Page 41 of True North

She looked up from the stove where she was making herself an egg-white garden omelet. “Morning, honey. You want some breakfast?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I need to get going or I’ll be late.”

She gave me a disapproving stare. “You need to eat, Rissy. Skipping breakfast isn’t healthy.”

I moved to her, placing a kiss on her soft, velvety cheek. “I’m not skipping, Mom, I promise. I’ll stop somewhere and get something quick and easy. I don’t have time to sit and eat.”

“Quick and easy,” she grumbled as she flipped the omelet in the pan to get an even cook. “Something greasy and salty and bad for your health, you mean.”

I let out a small laugh, my mood so good not even a maternal lecture could bring me down. “Probably. Because greasy and salty is delicious. But I’ll have a salad for lunch to balance it out if it makes you feel better.”

She slid the eggs cleanly from the pan and onto her plate before turning to look at me. “What would make me feel better is if you’d quit that job already and focus on what you love.”

It took an act of will to keep from rolling my eyes at her. It was a conversation we’d had more times than I could count since I moved back in after her diagnosis. “We’ve talked about this, Mom. I can’t quit and just restore furniture all day.”

“But you’re so good at it, sweetie!” she argued, throwing her arm wide to indicate all the pieces I’d refurbished for our house. Each piece had been carefully selected, and I took my time bringing them back to life. Most of her furniture was something I’d had a hand in bringing back to its former glory, and it was a sense of pride to walk in each day and see the beauty my hard work created. It was my first love, that was for sure. Realty wasn’t in the same ballpark. But I did what I had to do.

“I know, and I enjoy it.” I snatched my laptop off the kitchen island (a big piece of butcher block I’d sanded down and refurbished specifically for this space) and stuffed it into my bag before turning to look at her. “Maybe one day. But for now, taking care of you is my main priority.”

As I gave her the same speech I’d given dozens of times, I noticed the way her head cocked to the side and her eyes scanned over me. When her face wreathed in a brilliant smile, I knew exactly what she had been studying.

Your aura’s a lovely, sunny yellow today, sweetheart.” She waggled her penciled-in brows. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain future Chief of Police, would it?”

My face went hot. “Okay, I’m leaving. Love you!” I called as I scooted out of the kitchen and down the hall. “I’ll be home late tonight, so don’t wait up.”

“Please tell me it’s because you’ll be getting a little something.”

“Gah!” I slapped my free hand over my ear and scrunched my shoulders, trying to block sound for the other. “La, la, la, la, la! I’m not listening!” Though, if it didn’t give me the ick to discuss my sex life with my mother, I would have admitted I sure as shit hoped that was where my evening would lead. “Love you!”

“Love you back,” she returned right before I closed the door behind me.

Thirty minutes later, a half-eaten sausage and cheese biscuit in hand, I sauntered through the doors of my office building. The second I stepped foot inside, Marty was there.

“Thank god you’re here.”

I dropped my stuff on my desk and gave my boss a frown. “What’s going on?”

“Angela called in sick this morning and I need you to take her showing this afternoon in Hillcrest.”

I felt a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach that refused to be ignored. “Did she say what was wrong?”

“No. And I didn’t ask, ’cause it’s none of my damn business.”

I rolled my eyes and pulled out my chair, forcing him to take a step back so his toes didn’t get run over by the rolling wheels. Plopping into my seat, I wiggled the mouse to bring my monitor to life. “I have a full schedule today. Have Craig take the showing.”

Marty let a string of curses loose. “Christ, Iris. For once, can you try to make my job easier?”

I spun in my chair, somehow managing to look down my nose at the sweating chubby bastard even while sitting. “Not when you’re using me simply because you think a tight skirt and a pair of heels will sell the property faster. Craig might have different anatomy, but he’s as capable an agent as the rest of us. Put your misogyny aside for five seconds, would you?”

He responded by throwing his arms in the air and stomping back to his office as he cursed me under his breath.

“Hey, Marty?” I called after him when a thought crossed my mind. “You know what Angela’s last listing was yesterday?”

He shrugged like it wasn’t his job to know these things. Like it wasn’t his literal job. Goddess, I really did hate it here.

“How should I know? Take a look at the calendar if you’re so curious.”

Lazy prick.