Page 24 of Death at the Deep Dive

“Hey, no…ewww…stop…”

“Watson!” Jack airlifted the offender. “For God’s sake.”

Ellery sat up only to be knocked back into the pillows as Watson eluded his would-be captor and pounced, delighted and desperate. Ellery laughed. “Okay, okay. Good morning to you too.”

He grinned up at Jack. “And good morning to you.”

“Not the way I planned this.” Jack, hands on hips, studied the picture of Watson lying atop Ellery.

Now that Kingston was running Saturday Storytime, Ellery was able to go into work a bit later, giving him and Jack a few precious extra hours together on Saturday mornings.

“Don’t give up so easily. Tell me what you planned.” Ellery sat up, dislodging Watson, and caught sight of the large breakfast tray sitting on the bureau between the windows. His eyes widened.

“Yikes. You made breakfast.” Theyikeswas because Jack was really not a very good cook. In fact, he was kind of terrible. It was pretty much the only thing he was not good at, but when it came to being bad, he was really good. Anyway, it was a lovely, thoughtful gesture. Ellery beamed.

“I figured it was my turn to makeyoubreakfast.” Jack retrieved the heavy tray and lowered it carefully to the bed, while Ellery stacked the pillows behind him.

“This looks fantastic.” That blob of egg and…milky mustard?…did truly look like something not of this world. “W-what is it?”

“Eggs Benedict.”

“Isit? Gosh. To what do I owe this honor?”

Jack shrugged, looking uncharacteristically self-conscious, so he must have tried very hard to get it right. He’d gone all out too, dragging out the good china, the fragile stuff from the 1920s with the bluebirds and apple blossoms pattern. He’d chopped up a lot of random fruit and sprinkled it with sugar—so much sugar—and those little charred twigs had probably once been bacon.

Jack sat on the side of bed, facing Ellery. His expression was earnest and sort of uncertain.

“Aren’t you having any of this?” Ellery asked.

“No. It’s all for you.”

“At least have a piece of bacon.”

Jack took the blackened strip but then just held it between his fingers—not seeming to notice when Watson ever so delicately took it from him.

“Hey.” Ellery scowled at Watson. Watson looked appropriately chastened for about two seconds and then gazed hopefully at Jack.

Jack drew in a sharp breath as though waking from a trance. “It’s funny because we really haven’t known each other that long—”

“Eight months.” Ellery considered that. “Although, I’m not sure we can count before we were actually dating.”

“I think we can. We were getting to know each other.”

“I was getting to know that you really take parking citations and construction-code violations seriously,” Ellery teased.

Jack sighed. Heavily. “Anyway—”

“Sorry. Anyway?”

“These last few months have—”

Jack’s cell phone rang. Jack groaned and swore, which was really not at all like him. Jack was stamped from theI could not love thee (Dear) so much, Lov’d I not Honour moremold.

He threw Ellery a look of frustration and snatched his phone up. “Carson.”

On the other end of the call, an animated mosquito began to explain the situation that required yanking Pirate’s Cove chief of police out of bed at ten a.m. on a Saturday morning.

“At their age?” Jack protested.

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