The stone blocks that made the walls of Maxie's Bistro and Wine Bar were large and ancient, showing signs of centuries of use. The wooden beams interspersed throughout were just as scarred. But the decoration - rich golden-framed art, warm red velvet upholstery, fantastic stained glass - kept the place from seeing like a cold, converted castle. It was comfortable here, soothing even -- a place his father would have enjoyed.
Christian followed the serving girl as she wended her way through various rooms until they arrived in a somewhat private nook. A small round table nestled inside a 3/4 square alcove lined with red velvet benches and padded with throw pillows. The wine list was waiting, and with a cursory glance, Christian ordered a bottle something that seemed reasonable - a chardonnay touted to carry apricot, oak, and hints of floral. Those bread knots he'd mentioned before to Fred appeared shortly before the wine carafe.
Some of the cares etched across his face seemed to ease in the muted, golden light. He glanced across the restaurant, then back to Fred. It was empty tonight, save for an elderly couple across the room. A crooning male voice sang in Italian in the background over hidden speakers in the wall. "Well," he said. "What do you think?"