Chapter Text
On televisions across the state of Kansas, a news story plays with information about one of their own. “This is a bit of surprising news from the other side of the Atlantic. AFC Richmond announced the hiring of their new manager, one Theodore “Ted” Lasso. Of course recently, it was Coach Lasso leading the Wichita State Shockers to their first national title in American football. He took the Shockers from a garbage program all the way to the promised land in his very first season as head coach. But for a lot of us, that’s not how Ted Lasso found his way into our hearts - certainly not into our living rooms. For me, it’ll always be Ted, celebrating his joy with his team in a way that you really have to see to understand.”
The announcer's face disappears, replaced with a clip of Ted Lasso himself, clad in a shirt, sweater, and khakis - wildly dancing in celebration with his players.
The news announcer returns to narrate, “And even when you see it, I don’t necessarily know that understanding is what we’re doing. Right on, Ted. Do your thing, man. And good luck with the most beautiful game. Do us proud; go ‘Merica!”
* * * * *
On the plane, Ted feels a sudden rush of uncertainty amidst his amusement over Beard’s in touch reference. He almost misses the announcement about the lights dimming, barely hears Beard mention something about rest and jet lag.
Ted, with his arms still folded on the back of his seat, looks over at his best friend - one of the people he trusts most in this world. “Are we nuts for doing this?”
“Yeah, this is nuts,” Beard answers, without hesitation of any sort, though he does not seem very daunted by the prospect.
“But taking on a challenge,” adds Ted, lifting his head up, “is a lot like riding a horse, isn’t it? If you’re comfortable while doing it, you’re probably doing it wrong.”
From across the aisle to Ted comes a snort, and a dark haired woman turns to peer at them both. “Is that really all you picked up about horse riding?”
Ted, turning his grin from Beard onto her, looks over expectantly. “Well, any insight you have would be great, Charlie.”
Charlie raises her eyebrows and replies, “I know you got this whole optimism thing going, but someone needs to keep you grounded. So … you should know it’s not about doing something while you’re uncomfortable being proof of doing it right. It’s about knowing when you’re about to get bucked to all hell and cutting loose before you get trampled.”
“And yet you’re still here about to get on the horse with me.” Ted’s smile has not dimmed in the slightest in the face of her skepticism.
“Well.” Charlie rolls her blue eyes as she looks between Ted and Beard. “No one said I have good sense.” Ted catches the flicker of amusement curling at the corners of her mouth before she pulls headphones over her ears, fingers tapping on her phone before her eyes drift shut.
Ted laughs quietly, then looks over at Beard, murmuring, “Well, good night, Coach.”
Beard nods back. “Good night, Coach.”
Ted turns around suddenly before he can fully drop back down into his seat. “Hey, hey, hey - if we see each other in our dreams, let’s goof around and pretend like we don’t know each other.”
Beard’s eyes are shining despite the deadpan expression on his face when he replies, “You got it, stranger.”
“Nice!” Ted turns and sits back down in his seat, pressing the button on the side of his phone. It lights up, revealing two faces that he holds near and dear to his heart. As his eyes trace over Henry and Michelle, he feels the breath hitch in his throat. He’s doing this for them - for the opportunity to do more, and he’ll be damned if he messes this up for his family.
Something shifts in his peripheral vision and he glances over to see Charlie frowning, even with her eyes closed and some sort of music playing in her ears. She has always been that way - so unwilling to present as anything other than serious, at least around other people.
He supposes it is another way that fear channels differently through them all, but he just hopes that he has not dragged her and Beard into too much of a mess.
* * * * *
Charlie absolutely hates airports. There’s far too many people, many of them smell like they hadn’t showered for days before getting on a plane, and some people decided to take up far too much space walking side by side through the halls. The worst, though, was having to push through the crowds at the baggage claim to yank her suitcases off of the carousel.
Ted glances over at her. “Boy, you sure must have packed a lot. You have an extra suitcase.”
“Well, some of us do enjoy wearing different clothes rather than the same sweater and khakis combo every day. Besides, I had to bring my knives.”
“Still surprised that security didn’t give you any trouble with that.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Beard,” answers Charlie, smirking. “You really should sign up for pre-check, you know.”
Ted, despite not having been the one to whom the comment was delivered, shakes his head. “Takes half the fun out of being able to chat with the agents, you know.”
