Dylan's not at the bar, but he's bussing tables near enough to hear the comment. He looks up, follows her gaze and smirks.

"Yeah, maybe it's blasphemous to say, but I really don't get it." He keeps stacking plates as he speaks. Dylan's a pretty average looking teenager, and his body language is relaxed even as he works — He's definitely comfortable here.

"But I try not to judge the owner too much for his taste in holiday décor." He steps a little closer and leans in, lowering his voice to a stage whisper: "He's from Jersey."