"No," John offers a flat sort of expression that says he completely disbelieving of the fact that Q might think so little of him. "I just assumed we could wander into an Italian joint on Valentine's and get seated."
Fact of the matter is, yeah, they probably could. Synchronicity is kind of fucking awesome for making luck, but even John realizes that sometimes there was no point in tempting the universe. It does, after all, sort of fucking hate him.
So he reveals his made-plans by giving his name to the hostess and they actually have a decent table in the back that is pleasantly away from crying children.