“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asked.
“So badly.”
We made our exit—leaving a bewildered Michael in the dining room—and started walking a quarter of a mile to another spot.
Ten minutes later, we were tucked into a tufted leather booth at Fiddler’s Green, the noisy Irish pub filled with a live band covering everything from the Cranberries to Dropkick Murphys. And in a welcome change, we weren’t being greeted every thirty seconds by someone Will knew. The floor was sticky with beer, and the laminated menu featured bar food, like shepherd’s pie and fish and chips. We ordered potato wedges and chicken tenders to split along with pints of Guinness.
“Don’t tell Michael about this,” Will said as the food arrived. “He would be utterly crushed.”
Because of the volume in the bar, he had to lean in a little so Icould hear him when he spoke, putting just the faintest hint of clean laundry and cologne in the air between us. Despite his designer jeans and French-cuffed shirt, he didn’t look out of place in the rowdy bar’s dim lighting. He looked mouthwatering.
The silliness from the previous restaurant had subsided. Maybe it was something to do with the tight quarters of the booth. The way, when a room is rowdy, you have to look at someone—reallylook at them—to follow along with the conversation. Whatever it was, the air between us was charged.
“Your secret is safe with me.” I crossed my heart with one finger. “But for the record, ‘dive bar’ looks good on you.”
He raised an eyebrow at the compliment. “I’ll remember that.”
“So, what kind of law do you practice?” I asked, deciding it might be better if I broached the career conversation before he asked me about my thrilling adventures answering phones.
“I’m a plaintiff’s attorney.”
“As in, you sue people?”
“Only if they really deserve it.” There was that winning smile again.
Juries must swoon for this guy.
“How’d you get into that line of work?”
“I met my partner, Fritz, when we were roommates in law school. His dad had a practice that he wanted to keep in the family. We decided to take it over from him when we graduated. The firm was struggling by the time we took the reins, but we’ve built it into something I’m proud of. It’s nice to know that our work really helps people who, in all likelihood, have been through something terrible.”
I wish I could say Will’s speech sounded rehearsed, but his humility was almost more attractive than he was. I wasn’t above googling a guy before meeting him for a date, and from what I had been able to find about Will and his law firm, Hall & Somerset, had amassed a fortune in damages for clients, recovering billions of dollars, meaning the firm had earned at least hundreds of millions in revenue. To hear Will talk about it, though, his work was just like any other salt-of-the-earth endeavor.
“What about you?” he asked. “Have you found a career you’re passionate about yet?”
“That is, perhaps, the politest way anyone has ever asked meif teaching swimming lessons is my life’s calling. Sadly, it is not.” I took a sip of my drink. “But you’ll be riveted to hear that I have a second job I’m also not passionate about, working the front desk of the children’s museum in Loch Haven.”
“Wow,” he said, playfully matching my sarcastic tone. After a chuckle, he added sincerely, “I used to take Mia there when she was a kid. She loved the alligator exhibit.”
“I get to see the alligators every day. One of the many perks.”
“Very impressive.”
“I know. It’s a lot of humble bragging for a first date.” I took another sip, the Guinness giving me a warm buzz. “But the swimming stuff and the museum are just stopovers. I’m thinking of going back to school.” I didn’t elaborate to say that the thought had only just crossed my mind for the first time about an hour ago, and I prayed he wouldn’t ask me what I would study. I had no fucking clue.
You might be conquering your field, but I’m busy treading water, Will Somerset.
Mercifully, he just nodded and said, “You’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.”
It felt like a comment on my age, which opened the door for something that had been bugging me since he first proposed this dinner. “Are we going to talk about the age thing?”
He feigned confusion. “Age thing?”
“We haven’t traded birth certificates or anything, but I’m thinking there might be a slight, small, almost imperceptible age difference between us.”
“Are you calling me old?”
I clutched at imaginary pearls. “Never. That would be rude. I just feel like it would be wise to understand…”