Charlie shrugs as they walk towards the exit, declaring, “It’s a wonder you can manage to be cheerful, especially without having slept on the flight.”
Beard turns his all too perceptive gaze onto Ted. “You didn’t sleep at all.”
“Not a wink. No, my brain just kept on cooking. At first, I was thinking about not sleeping, then I was thinking about thinking about not sleeping. That - pfft,” exclaims Ted, gesturing with his hand. “That’s never good. Next thing you know, they’re handing out warm chocolate chip cookies and the plane’s landing.”
“I didn’t get a cookie,” says Beard slowly, as though a realization is dawning on him. “Did you eat mine?”
Charlie scoffs, though her eyes shine with the sort of mischief Ted has long grown used to. “Oh, he did more than that. When they weren’t sure about waking you up, he said he would give it to you later.”
“Judas,” intones Beard as he scowls toward Ted. “You took my-”
“That ain’t part of the story.” Ted glances up and sees someone with a sign bearing his name. “This is us,” he declares to the two beside him, and then he raises his voice as they approach the smiling man. “Hey, how ya doing? My name’s Ted. What’s yours?”
“Ollie.” The man smiles, returning the handshake Ted offers.
“Ollie, right,” answers Ted, still beaming out his bright smile. “Nice to meet you.”
Ollie steps forward, hand outstretched. “Let me get your bags.”
Ted shakes his head. “No, no.” Charlie sees Beard raising his hand in agreement with Ted’s denial. “We packed them, we’ll carry them. Love to make a little pit stop, though.”
Charlie watches as Ollie falls beneath Ted’s charm and rolls her eyes, before doing her best to approximate an actual smile of her own. “Well, they might not help hauling their bags, but I certainly won’t mind if you grab one of mine.”
Ollie, thankfully, takes the suitcase from her left hand and sets off as they reach the luxurious car that has been provided for them.
Charlie shifts her shoulders so her backpack rests more evenly as she trails towards the town car. She had known that the owner of AFC Richmond had money, but the size and shine of this car whispers of subtle luxury that makes Charlie’s skin crawl.
You know what that kind of privilege comes with … expectations. It doesn’t matter what part of the world you might find yourself in - power will always be unbalanced.
She feels the anxiety worm its way down her throat, burning a hole as it settles in her stomach somewhere between Ollie starting the car and driving them across the city. It coils in her gut, pulsing, and she wedges herself more tightly against the car door in an attempt to ground herself.
“-see this, Charlie, I guarantee you.”
Charlie looks up and sees that Ted and Beard have already exited the car, Ted leaning over to peer through the door at her with a knowing smile curled beneath his mustache. Charlie huffs out a sigh that sounds sharper than she feels, grateful for the illusion of control it gives off, and slides out of the town car. She glances up as Ted leads them towards a break in the buildings, the river beyond stretching out beneath the iconic Tower Bridge.
Ted chuckles. “Coach, Charlie, I got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore, right?” Something appears to surprise him as he adds, “Hey, I’ve never actually said we’re not in Kansas before.”
“That’s kind of nice,” decides Beard, still looking over at the bridge and the river beneath it.
“Yeah.” Ted joins him in staring out at the landmark, awe written plain across the lines of his face.
Charlie glances up at the bridge, but then her eyes steal across the curve of the pavement, searching between buildings until she sees the edge of a stone and brick tower peeking out. All this time she has spent traveling and yet it is the sight of a centuries-old building that pulls something other than skepticism out of the depths within her. She takes a half step away from the view of the bridge, but the movement has Ted stirring from his place.
Ted, clapping his hands together, announces, “Well, thanks for indulging us, Ollie. Ready to boogie whenever you are.”
Ollie nods. “Alright. That’s the Tower Bridge,” he announces, as though that were not obvious to anyone who has seen any bit of media about England.
“Not the London Bridge. This one’s still up.” Ted’s elbow knocks against Charlie’s as he passes her, and she tears her eyes away from the brief glimpse of the Tower.
She shoves down the flash of annoyance at not having enough time, telling herself that unless things go tits up immediately after arriving at the AFC Richmond field, she’ll have a little time to come back and explore more.
* * * * *
Ted knows he should have been listening to Beard’s explanation of England’s history with soccer - football, actually. But he caught sight of the field and could not hold himself back, not after staring in awe in the new place that he has come to work at. That awe carries him down to the field with some vague awareness that Beard and Charlie have been following behind.
