Jefferson/Grace/Oliver
Alice had told Jefferson about what Oliver had planned, and he figured it wouldn't hurt. He'd driven Grace out to the mansion, bidding her to wait until he parked and they could walk up together.
Eventually they were all situated and walking into the yard, toward a table laden with food. Grace looked interested, but confused. "Papa," she said, "those aren't pancakes."
Jefferson couldn't help but grin. "They are so," he said, "just not pancakes that people from here make. Oliver, the person who lives here, is from Scotland. This is how they make Scottish pancakes."
"Oh." Grace cocked her head, then looked up at the nearest male person. "Are you Oliver?"