was right. He had never applied for a grant before. If anything, he should have asked her to look at his application.
He couldn’t get their conversation—or her—out of his head. The more time elapsed without her coming into the bar, the more he thought about her. It was getting to the point where she was crowding out other stuff, like remembering to pay Shane and Carter, which he had done a day late this week.
“Ben Lawson?”
A woman on the other side of the bar drew him from his thoughts. She was dressed up—for Lawson’s Lager House, anyway. She was wearing a silk top with a blazer over it, and her hair was in some kind of elaborate updo. Like Maya’s, but fancier.
“Yes. You must be Brie?” His leading candidate for the bar manager position he’d posted last week. Even if he didn’t get started on the restaurant until after Labor Day, he’d decided to hire someone to oversee the bar now. He’d decided that day on the boat, in fact, with Maya and Rohan and Holden. He wanted more time to do stuff like that.
He stuck his hand out. “Thanks for coming all this way.” Brie had responded to his ad, and after he’d looked at her résumé—which was great—they’d done a phone interview. She was currently managing an outpost of the Milestones chain in suburban Toronto, which was probably a lot more complicated than his bar gig would be. She’d told him she’d decided to flee the city and was looking for a job in a place that would lower her cost of living but keep her in reasonable proximity to family in Toronto.
She seemed great, on paper anyway, so he’d asked if she’d be willing to make the trek out to meet in person and see the place. They’d spoken so easily and she’d asked such good questions that he’d ended up telling her about the new restaurant. And now that she was here, he kind of felt like she was auditioning him as much as the reverse.
“Hey, Carter, I’m going to take a break.” Carter nodded, and Law ushered Brie to the far end of the bar. “This place is probably rougher than you’re used to.”
“Well, maybe,” she said, taking the last stool while he leaned his elbows on the bar from the inside, “but it’s also got great wine and beer lists. Milestones isn’t serving Revel Cider or Bellwoods Jelly King—those are perfect summer taps.”
“You must have looked at the website, which I have to admit is a little embarrassing. That’s definitely rough.”
“I could help with that. I know a little about web design. I actually studied graphic design in college.”
“So how come you’re managing restaurants?”
“I got a job as a designer out of college, but for a bank. I hated it. I’d worked in bars and restaurants since high school. I always thought of it as a way to pay for my studies, as a temporary phase. But at some point, sitting there in my lightless cubicle arguing with executives about which shade of green best conveyed fiscal responsibility, I thought, Why am I doing this? This is making me unhappy. I like the restaurant world.”
“What do you like about it?”
“The buzz of a busy night. The feeling of a roomful of customers who start out happy and the challenge of keeping them that way. The camaraderie among the staff. The hours—I think all my formative years spent in the industry turned me into a permanent night owl.”
“I agree. Don’t you find—” The bells on the door, which he had trained himself to hear even over the din of a busy night, drew his attention.
It was Maya. With Holden.
Maybe he had thought about her so much that he’d finally manifested her.
Except manifesting someone with your thoughts was not a thing.
They approached the bar, and he watched Carter, who was in the middle of serving someone else, acknowledge them. He turned to Brie. “Will you excuse me for a moment? I’ll be right back.”
The director and her muse had their heads together and didn’t hear his approach. “Hey,” he said. “What can I get you?” The question was directed at the muse. He was already grabbing Maya’s wine.
“White Claw?” Holden said.
For God’s sake. He snorted.
“What?” Holden said.
Law just shook his head, and Maya rolled her eyes at him as he filled her glass.
“What are you guys up to?” he asked, glancing at a sheaf of paper on the bar.
“Running lines,” Maya said. She seemed a little