Ted kneels down on the field, his hand reaching out to touch the green of the grass beneath him. “It feels different. The same, but different.”
“Metaphor.” Beard gets what Ted means without Ted having the words himself, something that has not changed since their days in college together.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, shit,” exclaims Charlie, her voice somewhere between shocked and apprehensive.
Ted reaches out, hand weaving through the blades of grass. “What, is it just hitting you too?”
Charlie clears her throat and says, “No. I think we’re about to get yelled at.”
Ted looks up as he hears a raised voice, glancing across the field to see someone waving their arms. “Oi! Excuse me! Oi, hello! Off, off! Get off,” shouts the man as he sprints towards them. “Get off the pitch! Stop touching the grass, please!”
Ted raises his hands in surrender almost instinctively, feeling Charlie’s hand latch onto his shoulder to haul him onto his feet.
“Who are you?” asks the man when he reaches them, his face decidedly skeptical of why three strangers would be standing in this stadium.
“I’m Ted Lasso.” Ted gestures to himself before doing the same to the two folks beside him. “Uh, this is Coach Beard here, and Charlie-”
“Oh, God,” says the man, a look of realization stealing over his face. “You’re the new manager.”
“Yes, sir.” Ted, despite doing his darndest to stay humble, cannot help the flash of pride steal over him yet again.
“Take all the grass you want.” The man stoops over as though to rip some up.
He can’t be - oh, he actually is!
Ted shakes his head, hand out to stop the man from taking any of the grass for him as he says, “Oh, no.”
Standing up, the man gestures across the field, sharing, “We just mowed. I can go into the garbage and get some more.”
Ted, still smiling as he replies, “That’s alright, no need.”
Relieved, the man smiles. “Thank you.” He lets out an exhale as Ted does the same, though a moment later the man gestures towards the stands. “Though we still need to get off the grass.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Ted rushes alongside Beard and the other man. “Do we apologize? Sorry, grass.” Beard echoes the apology, and Ted glances back to see Charlie slowly trailing behind them.
They enter the building again, their new friend leading them through the halls in his windbreaker jacket.
“So, we’re supposed to meet with a Rebecca Welton,” offers Ted.
“That’s where I’m taking you.”
Ted beams at the forward thinking. “Hey, look at this guy. One step ahead. What’s your name, by the way?”
He turns, shocked, to look at Ted and asks, “Me?
“Yeah.”
His eyes are as round as saucers full of milk. “No one ever asks my name.”
Ted blinks at that and can only manage to say, “Oh.” He waits as silence grows, turning to look at each of the others before returning to the man in front of him. “I mean, whenever you’re ready.”
He nods awkwardly at the reminder. “Oh, it’s Nathan.”
“Nathan! I love that name - love your hot dogs.”
“Yeah, I know,” replies Nathan, still apparently coming down from his shock at Ted having cared enough to ask his name.
“Oh, good. Y’all have Nathan’s hot dogs?” asks Ted, hoping for the first chance to get some from one of the stores around here.
Nathan shakes his head. “No.”
Ted doesn’t mind the strange misunderstanding, nodding as Nathan turns to lead them towards a staircase. “Okay. Love this kid; love him.”
“You love anyone who gives you the time of day, Ted,” interjects Charlie, her dry tone not quite cutting through the niceness of the moment.
“Then explain why I love you so much when instead of the time of day you give me a hard time?”
Charlie shrugs, lips twitching a little. “Beats me.” He sees her roll her eyes and glances down, noting that she only has one suitcase in hand as they reach the next floor.
Ted nods towards her empty hand. “What happened to your other bag?”
Charlie shrugs as they follow after Nathan, answering, “Ollie left it near the front, I think. I’m not worried, though. It just has my clothes in it.”
Beard, without missing a beat, remarks, “Oh, is that all?”
Charlie clicks her tongue against her teeth at the older man, rolling her eyes again as Nathan leads them towards an office.
“I’ll introduce you - big boss, here we go.” He knocks on the open doorway and acts as though he might says something, but then he flees through the outer room just moments later. Ted turns with Beard and Charlie to peer after him, before his eyes flicker over to meet an impeccably dressed blonde woman and a bespectacled man in a suit.
Ted lifts his hand in a wave. “Hey, how y’all doing? I’m Ted Lasso, your new coach. You must be Ms. Welton.”
