Eliot looks back at this (what he would consider) suspicious calm, long and narrow-eyed and assessing. After a moment he seems to decide something, either impulsively or the result of many, many wheels turning very quickly - with Eliot it could be either, or both - and then declares, abruptly, "I need a cigarette."

Uh. That will make itself relevant in a moment, the excuse that is genuinely coincidentally once he's used twice the past couple of days to avoid exposure. But as Sharon surely knows, such little vices are always good for distraction. He keys himself out of the register, and hurls a blithe "Breaktime for Eliot," towards whoever is in the back back when he wasn't the single PC employee.

As per he is doing with other lovely blonde ladies in other places, he offers Sharon his arm, although it's kind of a formality since she has to wind back behind the bar to follow Eliot to the tiny balcony, where he indulges his terrible habit when no one is hanging out drinking. He is, of course, still going to smoke, so once he's lit up a cigarette with that casual, magical gesture (yes, it's totally casual!!), he inclines his head at the roof of the balcony, which his curls are practically brushing already, ha ha.

"No cameras," he declares, with the faint brow raise of a person who doesn't yet really believe all of this freaky paranoia going around, but--still can't hurt to be safe. "Talk fast, Goldilocks."

Because. He also doesn't want to believe. He wants to just be Eliot, without gallons and gallons and weirdness, and the fact that he is opting to prefer the sedate life tells him whatever he can't remember must be an even worse alternative.