The way to the bar passed in silence even louder than the radio playing annoying pop songs. Dom had no idea how they were to spend two hours having dinner in this atmosphere. He didn’t really want to. Any and all romantic gestures seemed fake. He’d much rather be alone. Or drink himself to sleep in a real church.

Chuck’s Bar & Grillwasn’t impressive, but the food was better than fucking tuna sandwiches. And judging by Seth’s choice of drink, he was planning to get smashed. He’d gone to the bar and, frustrated by the bartender’s inability to make a proper Bloody Mary, he improvised and made himself a whole pitcher of the drink with a generous amount of vodka. He’d spent a good twenty minutes chatting to the bartender about drinks and even left the guy a recipe, as Domenico sat alone at the table. On his birthday.