Page 26 of Bargain With the Boss
If it had been just me, I wouldn’t have cared. I was used to her tactics and had learned how to mitigate them. I wanted the chance to make A Garden You Love a reality, but I’d waited this long.
I was also used to stuffing down my own needs.
But my team had worked too hard to be unceremoniously fired and left without a reference. Because my mother wouldn’t just be happy with terminating them, she’d make sure they never worked in the field again.
I lifted the mug, sipping at the black coffee.
It was surprisingly good. One thing about Seattle was the superb coffee. A hint of chocolate balanced the bitterness of the standard fare.
When Jude and Owen returned they were both laughing. It struck me that I couldn’t remember Jude ever being that happyin my whole life. We’d both been focused on school and work—on excellence and trying to survive the stifling home that worried more about image than nurturing.
He came from it as much as me, and still found happiness.
Because of the Hamilton genes we didn’t share? Or the rarefied air of this lakeside town?
They slid in just as the waitress came back with plates full of buttery pancakes, fluffy eggs, and my own egg white omelet with spinach.
Owen struggled until he could kneel on the booth, giving him a few more inches. He reached for the syrup, and I saw my brother reach to help, only to drop his hand and let him do it.
When the bottle bobbled a little, he reached over to steady the heavy bottom, but let him continue to pour until there was a river of golden syrup on the plate. Owen grinned over at him, then pushed the plate toward my brother’s Saville Row suit.
Jude just caught the edge and narrowly missed a lap full of sticky mess. He quickly cut up the star shaped pancakes and pushed it back in front of Owen as if they’d done this dance a million times.
Owen did a little wiggle before picking up his fork. “Thanks, Dad.”
Jude leaned over and kissed him on the top of his head.
My throat literally seized.
Such easy love between them in so little time.
Owen turned his attention to me, then my plate, and he scrunched up his face. “What’s wrong with your eggs?”
Jude huffed out a laugh. “Don’t be rude, Owen.”
“What? It’s...white.”
I cleared my throat. “It’s an egg white omelet.”
“Why?”
I glanced down at the completely adequate food. “Because it’s better for me.”
“If you say so, Aunt Sydee.”
I opened my mouth to correct him, but found I liked the sound of his version of my name. I forked up a bit of my egg and chewed. Adequate, if underwhelming.
Owen held out a forkful of dripping carbs. “I think mine is better.”
Without thinking, I leaned in and accepted the offering. It was incredibly a bit on the soggy side, but my tongue sang with the mix of sweet and savory. I’d always had a weakness for sugar. Probably because my mother had always denied sweets in the house. And had looked down upon gaining weight of any kind.
Even if my body tended toward a lusher line through the hips, and no amount of denying myself would ever correct it fully.
“See? Good.” Owen grinned and scooped up another mouthful with utter glee.
I finished chewing. “You’re correct.”
He stabbed a star that Jude hadn’t cut up yet and plopped it on my plate. “I’ll share.”
