He made breakfast.Actual food. Eggs and toast and coffee already made when I came out at eight thirty. Shadow had been fed, the living room furniture was back in its normal position. He was at the stove with a spatula.I stood in the doorway."I can hear you deciding what to say," he said, without turning around."I wasn't going to say anything," I said."You were," he said. "You make a specific sound when you're standing somewhere deciding on a comment.""I don't make a sound," I said."A very small one," he said. "But consistent."I crossed to the counter. "I was going to say it smells good.""That's not what you were going to say," he said."No," I admitted. "I was going to ask when you learned to cook properly.""Francesca," he said, turning and putting a plate in front of me. "She had one rule. You eat in this house, you learn to feed yourself in this house.
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