“All right, we’ll close those doors for now.” Once again, Nell opened her briefcase. This time she took out a portfolio, opened it. “Your résumé’s impressive. But it doesn’t list your managing the Next Round bar in Maryland.”
“I tended bar there. I managed the offices for Greenwald’s Builders.”
“Your employer at the Next Round told me you often handled scheduling, inventory, ordering, even small repairs and maintenance.”
“As needed.”
“Two words to live by. He also told me that you were the second-best bartender he’s had in the thirty-one years of owning the bar.”
“Big Mac. Number one.”
Nell smiled again. “Exactly. Big Mac beat you out because he could sing like an angel and intimidated any potential troublemaker just by his size. But you were more dependable and flexible—so it’s a close call. He hoped to sell you the business when he retired.”
“He—” That hit hard. “I didn’t know that.”
“Apparently, neither did he, until you relocated. Are you planning to stay in Westridge?”
It shook her, the idea she’d been just that close to having her own. She had to put it aside now, because that was gone. And this was the here and the now.
“I want roots. I’ve transplanted them here. I have nothing to go back to, and my family’s here.”
“You’ve lived a lot of places, being in a military family. Any favorites?”
“No. Not really. It’s all temporary, and you know it going in.”
“So don’t get attached.” Nell nodded, and though she had Morgan’s résumé on the table, didn’t look at it. “You worked in college, so you have experience waiting tables, serving the public in that way. Which should give you an understanding of what waitstaff handles. On the managerial side again, your boss at Greenwald’s Builders sang your praises.”
It amazed her they’d already checked her references, but she answered smoothly. “The Greenwalds were wonderful to work for.”
“A family business.”
“Yes, very much so.”
“Your grandmother and mother run a family business.”
“They do.”
“I love Crafty Arts, by the way, and really need to get into town and check out the new café.”
“It’s terrific.”
“But you don’t want to work there?”
“A wine bar’s lovely, but it’s not a full bar. They could use me, but they don’t need me.”
“Do you find family businesses offer levels of comfort and challenge?”
For the first time, Morgan laughed. “Yes, I do.”
Nell sat back, sipped her drink. “Why a bar?”
“I like people. People gather in a bar. When you’re behind one, they look to you to serve them a drink. But you have to know how to gauge the mood. Happy, celebrational, looking to brush off a tough day, sad, pissed off, just looking for company. And that’s what you serve up with the drink. I’m good at mixing drinks, and at gauging moods. I like bars. They’re their own little universe.”
“How so?”
“The world’s revolving out there.” She circled a finger in the air. “But in here, it’s a respite. Your meeting tanked, you didn’t get that raise? Respite. Your kid aced his spelling test, you got a promotion? A place to celebrate and share good news. A resort bar, more transitory clientele, but still some locals dropping in.
“Business meeting over there.” She gestured to an empty table. “A couple of honeymooners mooning over each other there. Two couples, old friends, taking a mini-vacation together. A bridal party celebrating. I can see all of them from behind the bar—it’s a smart layout—and still give my attention to the stool sitters.”
“What do you expect from the waitstaff?”
“The same as I expect from myself. Serve, gauge moods, and play to them. Don’t chatter unless they chatter first. You want tips? Smile, make eye contact, pay attention, and don’t neglect one table for another. Friendly service still has to be efficient. Serve now, bitch later. If you need help, tell me. It’s my job to step in. As needed.”
“Okay. I’ve got about fifteen minutes. Let’s talk terms, then I need to pass you to my assistant to show you around.” She took another sip of her drink. “If we come to terms, you can start training next Monday. I’d want you to have a solid week with Don, our current manager, before you fly solo.”