Ellie pulled at her shirt collar, her fingers tugging the fabric away from her neck as she turned her face toward me.
“Great, sweetie,” she said, her voice slightly higher than usual. “Let us get them inside before they melt.”
“You look flushed, Ellie,” Gloria said, joining us in the driveway and looking her up and down. “Is your air conditioning broken again in that little apartment?”
“It is just the humidity,” Ellie said, her smile returning quickly. “The drive from Westlake was brutal.”
“I thought your client was in Avon,” Brad said, then stopped, his hand tightening on the cupcake box.
“Westlake,” Ellie said quickly, her collar still clamped between her thumb and forefinger. “The office moved last month.”
Brad did not look at me, but his knuckles were white against the white cardboard.
“You never mentioned they were moving,” I said to Ellie. “We had lunch last Tuesday, and you said you were still subletting the space on Broad Street.”
