Charged. He said charged--not in charge, because if he was in charge, all of this would be much, much better. It's a small detail, perhaps, but not to someone like him, who is meticulous and calculated beneath that easy, breezy surface.

He laughs easily with her question, the humour a bright spark lighting up his blue eyes.

"She wishes I was her assistant," he answers, after lowering his flute with a sip. "I'm her son, and before you ask, no, I don't work for her. She just thought having me here would help with the coziness, you know? Feels like a loving family and all." The sardonic hint in his voice is the honest part, but he says it like a joke.

"I mean--honestly, I'd help her out wherever she needs me." That part's not totally honest. His smirk tapers. "And you? What brings you to town?" Boston isn't a big city, and she clearly is not from it.