CLAIRE

Blake handed him the microphone and pulled up the song list. "Nothing embarrassing," Julian warned.

"Define embarrassing," Blake replied, scrolling.

He selected something before Julian could see it. Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon" started playing.

Julian shot Blake a look but didn't refuse. He started singing, his voice surprisingly decent.

Not professional, but definitely better than Blake's attempt. "You've been holding out on us," I said when he finished.

"My mother taught me," Julian admitted. "She loved Sinatra."

Blake and I exchanged glances, both noticing the shift in Julian's mood. "Claire's turn," Blake announced quickly, changing the subject.

"What am I singing?" I asked nervously.

Blake was...