A small smile comes to the blonde’s face as she approaches, shaking Ted’s hand. “Please, call me Rebecca. Ms. Welton’s my father.”
Ted glances around with wide eyes, grinning widely. “If that’s a joke, I love it. If not, I cannot wait to unpack that with you,” he says, meaning it entirely, and glad for either option. He lifts his hand to wave towards the two others with him. “This here is Coach Beard, and this is Charlie - Charlotte.”
Rebecca reaches out to shake their hands too, exceedingly professional. “It is so good to finally meet you all face to face. Higgins?” she calls out, glancing back over her shoulder. “Oh, sorry. This is Higgins, our current director of communications.”
“Current?” The man, Higgins, pales behind his glasses.
Rebecca, it seems, does not realize that she has made the man anxious with her turn of phrase while introducing him. “Higgins, could you take Coach Beard and Charlotte, get them their IDs, housing information,” she trails off, turning back to them with a smile. “Anything they need.”
“Wi-Fi password, wet wipes,” interjects Ted, grinning at Beard.
Beard nods, serious as he adds, “Humidifier. Way ahead of you, Coach.”
Charlie nods slowly. “Yes, I do have some questions about the kitchen layout and what I’ll have available to me.” She shifts so that Higgins can walk between her and Beard, leaving Ted with Rebecca in her office.
“Please, sit,” requests Rebecca. She lifts her hand to gesture towards the seating available. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Please.” Ted sinks down into the offered spot. “Didn’t get much sleep on the plane, so anything you got - a boost of caffeine should do the trick. Mochaccino, Frappuccino … any coffee thing, as long as I can’t taste a hint of coffee.”
Rebecca fiddles with something he cannot see. “How do you take your tea?”
Ted tips his head to the side, half-smiling and half-wincing at the question, knowing how seriously British folks take their tea. “Well, usually I take it back to the counter, ‘cause someone’s made a horrible mistake,” he admits, but he smiles when she turns with a cup of tea for him. “When in Rome, right?” He takes the cup from her as she sits down. “Yeah, look at that. Okay.”
She looks at him expectantly as he sips from the cup, the earthy flavor filling his mouth. “Well?”
“You know - I always figured that tea was just gonna taste like hot brown water. And you know what? I was right. It’s horrible. No, thank you.” He has no intention of taking another sip, though he still keeps the tea close so as not to offend his new boss too much this soon after meeting. “I do want to thank you for something else, Ms. Welton. For the jobs, that is. It means a lot that you would not only be willing to hire me, but Beard and Charlie.”
“Well, if it means we get to have you on our team, then I am all for it.”
“They are qualified, of course,” explains Ted, feeling that he has not done a good enough job defending their professional skills. “Beard has years of experience coaching, and Charlie knows everything about food, so the nutritionist position will-”
Rebecca interjects so smoothly that it hardly feels like an interruption at all when she says, “Ted. They already have their jobs here. You don’t need to campaign for them.”
At that, Ted lapses into a brief silence. He cannot help but want to prove the value of those around him, but maybe … maybe it won’t be necessary here.
* * * * *
Charlie hears a knock on the doorway into the kitchen for AFC Richmond, looking up to see Beard. “Hey,” she exclaims from her spot at the counter. “How’s the office? Did Higgins get you settled alright?”
“It’ll do. How are you liking the kitchen?”
Charlie carefully places her cleaver next to the other chef’s knives, slotted into her rolled pack: “It’s fancier than I thought it would be, being in a sports stadium at all. And not nearly as industrial - which makes sense, given this is just for the team rather than concessions. But … it’s mine. That’s something I’ve never been able to say before outside of my apartments.”
Beard leans against the door, arms folded. “Better get used to calling them flats.”
“Not gonna happen. So … where is our babysitter?” It’s not the kindest term Charlie could use to describe Higgins, who had been very polite in the face of their many questions. And she does not mean it as an insult, not really, only as an observation that he seemed to be reluctant to leave them alone on their first day.
“Said something about setting up for … oh shit.”
That sounds ominous.
Charlie pauses, her hands flat on the countertop. “Setting up for what, exactly?”
Beard’s arms unfold. “Press conference.”
Charlie closes her eyes tight for a minute before asking, “Ted know?”
“Probably not.”
“Ambush from the press?” Charlie opens her eyes and moves towards the doorway, Beard exiting ahead of her.
