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“Oh,” his mother said. She was still cooking more pancakes and he hadn’t even gotten halfway through the stack in front of him. He loved it. “You didn’t say you had two days off. I hope you didn’t get cut or anything.”
His parents were always worried about those things. Maybe because they were hourly employees and every hour they didn’t work was a dime they weren’t paid.
“I’m salary,” he said. “No worries. I still put more than my time in.”
No reason to tell them that there were days he’d be in the air at six in the morning and not back home until ten at night. Sure, he’d have some hour blocks of time in between, but that never meant anything. He could easily fit a trip in there to the island or back if someone called and someone almost always did in the Bond family.
“We are so proud of you and your hard work,” his mother said.
“We had so many worries when you took this job,” his father said. “That it might not be stable. You could have found a job in law enforcement. There is a need for your skills.”
He finished chewing. “I know,” he said. “I like this better. I had a lot of years where it was life or death. Where I saw or saved lives.” Even took them, but he didn’t talk about those things with his parents. With anyone.
“I told your father that,” his mother said. “You needed to find a career that was fun.”
He laughed. “I’m not sure many people think their jobs are fun.”
“But you do,” his mother said. “Now you just have to find a woman to accept that.”
Which was the opening he needed. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve been dating someone.”
“You have?” his mother asked. She finished with the last pancake and set the plate in front of him to help himself. She’d grabbed one to eat and continued to drink her coffee.
She never ate until her men did. He’d always felt bad about that, but there was no arguing with her about it.
“I have,” he said.
“Tell us about her,” his father said.
“Her name is Grace Stone. She’s the head chef at The Retreat.”
“You’ve got to love the chef part,” his mother said. “You do look as if you’ve been eating well.”
He coughed on his bite of food. “Are you saying I look like I’m getting fat?”
He was working out a bit more than normal, but his clothes all fit the same.
It’s not like he ate Grace’s cooking all the time.
Monday and Tuesday and she’d send him home with leftovers. Then one day during the week, normally Friday when she went in later, she’d drop off some breakfast for him and Egan in the morning. Or something they could have for lunch.
He loved it when Egan wasn’t there to get any and he’d bust his boss’s ass with a picture of it and then a picture when it was all gone.
“No,” his mother said. “You look great. Just that you look healthy.”
“Huh?” he asked.
“You know I hate all that fast food and processed stuff you eat. It shows on you when you put that crap in your body. I’ve got a bunch of food to send you home with, but maybe you don’t need it.”
It was the sadness in his mother’s voice. “I always need my mother’s cooking,” he said. “You better send it with me.”
“Because of Grace’s job, she couldn’t come with you?”
“No,” he said. “Maybe once you’re out of work we can see if we can fly here one day when you’re both around. She gets Monday and Tuesday off too.” He saw his parents look at each other but did not say a word. “And since I’m not working it might be hard to take a helicopter for the day too. It’d take some planning, but we’ll see.”
He was sure maybe Grace could switch a day off but then he’d be working and if he took it off, someone would need his helicopter, so again, no. Not happening.
The days of flying home might be out the window at this point unless it was at night and they flew back first thing in the morning before work started.
