Emma bit her lip, still feeling bad in spite of Seamus' attempt to make her feel better. She just hoped she hadn't done damage to the little girl's emotional well-being.
Listening as Seamus explained what the job might entail, she nodded. Taking orders and delivering food couldn't be that hard, she thought. She had a good memory, and she was efficient enough.
Still, she never thought she'd be considering work as a server. She'd worked for the Ministry, after all! But she needed the work, she reminded herself. She needed to have a roof over her head and to eat.
The name of the new owner of the pub, though, completely shocked her. 'Miles Bletchley?' she said, aghast. 'You have to be kidding!' What would a pureblood, and the only surviving Bletchley of his generation be doing owning a pub?