“Probably, yeah.”
“Jesus Christ,” mutters Charlie as she tries to hold her long skirt up to keep from tripping over it.
They rush down the hall, Charlie regretting only giving Higgins a passing attention outside of being shown immediately to the kitchen. Thankfully, Beard observes a placard with PRESS scrawled across it not far down from the kitchen, and he opens the door into a clamoring room of reporters.
Rebecca Welton stands just next to the door as Charlie slides in beside her, eyes locked onto Ted as he waves his hands towards the reporters. “You know what? You can put your hands down - real quick. Um, yeah. How about I go ahead and address the larger-than-average elephant in the room? No, I have never coached the sport that you folks call football on any level. And, heck! You could fill two internets with what I don’t know about football. But I’ll tell you what I do know … I know that AFC Richmond, like any team I’ve coached, is gonna go out there and give you everything they got for all four quarters.”
“Halves,” calls a man from the audience of reporters.
“What was that?” asks Ted, peering towards the source of the remark.
The reporter repeats himself. “Two halves.”
“Oh, right, sorry - halves. They’ll give you everything they got for two halves, win or lose.”
Another reporter member of the press adds on, “Or ties.”
“Right, y’all do ties here.” Ted seems only momentarily sheepish, dialing up the charm that made him so many friends back in the States. “Sorry - that’s going to take some getting used to for me. ‘Cause, back where we’re from, you try to end a game in a tie, well … that might as well be the first sign of the apocalypse.”
There’s a low chuckle from one or two reporters, which seems to bolster Ted, though Charlie remains apprehensive.
They could easily turn on him at any moment, and what is he going to do then?
“Right.” Ted leans forward as he looks at those gathered before him. “Now, look here. I respect what you folks in the media do. My door is always gonna be open. You can ask me anything; no topic will be into touch.”
Higgins steps up from the end of the long table Ted sits at alone, and clears his throat to say, “Alright, one final question.”
Ted, peering at the raised hands from the reporters, points towards one. “Uh, how about the fellow right there in the second row. Yeah,” he clarifies. As the reporter stands, Ted gestures to his own face. “I, uh, I like your glasses.”
The reporter briefly removes them, the movement shifting his shoulder length hair as he responds with, “Oh, thank you. Trent Crimm, The Independent. I want to make sure I have this right. You’re an American who’s never set foot in England, whose athletic success has only come at the amateur level, a second tier one at that. And is now being charged with the leadership of a Premier League football club despite clearly possessing very little knowledge of the game.”
Ted, despite the smile and tilt of his head, shows a fraction of tension. Then again, perhaps only Charlie and Beard can sense it after knowing him for all these years. “You got a question in there, Trent?”
“Yeah. Is this a fucking joke?”
The room breaks into a clamor, some in amusement at the question, and others in irritation fueled by agreeing with Trent. One reporter asks, “I mean, do you even know any footballers?”
“Uh, well, yeah,” admits Ted, faltering at the renewed interrogation. “You got Ronaldo and the fellow that bends it like himself.”
“You know how many games are in a Premiership season?” demands another reporter.
“Not off the top of my head, n-”
Charlie, unwilling to let this go on for a moment longer, calls out: “Per team or total?”
The question breaks through the clamoring from the reporters, who turn towards her, the one with the question initially directed at Ted seeming shocked at the interjection. “What?”
“If you are asking how many games a single team attends in the season, it would be 38 matches.” Charlie finds herself never more grateful for her friend Daniela’s repeated soccer rants back in their undergrad days. “But if you’re referring to how many across the league … it’s roundabouts, oh! I think 380 total … right?”
Take that, you smarmy pieces of shit!
Another reporter scowls at her, face going pink as he all but shouts, “Who the fuck are you?”
Charlie lifts her chin, arms folded, quite familiar with handling people trying to seem tougher than they actually are. “Team nutritionist. Name’s Charlotte-”
“Nutritionist? You?” barks the reporter, laughing at the idea.
“Ah.”
Fuck these shit excuses for human beings.
Charlie feels the familiar flash of irritation, the lifelong anger at being considered less competent because of her appearance - because her body has never been small. She refuses to do what the younger version of herself would have done; she does not shrink away from the implication. If only because it gives Ted a chance to gather himself from the growing questions. Instead, she tilts her head to the side. “Please. Explain the question; I don’t think I understand.”
