“Nobody would ever want you, especially someone like him,” Max said, his voice carrying clearly across the grass.

“He’s probably just taking pity on his manager.”

Claire put her hand to her collarbone again, looking a little uneasy at the noise Max was making.

“Max, stop,” Claire said.

“No, really, Ronnie,” Max said, taking a step toward me on the walkway.

“Don’t embarrass yourself at Birch Street.”

He turned on his heel and walked toward his car, leaving Claire to follow behind him on the crunching gravel path.

The vinyl booth at the diner smelled like fried onions and dark, burnt coffee.