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“You really like this guy.” An annoying singsong quality permeated Clara’s voice. “On a professional level.” With Naomi’s résumé, it was reasonable to use professional to mean she wanted to fuck him. “No,” Clara chewed her bottom lip. “On a . . . hand-holding, picnic-in-the-park, do-his-whole-astrological-chart-to-see-if-you’re-compatible level.” “That’s the grossest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He reached for his coffee cup only to find it empty. This day felt a thousand years long, and it wasn’t even ten yet.
“What I’m trying to articulate, probably a little poorly, is that you’re precious,” Ethan said, “not in spite of, but because of all the ways you believe you’re broken.”