The reporter seems baffled to have his reaction questioned. “I mean, how are you qualified?”
“My Master’s degree is packed away right now, but I can haul it out for you at the next press conference. But I don’t think that’s what you’re referring to … is it?”
“So, what?” scoffs one of the reporters who asked Ted about football players. “We’re just giving away the important positions to any idiots off the street?”
“Now, I don’t know if that’s called for,” says Ted, but it’s too late to stop the tension from gathering in the room again. The fever pitch rises alongside voices until Ted attempts to sip from the water bottle and chokes on it, spraying the fizzy drink forward.
Rebecca finally steps forward, cutting through the shouting in the room with her impeccable bearing. “Coach Lasso! Good Lord, you must forgive my fellow countrymen. Somewhere over the last few years, we seem to have abandoned all sense of manners and hospitality,” she announces, politely shaming those who had turned this interview into a circus. She turns towards the members of the press, carefully inching between Charlotte and the audience. “My, my; aren’t you a salty bunch? But I can’t remember the last time the press room was this full, yet … here you all are.” She casts a smile over her shoulder to where Ted sits at the table. “Maybe you’re not such a mad notion. And despite the number of you here, there is not a single person in this room who has seen Richmond play more than I have. And in all those years under the stewardship of the previous owner, I’ve witnessed nothing but profound mediocrity.”
The press sucks in breath, a few of the braver ones letting out shocked laughter.
“Am I wrong?”
One reporter, the one who made the comments about idiots from the street, blusters, “Well, it’s a bit harsh.”
“Am I wrong?” repeats Rebecca, voice deathly calm as her eyes zero in on the man, who starts shaking where he stands.
“No …” He looks down, whether ashamed at having been wrong or at having been publicly taken to task by Rebecca, it remains unclear.
Rebecca takes a deep breath. “Now, Coach Lasso may not have the CV that you all find acceptable, but he does have one thing this club doesn’t - a trophy from this millennium. And as for Charlotte here …”
At this, Charlie unfolds her arms, unsure of just what Rebecca intends to say.
“Charlotte does have the CV that her position requires, and if you would take a moment to pull your heads out of the last century, you might see that. So … like it or not, Richmond are changing the way we do things. And from now on, that way is The Lasso Way.”
This gets impressed looks from Higgins and Beard, and Charlie isn’t sure she’s seen Ted look more grateful since they got on the plane back in Kansas.
“We look forward to seeing you all at our next match with Crystal Palace. Thank you so much.” As Rebecca turns to leave, Charlie decides she can finally escape to let the rage itching inside of her out.
She hears something from behind her, Ted’s voice, but her ears have started buzzing. It all seems too far away as she reaches for a paper cone next to the water dispenser, hands shaking as the water pours into the cup. Footsteps echo behind her as Ted exchanges a few words with Rebecca, but it is Beard reaching for another cone-shaped cup that stirs Charlie enough to step back. She frowns as she forces herself to take a sip of water, watching as Beard extends the other cup to Ted.
Ted uses this as some sort of opportunity to defend himself after his earlier drinking snafu. “See? I’m fine when there’s no bubbles. You know, I can do that all day,” he adds, letting out a sigh - and then he sees Charlie’s scowl. “Alright over there, Charlie?”
“I’ve heard worse. You know I have,” she replies, and shrugs when he still looks concerned. “I’ve got it handled.”
“Still, they only zeroed in on you because you stepped in trying to help me.” He looks as though he feels genuinely guilty, and she wouldn’t put it past him to take that burden upon himself. It has always been his way in the lifetime she has known him.
“Well, somebody had to stop the Lasso mouth from running a mile a minute.”
Ted, thankfully, does not seem bothered by the comment and instead laughs. “Fair point. Okay, well …” He turns to Rebecca. “I’d love to say hi to the team, if I can.”
Rebecca points towards him, her face completely unphased from the earlier drama. “Can’t keep a gaffer from his pitch.”
Ted laughs again, though more hesitantly than the first time. “You can say that again. Okay.”
Beard nudges Charlie’s arm and she follows as they fall in step with Ted, who quietly admits, “I am 0 for 2 in that sentence.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll catch up.”
And what about you, Charlotte? Are you going to be able to catch up with all the new expectations this place brings … or have you let yourself enter a new circle of hell without an easy escape?