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So here I am.

Barefoot.

Wearing his shirt.

Watching him make scrambled eggs like this is something we've done a hundred times before.

Darcy sits on the floor beside the island, supervising. Bishop glances down at him. “Don't even think about it.”

Darcy stares back.

“You fed him,” I remind Bishop.

“Doesn't mean he's not plotting something.”

I take another sip of coffee. It's exactly how I like it. Hazelnut creamer. Just enough to make it sweet without turning it into dessert. I didn't have to ask.

Bishop sets a plate in front of me: scrambled eggs, toast, and a few slices of bacon.

“Fancy,” I say.

“Five-star service.”

“Do I get a comment card?”

“Depends. You planning to leave a good review?”

I glance at the plate. “Too early to tell.”

He laughs and slides onto the stool beside me with his own breakfast.

For a while, we eat in comfortable silence.

The eggs are good. The bacon is a little too crispy, but I like it that way.

Sunlight falls across the kitchen counters, catching the edge of the gold watch Bishop left beside the sink.

It's strange how ordinary everything looks. The same apartment. The same kitchen. The same man sitting beside me.

Except now I know what it feels like when he kisses the back of my neck, when he whispers my name, when he looks at me like there's nobody else in the world.

And I'm supposed to sit here eating scrambled eggs? It's ridiculous.

“What's funny?” he asks.

I glance up. “Nothing.”

“Becks.”

I shake my head.

“I'm just trying to figure out how you're sitting there eating breakfast like everything's normal.”

He sets down his fork. “Would you rather I panic?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I already did that.”