You're about to text. Can't lie to the group. She tilted her head. I can see it from here. You've got the face.
I don't have a face, Ethan. You absolutely have a face. She walked in and dropped into the chair across from his desk. Not the visitor chair by the door, but his second chair. The one against the wall that he kept for working lunches.
The one nobody else ever sat in without asking. It's the same face you made when Marcus suggested karaoke at the holiday party. The one that says I would rather crawl through broken glass. He almost smiled. Karaoke was a legitimate threat to public safety.
Your Sinatra was iconic and you know it. She pointed at his phone. Mrs. Delgado has Lily tonight. I already know because Lily told me at the company family picnic last month unprompted that Fridays are abua nights and she watches tel nollas and eats three kinds of chips.
So you have zero excuses. He put his phone down. You talked to my daughter about my schedule. Your daughter volunteers information freely and with great enthusiasm. I'm just a good listener.
She stood up. Come on. One drink, 2 hours. You'll be home before 10. Claire, Ethan.
Her voice shifted just slightly. Just enough. You spend your whole life taking care of everyone else tonight. Let someone take care of you. He didn't answer right away.
That was the thing about Clare. Most people when they pushed pushed loudly. They made arguments. They listed reasons. Clare just said the one true thing and then went quiet.
And the quiet did more work than any argument could. He picked up his phone. be there at 7," he typed into the group chat. Marcus sent back three fire emojis. Clare grabbed her jacket and walked back to the door. "See you there, Parker."
"You're insufferable," he said. She glanced back over her shoulder. "You're welcome." Brew Master's tap on a Friday night was exactly the kind of place Ethan had been actively avoiding for 4 years. He knew it the second he walked in and felt the noise hit him like a wall. the overlapping conversations.