Miles finally managed to extricate himself out of bed just before lunch. He would have stayed there longer, but those damn elves had basically said that Masters Liam and Nigel needed their parents. How damn rude. Having Daphne in his bed made it more and more difficult to get out of there each morning. It was about the only damn good thing about being married, actually.
But he remembered that the pub was reopening, and he'd promised Finnigan he'd be there to make sure it was, and to talk to the chit he thought would make a good barmaid.
He flew from the town'a apparition point to the pub door, slowing down when he looked at the place. He saw it with new eyes now that it was his. Well, Liam's, but his to run for a decade or so. A lot could happen in such a time, and he was already visualising a grand party the day he handed the keys over to a seventeen year old Liam.
As he came through the door, he leaned his broom against the wall, and stomped on the mat. He didn't feel like tracking slushy snow through the place, not when he saw what it looked like.
Master of all he surveyed, Miles studied the decor as he took off his flying gloves. It looked different - yet - the same. He gave an approvingly smug nod of it all, then noticed Finnigan behind the bar.
"I always knew this place would scrub up well," he said with another nod as he sat down on one of the bar stools. "Pour me a fire-whiskey, would you?"