seems to act as a social interaction shield. I clock out for my break, grab another beer for Jack and a water for me, and hoist myself into the seat across from him, our knees brushing against one another under the table.

He tucks a bookmark between the pages of his novel and sets it off to the side. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

It stays quiet for a minute. Or at least, as quiet as it can in the middle of a crowded bar on a Saturday night.

“Thanks for the beer.” He raises his glass and clinks it against my cup of water.

“Thanks for all your help with deliveries.”

“My pleasure.” He takes a long sip. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

A cold fist of dread punches me in the stomach. I knew something like this was going to happen eventually. Jack is tired of living in the botanical garden I’ve turned his house into and he wants me to leave. Of course he wants me to leave. I barged into his quiet, peaceful life and, in true Sadie fashion, made it all about me.