He’s tired of being holed up in their room. There’s only so much MasterChef a man can watch without ordering the entire room service menu. He really wants to hold out for those calzones Will promised, so he’s staying away from the Meadowlands too. So the bar it is. It’s as cozy and intimate as he remembers from the last time he came in, but there are fewer other patrons given it’s the middle of the day. It’s also nice that on this visit he doesn’t have gut-churning fear for Will eating up his insides. The same barkeep is working. Her hair is shiny and dark under the low lights and she grins. “If you’re planning on knocking back another half-dozen shots and then leaving my bar a mess of broken glass and spilled beer again, you’ve got another think coming.” “Not today. Club soda. Lime.” She nods and winks. “Now that I can handle. Name’s Ella, by the way.” He doesn’t reply.
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