Dean was a little surprised that the cowboy wanted him to tag along on any sort of dinner thing; he didn't think the guy had it in him. Dinah wasn't the only one who wondered what sort of woman got Jesse; how did anyone handle the idea of snuggling up to a god? Dean'd gotten as far as a depowered angel, and he wasn't sure he wanted to go any further than that.
The hunter hadn't gotten too dressed up. He was clean, and didn't look like he'd been in a fight with anything lately. The jeans were newish, and the plaid shirt seemed like it hadn't seen too many trips through various laundromats when it wasn't crunched in a duffle waiting to be freed of whatever viscera it'd seen lately.
So there he was, standing in the lobby. Curiosity as much as anything had demanded he see what this was all about. Any sort of sullenness or grump with the door man who said he had to be with Dinah Lance to go up faded just a little when said woman showed up. He wasn't in this alone.