Bucatini

Bucatini was a decent Italian place in a somewhat upscale commercial district. the cuisine was definitely more authentic than Olive Garden, but it wasn't 3-star Michelin either. Her uniform consisted of a black long-sleeve button up, black form-fitting slacks and a long black apron. Black on black on black was good for hiding sauce stains, she supposed. She'd only been working there for three years, and it was leaps and bounds above the shitty chain restaurants she had worked in college and right afterward.
When she walked in, things were quiet, with a few scattered tables. It would pick up soon though, so she quickly got situated, found the floor plan to check her section, and write down the specials. She was working the high-top tables and booths that surrounded the bar. She sighed. It was a common section for the closer...but it also kept her close to Seth. She had no illusions about that being a coincidence, but the money was good, so what was the point in complaining? It's not like Seth ever...did anything.