Anger coursed through Seamus like an Irish car bomb, wild and bitter. He scowled at the table, his hand now balled into a fist. How could Astoria be so blind? Then she decided she wanted to change the subject. Women! They were so changeable. Seamus shook his head and turned to look out at the passersby on the High Street. None of them were paying attention. One benefit of running a magical pub meant that the tables each had their own privacy wards attached. If diners didn't want their conversations overhead? Wish granted. He clenched and unclenched the muscles in his jaw, unsure of what to do. There were a number of things he wanted to say, but most of them would end this thing, whatever it was, here and now.
In the end, though...what were they doing? It wasn't a relationship. It had never been about that. Seamus didn't have a foot to stand on, if he wanted to spend more time with her (and wasn't that the opposite of a fling?).
"Yeah. Let's. Emory?" The waiter rushed over. More magic. "Whiskey, will you?"