Bar, surreptitiously listening in on their conversation (which isn't hard to do when you're a sentient plank of wood), obliges in an instant. Pop; up come a pair of clear takeout boxes, a stack of pancakes in each one. She's even tucked a smaller container of maple syrup alongside each one, plus butter, a knife, and a fork.

Dejah's tone helps, more than Curtis consciously realizes. "Perfect," he says, moving to grab the boxes. "Thanks."

Glancing Dejah's way, "Try the syrup first before you dump it all over the pancakes. Um, the little tub of brown stuff."