He had an escort of course, because that was the rule, but he didn’t bring them to the table and they weren’t obvious. Abel could perhaps pick out the faces or sense the magic itself, but Roxy likely wouldn’t know them from other patrons or people on the street. Sometimes Andrew hadn’t at first, though he had insisted on it at some point. He didn’t want the feeling of a stranger following to become normal and cause him to overlook it sometime when it was a threat. Not that the coven wouldn’t intercede then too. It was a good enough compromise for everyone, for now. If Melisande or Cedric had broken the rule yet, he hadn’t caught them at it.
He approached the table alone with his usual quiet confidence, all coiled energy beneath those nice clothes. He was armed, but that wasn’t anything personal—he always was—and it was fairly discreet. Nonetheless, when he sat down he hooked his own sunglasses (which were most certainly not heart-shaped) into his shirt collar and then placed both hands splayed on the tabletop in an apparent sign of harmlessness. For whatever it was really worth. it wasn’t like a tripping hazard or a tabletop was going to impeded either of them if it really came down to it. “’Afternoon.” This wasn’t his idea of a good time either, but he had less riding on it. He couldn’t really burn many more bridges with Abel at this point, and what was Roxy to him? He was here for the sake of decency to a man he felt sympathy for on some level and for Melisande’s love of keeping the peace. He’d learned with Robyn that you never knew which enemies would end up being the ones to come back and ruin everything, so reconciliation wasn’t a bad call—but this could go the other way too.