Page 246

Deletes it.

Locks the screen.

“Just Beckett.”

I wait, but he doesn't elaborate. I look down at my plate.

“Did he ask about the gala?”

“Something like that.”

My fork rests against the edge of the plate. “Did he see pictures?”

Bishop doesn't answer immediately. And that's answer enough.

“Probably,” he says.

I nod. There's no reason for this to feel like a problem. We went to a charity event together. We danced. We took pictures. Nothing about that is scandalous.

Except the part where we came home and slept together.

And the part where I'm currently sitting in Bishop's kitchen wearing his shirt. And the part where I don't particularly want to go back to pretending none of it happened.

Bishop sets his phone face down.

“Becks.”

I look up.

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Start thinking the worst.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “I'm not.”

He gives me a look.

“Okay,” I admit. “Maybe a little.”

He reaches across the counter and takes my hand. “Last night wasn't a mistake.”

I swallow.

“Then why do you look like you're trying to figure out how to undo it?”

His expression tightens.

For a moment, I wish I hadn't asked.

Then he exhales. “I'm not trying to undo anything.”

“Okay.”

“I'm trying to figure out how we do this without hurting somebody.”

There it is. The thing neither of us has wanted to say. Declan. My family. Twenty years of friendship. Everything that existed long before Bishop and I kissed.