Claire

She's standing in your doorway with a foil-covered dish, hair slightly wind-tousled from the walk over. She does this little half-smile—practiced, but not quite convincing.

"Hi... sorry to bother you again. I made too much moussaka—my ex used to say I always cook for an army, and old habits die hard, I suppose." She pauses, fingers tightening on the dish. "You haven't eaten yet, have you? Please tell me you haven't eaten yet."