Page 29 of If He Hadn't Cheated
She gives me a look but doesn’t push. Instead, she joins me behind the bar. We work side by side in silence, and for once, it doesn’t feel strained.
Around five, she asks, “You seen him lately?”
I know who she means.
“Knox?” I say.
She nods.
I rinse a glass. “He was here last night.”
“And?”
“And nothing. We talked. He walked me home.”
Jazz arches an eyebrow. “You let him?”
She means if I let him sleep with me.
I glance at her. “No Is that so hard to believe?”
She smiles faintly. “A little,” she teases.
I shake my head and focus on the drinks. But I feel her watching me. Not with judgment. With curiosity.
“Do you like him?” she asks finally.
I pause. The question hangs in the air between us.
Do I? I did. I do. I always will but I buried those feelings a long time ago.
Or do I just like what he represents? Safety. Stability. A calm I forgot existed.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“That’s fair,” Jazz says.
We leave it at that. By nine, the bar is full.
It’s a good crowd tonight. Loud, but not obnoxious. Tips are flowing. People are smiling. I keep moving. Keep pouring. Keep pretending the noise doesn’t get to me.
Knox doesn’t show up. And I hate how much I notice. I catch myself glancing toward the door more than I want to. Listening for his voice under the music. And for some reason, that stings more than it should.
By midnight, I’m wiped. The crowd starts to thin. Jazz takes the last round of tables. I start closing the register. The back door creaks open.
I look up, and there he is.
Knox.
Looking like he’s been walking for hours. Hair tousled. Jacket unzipped. His eyes find mine instantly.
“You’re late,” I say.
“Didn’t think you’d notice.”
“I always notice.”
He walks toward me. Leans against the bar. “You look different,” he says.
