“No sharp pain.”
“Keep leaving the brace off in the morning. Give it an hour before you put it on,” he said before returning to the stove. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Any way you cook them.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “But which is your favorite?”
“Basted.”
His brow furrowed.
“It’s almost the same as over easy.” I stood and put bread in the toaster because I could manage it one-handed and needed something to do with myself. He didn’t tell me to sit down again. We stood next to each other at the counter. Neither of us said anything, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable.
That was new.
He plated the eggs and bacon, and I grabbed the toast.
The sun rose higher in the sky while we ate.
When our plates were clean, I pulled Horatio’s journal out of my jacket from where it hung on the chair and set it on the table between us. Bishop pushed his plate aside and moved his chair around to sit closer to me.
“What’s in it?” he asked.
I opened to the page I’d folded the corner of the night before. “Dates, strings of numbers, notations I can’t make any sense of.”
I turned to the last page. “This was the only thing of note.”
Bishop’s eyes landed on the word that had been underlined twice. “Romanov?”
“That’s it.”
His brows flared. “It’s certainly a lead.”
“I agree. Everything else appears to be in code.”
“I can take a look if you’d like.”
I closed it and handed it to him. “Maybe you’ll see something the rest of us have missed.”
“Maybe I will.”
I sighed and gazed out the window. “My grandmother and Anna have been awake for hours.”
“Definitely.”
“I’m going to need a better cover story than I went for a predawn walk.” I looked down at my clothes. “First walk of shame. I’m underprepared.” I carried my plate to the sink. He was behind me before I set it down.
He turned me to face him and cupped my cheek. “There’s no shame in what we are to each other,” he said. “Not for me.”
“For me either,” I whispered.
“Good.” He grabbed my jacket, helped me put it on, then walked me to the door and kissed my forehead. “See you at work, kitten.”
I walkedin the door that led into the kitchen. Anna was at the stove, facing away from me. My grandmother sat at the long wooden table with both hands around her teacup.
“Good morning, Katarina,” said Anna.
“Good morning,” I said, leaning down to kiss my babushka’s cheek.
