Iman grins and sweeps Greta into another hug, burying her face briefly against her neck. God, she wants to kiss her more than anything right now, but something stops her, maybe the weirdness of Rita's presence, or something else signified by an itch at the back of her head. Whatever. Doesn't matter. There'll be plenty of time for that later.

"Rita saw your apron," she says, pulling back again. "Brilliant." She settles for standing up on her toes and kissing Greta on the forehead. "Come on, s'not safe here. Too open."

She snatches Greta's hand and trots back toward the door.