The clerk apologized. She kept talking. Something in the way she said « platinum » felt rehearsed, as if she needed the lobby to hear it more than the clerk did.
I looked away and squeezed Noah’s hand.
The clerk apologized.
Near the seating area, an older woman with silver hair and a paperback in her lap glanced up sharply at the sound. Her expression tightened for a second before she lowered her eyes back to her book.
I noticed it, but I didn’t think much about it then.
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