“You need to eat. You’ve been working all day.”
I continue to stare at my laptop, my brain whirling as it works through the figures in front of me. I hate going through the monthly reports. Give me code any day of the week.
“Thanks,” I say, turning my head as I scoop a forkful of food into my mouth. I hate eating near my computer, but I need to get these finished.
“Oh, wow.” I close my eyes and moan at the taste and texture as it explodes on my tongue. “This is delicious.”
Mum chuckles as I open my eyes. I close my laptop and push it to one side, replacing it with the plate of beef stew.
“I don’t know how you make it taste this good.”
Mum pulls out a chair and sits next to me, picking up her own knife and fork.
“Years of practice. There’s plenty more in the kitchen.”
I take another mouthful, savouring the home-cooked food.
“Thank you,” I say, suddenly realising how hungry I am.
When did I last eat?
“Don’t thank me. It gives me something to do. I’ve never been one to sit around twiddling my thumbs,” she says. “You’ve very kindly ensured I never have to lift another finger, so I shall continue to spend my time doing the things I enjoy. And cooking is one of them.”
I chuckle. “That’s why you volunteer at the local food bank on Wednesday and Friday, help at the children’s hospice on Thursday and spend Monday and Tuesday organising games and events at the local old people’s home.”
“Idle hands and all that, and you can talk! How many charities are you currently supporting? You were teaching at the local secondary school, only a couple of weeks ago.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” I say, grinning.
This woman is my hero, my idol, my best friend. My deadbeat dad disappeared as soon as he saw a positive pregnancy test, leaving Mum, a sixteen-year-old, holding the baby. My grandparents helped out as much as they could, but they weren’t wealthy, so Mum worked two jobs to support us. She gave up her own life to raise me. It’s why, as soon as I made my fortune, I bought her a house. I pay all her bills, ensuring she never has to work or worry about anything again. At fifty-one, she looks ten years younger. Her skin is smooth, and her hair has kept its dark brown colour, with only a few stray grey hairs. Shedated during my childhood, but being a single mum was difficult, so none of her relationships lasted. Not that she ever made me feel unwanted or unloved. The total opposite.
“When does Kris’s flight get in?” she asks.
Kristophe Lansdown, my fiancé and soon-to-be husband. In three months, I’ll be moving country and into the next phase of my life.
“His plane lands at six tomorrow morning. His driver will have him here by eight,” I tell her.
Lucky for him, he can shower and get changed on the plane. The beauty of owning his own private jet.
“How long is he staying? You’re meeting up with Kat this week, aren’t you?”
“We were, but unfortunately, work calls. He’ll be heading back straight after the wedding.”
Silence descends, and I sit back.
“Spill,” I say.
She sighs.
“I don’t know. You both lead such busy lives. I’m surprised you have time for one another. He resides in the US. You live here—or at least until the wedding. What happens when you move there? I know you’re setting up an office, but what about friends? Will Kris be taking time off to help you settle in? What happens when you have children?”
I bite down on my smile and take the hand she has resting on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. She’s always been my protector, my champion. Not to mention a total romantic.
“Don’t worry, everything will be fine. I know a lot of Kris’s friends and colleagues. I’ve met them over the years. Remember, we’ve been working together for a long time.”
She drops her gaze, turning her hand under mine and wrapping her fingers around it.
“I know… I know. But working together and living together are two very different things.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “I just worry. It’s a mother’s prerogative.”
