✏️ The Littlest Spy

9. Breaking Eggs

Isadora groaned as she woke up, wishing for just a couple of hours more rest. She hadn't slept well, having woken numerous times and tossed and turned for half the night. Her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton as well, a possible consequence of drinking too much wine last night and then not getting enough water to keep her hydrated. Something hadn't let her sleep well, but to start with she wasn't too sure what it had been.

She sat up with another groan, and took a few stumbling steps towards the bedroom door. And then she knew; she saw the chair propped up there, in case her "husband" decided to make an unexpected check on her during the night. She remembered that she no longer had the apartment to herself, and that she would have to deal with Brock. And a moment later, she realised what had awoken her. It was the smell of smoke, rich and woody. And after a moment of confusion with all kinds of possibilities flashing through her mind, she finally reached a slightly more rational answer. She could smell bacon. Good bacon, being fried, the kind that carried the scent of fragrant woodsmoke along with it when it was cooked.

She took a deep breath, and double checked that the door was securely closed before opening her closet and dressing for the day. She didn't have any real plans, but figured she needed to be prepared to fend off any unwelcome advances from Dashiel Brock; so she selected tan jeans and a faded sweatshirt. One of the outfits she informally thought of as her gardening clothes; an affectation inherited from her mother, as there was no chance of affording a garden this close to the inner city. It was comfortable, casual, and didn't restrict her movement at all – and also perfect for letting a hot older guy know that she wasn't interested in him.

After checking how she looked in the mirror for the fifth time, she finally moved the chair away, opened the door, and went to see what was happening in her kitchen.

Brock was standing at the stove with his back to her, spinning a spatula in one hand like the hero from some western, showing off his manual dexterity while he waited for the food to be ready. He was dressed in a t-shirt and well-loved chinos; probably the most informal selection from his modest wardrobe. A bowl beside him held a small mountain of scrambled eggs, and a large serving plate was slowly accumulating a selection of bacon, sausages, mushrooms, toast, and waffles, as well as what might possibly be fried quarters of a large tomato. It seemed he had used every pan she owned. But she also noted that he must have been shopping as well, because she didn't think her fridge had contained most of these ingredients, and the packaging in the top of the bin bore a distinctive orange and red owl logo.

Isadora didn't shop at Orsk. It wasn't that she was opposed to their food, which was always high quality, or the decadence of visiting a supermarket with an on-site traditional butcher, baker, cheesemaker, and brewer. It was just that after paying her rent and utilities, she didn't have enough slack in the budget to consider the bougie boutique at the end of the street.

"Morning," Brock said without turning around, when Isadora had been so sure that she had approached in silence. "Hope you're hungry. I might have gone a little overboard."

Isadora gaped at him, momentarily at a loss for words. Of all the things she'd expected to find this morning, a legendary misogynist cooking breakfast in her kitchen was not one of them.

"You... cook?" she managed finally, cringing inwardly at the inanity of the question.

Brock chuckled, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Don't sound so surprised. I like learning new things, and there's been a couple of legends in the past who dabble. Any time you're short of dinner ideas, I whip up a mean biriyani; and if I've got time to go out for decent ingredients, I'll happily make you some macarons."

He slid the last of the bacon onto the plate and turned off the stove, moving the skillet to the sink. "Figured it was the least I could do, after crashing on your best chair last night. And, you know, I hope I wasn't too aggressive when you asked about Ghost. It's still kind of raw for me, but I'm sure you wouldn't have asked if you'd known."