The smell of roasted meat filled the small kitchen. At least popping bacon in the oven was foolproof.

She attempted to see down the hallway to Josh’s door while keeping an eye on the half-cooked pancake in front of her. Having passed his car on the way in, she knew he was home. As Clara considered banging a few pots and pans in summons, Josh emerged from his bedroom, rumpled as usual.

Her heart hammered in her chest as her gaze dropped immediately to his hands. Hands that he’d had all over her last night. The plane that should have carried her far, far from their last, mortifying interaction had taken off over an hour ago. She lowered her shoulders away from her ears and gathered her resolve.

As she hastily hid the evidence of her failed batches under the sink, Josh sank onto a well-worn bar stool at the island. Clara attempted to hum casually.

He swiveled to survey the scene of her culinary implosion. “What happened in here?”

Clara gestured to her army of pans and filled her voice with false cheer. “I thought I’d make dinner. Last night was rather awkward, as I’m sure you know.” She winced. “I figured we could start over. Wipe the slate clean, as it were.”

“You decided to wipe the slate clean by making the kitchen incredibly messy?”

She might have called the playful quirk of his lips shy if she didn’t know better.

“I don’t actually have a ton of gastronomic experience. I thought breakfast for dinner would be easy.” She dabbed at the raw egg dribbling down the front of her apron with a wet paper towel. “I may have miscalculated.”

“That’s funny. I . . . ah . . . actually bought you some apology pastries this morning.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck. “But then you weren’t here when I got back. Anyway, they’re in the fridge.” He coughed into his fist. “Most of them are still in the fridge.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Clara tapped her batter-smeared fingers on the countertop. “You’re an extremely talented performer and I appreciate what you did for me. I’m the one who . . . well, let’s just say I got a bit skittish.” Raising her eyes, she took in his guarded expression. “I’m better now, at any rate.”

“Oh. Well, good.” Josh tapered his gaze. “Are you wearing overalls?”

She turned over her shoulder, spatula in hand. “I am.” Overalls represented no-nonsense hard work. “The food will be ready in a minute.”

“I can’t believe you cooked for me.” Josh squinted at her. Hopefully he didn’t find her motives suspect.

“I think technically this counts as baking.” Clara piled a plate high with the best of the batch of pancakes, bacon, and fresh fruit, and placed it in front of Josh. She’d arranged the berries in concentric circles.

Dipping her chin, she nudged the plate closer to him encouragingly. “I guess we both came to the conclusion that we should break bread together.”

“You know you’ve got flour . . .” He pointed to his nose, then his cheek, then his neck, until eventually he waved his hand around his entire face.

Clara tried wiping herself down with a dishcloth.

“You’re making it worse.” Josh dismounted from his stool and came to stand in front of her. Taking the soft material from her sweaty hand, he bent his knees and gently scrubbed her face. His warm fingers held her chin delicately, guiding the direction of her neck so he could address the worst of the culinary carnage. Clara’s heart rate climbed as he brushed off her nose. The strange intimacy of the act hung in the air between them, until she had difficulty catching her breath. Proximity packed a powerful punch.

He stepped back and Clara turned away, tamping down the confusing appetite he’d unleashed that had nothing to do with food. She grabbed a second plate for herself. Somehow his tender assistance shook her almost as much as his choreographed pleasure-wringing last night.

When Josh returned to his stool on the other side of the island, Clara sat next to him, skootching to ensure their elbows wouldn’t accidentally brush as they ate. “Oh shoot. I forgot the syrup!”

“I’ll get it,” Josh said, keeping one eye trained on her as Clara munched on a piece of bacon.

He placed the maple syrup in front of her. “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.

Clara imbued her voice with false innocence. “I’m sorry. Did you not want butter?”

“I definitely want butter.” Josh took the knife from her, brushing her index finger with his thumb. “But I’ve lived in this town long enough to know there’s no such thing as a free meal. You sure you’re not up to something?”

“You said yourself that you bought me pastries. If there’s no such thing as a free meal, consider this dinner payment in kind.”

Josh poured a healthy dose of syrup onto his stack and then scooped up a big bite, complete with berries. As he swallowed, his eyes closed, and a groan rumbled deep in his throat. He brought his palm down on the counter with a resounding smack.

“This. Is. A. Trap.” He punctuated each word with a slap of his hand.

Her chair groaned as she tipped it back on two legs, caught in a fit of nervous giggles. “Do you really like them? Are you sure they’re not too chewy?”

“Jesus.” Josh stared at her like she’d hit him over the head with one of the frying pans. “You look like trouble when you laugh.”

“I’m not. I swear.” Clara’s voice stalled on a squeak.

Her eyes fell to where his faded T-shirt hugged impressive biceps. She dug her fingernails into her palm.

Stick to the plan. “It is, however, possible I have a favor to ask.”

“I knew it,” Josh said around a massive bite. He flew back from the stool and shook his head. “You look innocent but really, you’re a wily minx.”

No one had ever accused Clara of nefarious motives before. She discreetly dabbed her forehead with a napkin. “Will you at least listen to my proposal?”

“All right, but I’m commandeering payment in kind.” He reached over and claimed her last slice of bacon.

“Okay,” she said, bracing herself for the big speech. “Try to keep an open mind here. What are the chances you’d let me borrow your car?”

“Slim to none,” he said vehemently. “That car is the only thing I own that means anything at all to me. I’ve had her since high school. Do you know how much work it takes to keep a ’Vette that old running?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Clara said, lacing her tone with practiced calm. “I got a job and I need to work my way up to commuting.” Her mother had taught her that any negotiation could be solved with reason and controlled voices.

“Wow. You work fast.” Josh brightened. “It’s great that you got a job, and listen, I know you’re not from around here, but asking to borrow someone’s car in L.A. is a massive deal.”

“It would only be for a few hours,” she assured him. “I’ll work around your schedule, and of course I’ll pay for gas. I could even get it washed. Maybe get the tires rotated?” She elbowed him like an old-timey salesman. “What do you think?”

“You don’t understand how much I love that car. Can’t you think of another favor I could do for you? Are you sure you don’t want to fuck?”

Clara’s fork clattered to the ground and they bumped heads when they both reached for it.

“Sorry,” he said weakly. “That was a bad joke. I forgot you were . . . you.” He moved and fetched her new silverware. “Why don’t you have your own car? I know you moved from New York.” He waved away her interjection. “But why wasn’t ‘get a car’ on your little laminated checklist?”

She fiddled with one of the hooks on her overalls. “I knew I would need to drive eventually. L.A. traffic is famous, but Everett said I could borrow his Jeep and I thought I’d have more time to practice.” The confession cost Clara her appetite.

“Well, hey, you could get a lease. I’ll even drive you to the dealership.” He gave her a brief once-over. “We’ll get you set up in a nice VW Bug with one of those stickers for the window that says Student Driver or Baby on Board or something.”

“I don’t think I can get a lease yet. I’ve got that . . . emotional impediment to driving, remember? That’s why I wanted to borrow your car, to see if I could handle getting behind the wheel at all. I would take it around the neighborhood. Nothing crazy. I’d hire an instructor, but I’m worried I might—”

“Crash?” He nodded sympathetically.

“—lose my nerve,” Clara finished. “It’s embarrassing enough admitting my weakness to you. I don’t need to throw another stranger into the mix if the point is moot.” She chased a blueberry around the plate with her fork. “I figured that since you’ve already seen me in flagrante delicto, the embarrassment veil is lifted.”