“Is this a trap?” Clara cut her pancake into tiny squares and concentrated on keeping her voice even. “Is what a trap?” Josh pointed at his brimming plate. “This is a lot of effort for someone you just met.” “You think I have an ominous agenda for making pancakes?” Clara tried not to blink. “You’re literally buttering me up.” He thrust his chin at the pat of butter she had carved off on her knife and moved to drop on his plate.
