Nancy steadied herself. She was a bartender. He was a customer. This was not complicated. She took another deep breath and made a slow, nonchalant meander to the bar. Jacob was so hyper-focused on his phone that he didn’t see her approach. She picked up a bar towel and proceeded to wipe clean a row of freshly washed old-fashioned glasses.
“What’s the good word?” she asked, instantly regretting it. What’s the good word? Who was she? A barkeep from 19th-century Glasgow?
Jacob didn’t stir, just kept scrolling.
Phew, thought Nancy. That was a narrow escape.
“Could I have another cranberry juice?” asked Jacob, pushing his glass toward her without taking his gaze from his phone.
Um, rude. Who did this guy think he was? Nancy pulled up the tall, white plastic bottle of juice and wordlessly re-filled his glass.
“Thanks,” he said distractedly. He raked his fingers through his hair and bit his thumbnail.
“Is everything okay?” ventured Nancy.
“Huh?” Jacob’s eyes went from the glass of juice, back to his phone, and then to Nancy. “Oh, yes. The juice is fine, thanks.”
“No, I mean with you,” she clarified. “Is everything okay with you?”
Jacob let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, geez!”
Nancy threw her hands up and backed away.
He rubbed his forehead and cursed. “Shit, sorry. I-I’m not myself,” he said. “You were being so nice and… Nancy?” he asked with a tone of surprise. “Nancy Cooper?”
She looked away awkwardly and offered a nervous laugh. “Yes…”
Jacob stood and outstretched his hand to her. “Oh my gosh. It’s been forever! How long has it been?”
“Since Zena’s college graduation bash…” she said shaking his hand. “A long time ago.”
“Wow, I think you’re right. That’s crazy. It’s not like Blairsville is a big town.”
Nancy colored. “Well, I spent some time in Atlanta. And we don’t exactly travel in the same circles,” she added, her gaze now on her shoes.
He looked confused at her words for a moment. “I-uh, yes, I suppose you’re right.”
This was interesting. Could he really not see the truth of her words? He’d said it himself. Blairsville is small. They should be running into one another at fairs and concerts and the grocery store. But Jacob Sweetwood’s life was bigger than that. He worked, had groceries delivered, and partied with fancy people at their lake houses. At least, that’s what Nancy assumed.
“And, well,” he continued. “You work in a bar and…”
“You don’t drink,” she said simply.
Jacob’s expression turned to one of surprise. “Yes, that’s right. How did you know?”
Nancy lowered her head again and shuffled her feet. “I was there that day,” she said, referring to the pool party. “Max told me a few days later that you had vowed never to drink again. And, I don’t know, you seem like a man who keeps his word.”
He gave the slightest hint of a smile. “Thank you,” he replied.
The air hung meaningfully between them. Nancy could sense she had seen him just now, in a way he wasn’t used to being seen. “I don’t drink either,” she said quickly, breaking the tension.
Jacob laughed at this. “You? Don’t drink? Bartender and purveyor of alcohol?”
She smiled widely and fiddled with her hair nervously. “I know, right?”
“Why?” he asked.
“Oh, I just never liked how it made me feel out of control and light-headed—nothing heroic like your reasoning.”
Jacob’s face darkened. “Oh, I’m far from heroic; I can assure you of that.”
Nancy cleared her throat, unsure of whether to continue. She stepped forward again to the bar and began towel-drying more glasses. She decided a change of subject was best. “So, what is your sober self doing at my pub this early in the day anyhow?”
He looked offended, but only for a split second. Then he appeared to be amused. “If you must know, I’m meeting someone.”
“Oh, and what’s her name?” The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back. What was she doing? This was none of her business. Her faced turned eight shades of red; she was sure of it.
Jacob laughed again, hard. His whole face changed and his eyes lit up. “Nancy Cooper, I wish I’d gotten to know you years ago!” he said. “I never knew you were this direct.”
Nancy was a little flustered now. “Sorry, I… that’s none of my business.”
He looked straight at her. “No, I love it. You’re hilarious,” he said in earnest. “I’m not meeting a she. I’m meeting a he. It’s not necessarily for business or personal reasons. It’s… complicated. Anyway, this guy is from out of town and he picked here to meet.”
“Ah, I see.” Of course, she thought. Someone else would have had to pick her pub. Why would Jacob Sweetwood ever think to come to the Fox and Fig?
Jacob observed her strangely. “Have I offended you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I have,” he countered. “Sorry, Nancy, but I’ve been in New Zealand for far too many weeks, back only a few days, and still fighting jet lag. You’re gonna have to help a Southern gentleman out.”
Nancy’s stomach was now overcome with butterflies and her legs had turned to goo. The way he said her name, his honesty—the man was effortlessly charming to say the least. “It’s just… I was very surprised to see you in my restaurant after all these years and well, someone else suggesting to meet here explains it.”
Jacob seemed to take this in. “I see. So, you think I have avoided your place—which looks incredible, by the way—because it was beneath me? I promise you, Nancy, it’s only because I don’t frequent bars. And to be honest, I don’t go out much at all. I work. When I was with…” he stopped himself before saying Ava-Rose’s name. “That is, I had a few months where I was going out, but it was mostly restaurants in Atlanta.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
He rubbed his face with both hands and then raked his fingers through his hair. “My jet-lagged brain apparently disagrees.”
