Greta hums, drumming her fingertips against her chin in ostensible consideration. "I could use your help in the pantry, actually," she replies, searching for some justification — as if it matters — and landing on the entirely absurd: "There's, er, something on a very high shelf. You'll see."

She knows how transparently ridiculous she's being, and she has to smother a giggle beneath her hand as she guides Anne back into the pantry. It's a rather large and well stocked walk-in, with a central aisle just large enough to not feel cramped as she turns to face Anne directly, drawing her close.

"I've lured you here under false pretenses," she admits, biting back a grin in a failed bid to pretend at contrition.