I follow Zack through the crowd, brushing shoulders with people as I make my way to the end of the bar, where there’s a rope blocking patrons from getting to the far corner. He lifts the rope and nudges me inside.
“Sit there,” he commands.
I narrow my eyes at him to argue that no man tells me what to do, but there’s nowhere else to sit, and it’s a perfectly good stool right next to the bar, so I roll my eyes and walk past him.
Shrugging off my coat, I place it on the back of the hook beneath the bar. I’m overdressed for a pub, so I remove my suit jacket and put it on the hook as well. Unbuttoning an extra button on my blouse, I untie my scarf and let it drape over my neck.
Zack’s eyes roam from my ankles clad in nude pantyhose, up my legs to where my skirt lands just above the knee, and to the curves of my hips before settling on my chest, which is peeking up from the camisole I have beneath my blouse.
Where, earlier, he was too in shock to look anywhere but my face, he is certainly getting a fill of my physique now. When his gaze lingers on my boobs, I make a rather loud clearing of my throat and get his attention.
As his eyes land back on my face, his jaw is tight, and he swallows. He heads toward the bartender, who is mixing a drink not too far away.
“Whatever she wants is on the house,” he dictates and then walks away, disappearing down a hallway that has a sign for the restrooms.
The bartender tilts her head in surprise at Zack and then stares at me in confusion. She hands a drink to the patron, takes the money, and puts it in the register before coming to me and speaking loudly over the music, “You heard the man. What you want is on the house.”
I search around the bar, making sure I’m not losing my mind and that I heard them both right.
If Zack works here, how the hell could he work for his dad back home too? I thought he’d stayed in Dixon all these years. To know he works here, at a bar in the heart of San Francisco, is blowing my mind. The guy I knew back then would never even visit the city, let alone live here!
The bartender raises her eyebrows and tilts her head in question, so I say, “Captain and Coke, please.”
She smiles as she dips a glass into the icemaker. “Stewardess?”
“We’re called flight attendants now, and yes.”
“Is it true about it being like high school in the sky?” Her brows waggle as she simultaneously pours the Captain Morgan and pushes the button for the soda stream.
I let out a light laugh. “Worse. There’s nowhere to hide when you’re dealing with the snobby girls or grabby guys; you’re stuck in a steel can twenty-five thousand feet in the air.”
She places the drink on the bar. “Not as glam as the Pan Am days?”
“At least there’s no smoking,” I muse.
“Well, it’s good to have you here. Any friend of Zack’s is a friend of mine. I’m Stella.” She holds out her hand, and I halt for a moment before giving her mine.
Is this his Stella? Or just Stella?
“Jolene.”
Her mouth parts with a knowing smile. “Like the song?”
I close my eyes in mortification. “Yes, I was named after a Dolly Parton song. My dad was a huge fan.”
“He had good taste in music then,” she says with a kind smile.
The way she responded shows she understood he was no longer here. I shake my head and take a sip of the drink.
Stella goes back to work, and I sit here, sipping from my paper straw. How anyone thought it was a good idea to ban plastic straws is beyond me. These things fall apart so easily.
My bun is pulling at my head, so I undo the pins and let my hair fall down my shoulders. Since it’s been tied up all day, it has a wave to it. I comb through the curls with my fingers and secure my scarf around my head like a headband.
Looking out the large windows in the front, all I see is an orange glow of the streetlamps shining into nowhere. The fog is sitting over the city and seems to have zero plans of moving.
I check my itinerary for tomorrow and have yet to be assigned a flight due to the weather. I was supposed to be on a sprint of back-and-forth rotations between New York to Paris. Looks like that’s not happening.
I so want to be in Paris right now, eating escargot and having a glass of wine on the Champs-Élysées.
A text message comes in from Monica.
Checking in. You okay?
Crap. I never texted her my change of plans.
Stopped for a drink at The Tap Room.
The text bubble starts and stops a few times before another text pops up.
How did you end up there?
I ran into someone in the Uber.
Zack.
How did you know?
The Tap Room.
You knew he worked here?!?!
Honey, I know everything.
You have some explaining to do!
I’ll text when I’m leaving.
Here’s the thing. Nicholas just started throwing up EVERYWHERE and is burning up. You might not want to come over.
Yikes. That’s no bueno. Poor kid.
Yeah. I’d hate for you to get sick.
Ask Zack if you can stay with him.
As if! He kind of hates me.
Then, why are you there?
He told me to come in.
More bubbles appear and disappear.
Tell him you’re staying the night.
“Stay here?” I say out loud to my phone.
Where the hell does she want me to sleep? On the floor? Even if there was some magical place I could spend the night, my money is on the fact that Zachariah Hunt is probably still pissed I ended up in his ride share and regretting he even asked me to come in here.
Fact is, I’m even a little confused as to what I’m doing here. Sure, I’ve always been one to go with the flow. Taking chances has been my motto since I was a kid. But being in the presence of the only man I’ve ever loved is starting to feel like a bad idea.
If I were wise, I’d get my coat, put down a tip, and leave.
Problem is, I’ve always been the type to make bad decisions.
3
Zack
I bust through my office door and slam it with a force, making the pictures on the wall rattle.
Of all the women to be in the backseat of a ride-share, why did Jolene Davies have to be the one?
In all these years, there were two things I could find solace in: that she was a horrible woman and I was better for no longer knowing her.
What I wasn’t planning on was her being even more beautiful than years ago when she left me forever.
Fuck me.
I toss my coat on the couch and walk around the desk, opening the secret stash of Jack Daniel’s and taking a shot straight from the bottle.
Why the hell I asked her to come in is beyond me. I should have sent her on her merry way … off to the next adventure. Instead, I told her to come in, and she followed.