“What are they? Your priorities.”
“The first has to be the work. Doing good work that leads to satisfied clients that leads to establishing a solid business. I liked working in an office, working with a team, working up to managing one. Freelancing’s a whole lot different. It’s just me.”
“I bet you’re tougher on yourself than your boss was.”
“Maybe.” She shifted. “You run your own business. You, your father, your grandfather. You have a team, but the three of you are in charge. And obviously good at it or that team wouldn’t stay in place.”
“Are you looking to put a team together when you’re established? Where you want to be?”
“I don’t know. Right now it’s one day at a time, one project at a time. I’m good with that. Was it always law for you?”
“Other than dreams of pitching for the Red Sox or being a rock star, yeah. It was always the family business.”
“A rock star?”
“Owen and I and a few other friends had a garage band back in high school.”
“Really?” And here, she realized, was another layer that fascinated. “What did you play?”
“Covers mostly—Foo Fighters, Green Day, Van Halen, some Bon Jovi, a little Aerosmith. Like that. And some really bad originals.”
“You wrote music?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it music.”
“And what instrument?”
“Rhythm guitar. Never could fully master the G major ninth. Owen was lead guitar. He’s got the hands for it.”
“This is fascinating information. A whole new side to the village lawyer with his rescue dog and pickup truck. Do you still play?”
“Play at,” he corrected. “Now and then.”
“I’d like to hear you play. God, I’m relaxed,” she realized as they drove into town. “I wasn’t sure what it would take to relax again after the Gold Room.”
He shot her a look of mild surprise. “You’re resilient. I figured that out in five minutes after we met. It’s a very attractive quality.”
He pulled in to park.
Resilient, she thought as she got out of the car.
She’d take it.
Chapter Sixteen
The hostess, who might have been old enough to buy a legal beer, greeted Trey with a quick, flirty smile.
“Heard you were coming in.” She flicked Sonya a look caught between wistful and envious. “With a friend.”
“Sonya, this is Halley.”
“Sonya Poole?”
“MacTavish,” Sonya corrected.
“Right. I meant you’re up at the manor. Wow. Welcome to the Lobster Cage. Your table’s ready.” She picked up two menus, the wine list, then escorted them through the dining area to a corner table for two. “Ian will be your server tonight,” she continued as Trey helped Sonya with her coat. “Enjoy. Oh, Trey, my dad really appreciates your help with the … you know.”
“Give him my best.”
“I will. Ian will be right with you.”
“She’s crushing on you.”
“She’s twenty.”
“And still. She’s a very pretty girl, so you get points for not flirting back.”
“She’s twenty,” Trey repeated.
Their server, short, wiry, with orange-streaked dark hair twisted into a topknot, arrived with a cheerful smile. “Hi, Trey. Welcome, Ms. MacTavish. I’m Ian, and I’ll be taking care of all your culinary hopes and dreams tonight.”
“How’s it going, Ian?”
“Going good.” Grinning, Ian made a check mark in the air with his finger. “Aced it.”
“I never had a doubt.”
“That makes one of us. Can I start you off with drinks? A bottle of water for the table?”
“Wine?” Trey asked Sonya.
“That’s a yes.”
He skimmed down the wine list. “We’ll take a bottle of the sauvignon blanc. If that works?”
“It definitely does.”
He added a bottle of water before Ian walked off.
“So, since you know everybody, what did he ace?”
“Short version. Ian’s dad got sick a couple years ago, so he dropped out of college to come home and help out. Got his degree online, and now he’s working on his masters.”
“In what?”
“Environmental engineering. Ian’s bright and committed.”
“On behalf of planet Earth, I’m grateful. His dad?”