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“Friends after that, and the drama of the breakup, the very brief reconnect the summer of our junior year in college, and the far less dramatic parting. And her marriage to a restaurant guy in Portland, her divorce.”
“Divorced. Could lead to another reconnect.”
“No. Too much friends now. Friends who know they really don’t suit otherwise. I’d say this is mission accomplished out here.”
They went back in, and she unleased Yoda.
“You listen to Mookie, and be a good boy. No third floor. I’ll be home soon.”
Since the tablet played “How Can I Miss You If You Don’t Go Away,” and the dogs were back on the tug rope, she decided everyone would be fine.
“I already appreciate you talking me into this.”
He opened the truck’s passenger side door for her. Of course he did.
“I do go into town,” she continued when he got behind the wheel. “But maybe not as often as I should. Still, priorities.”
“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.
