Anne considers the offer tea with a tilted glance toward the table, then flicks her eyes back to Greta's at the counter-proposal. She isn't sure which option she prefers. There is something about being here, sharing space with all this domestic normalcy, that feels like a faint itch beneath her skin. Add to that the way Greta looked at her, and she's not sure she could just sit and wait it out as might ordinarily appeal.

And she does have somewhere to be. That comes with its own set of uncertainties, but she had already decided: Jack's going, so she's going.

"Did Eliot not invite you to his... brunch thing?" she says. As far as she knows, the only time Eliot and Greta have crossed paths was on Jack's birthday, at her own behest. But they'd seemed to get on. "That's where I was going. Could come with."

It don't much matter to her if Eliot invited Greta or not. If he didn't, he should've. And while she could question her own motivation in making the invitation herself, it is easier not to. It ain't Greta that makes her feel ill-at-ease here; ain't even the way she looked at her. She's not sure what it is, only what it isn't.

Maybe it just don't sit right, stopping in, borrowing a shirt, and leaving Greta to do the washing.