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Chapter 272
Madison
I woke to the sound of clattering in the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through my curtains as I squinted at my phone. 7:13 AM. I groaned, burying my face in my pillow for a moment before another crash jolted me fully awake.
“Mom?” I called, throwing back the covers and padding toward the kitchen.
I found her standing amid an array of pots and pans, looking slightly guilty.
“Morning, sweetheart!” she said with excessive cheer. “I was just going to make us some breakfast.”
I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe. “What happened to resting?”
“I’ve been resting for weeks in that hospital. I’m fine.” She reached for a mixing bowl, wincing slightly as she stretched.
“Uh–huh.” I moved forward, gently taking the bowl from her hands. “Sit. I’ll make breakfast.”
“Madison, I’m perfectly capable—”
“Dr. Williams specifically said you need to rest for at least two to three weeks.” I guided her toward a chair at the small kitchen table. “No cooking, no cleaning, no strenuous activity.”
“Making pancakes is hardly strenuous,” she protested.
I raised an eyebrow. “The way you make them? With all that flipping and dancing around the kitchen? Absolutely strenuous.”
Mom huffed but sat down. “Fine. But make the blueberry ones, not those healthy whole–grain things you tried to pass off as pancakes last time.”
“One batch of blueberry pancakes coming up.” I tied my hair back and started gathering ingredients. “Coffee?”
“God, yes. Hospital coffee should be classified as a war crime.”
I laughed, measuring coffee grounds into the filter. “I think that’s against the Geneva Convention.”
“So, you’re denying your mother the right to cook,” she grumbled, but her eyes twinkled.
I mixed the pancake batter with practiced movements. “Just following the doctor’s orders.”
Mom sighed dramatically. “When did you become so bossy? You used to be such a sweet child.”
“I learned from the best.” I winked at her, pouring batter onto the hot griddle. “Besides, it’s only for a few weeks. Then you can cook all the pancakes you want.”
“If I survive the boredom,” she said, accepting the mug of coffee I handed her with a grateful smile. “What am I supposed to do all day while you’re at work?”
“Rest. Watch TV. Read those romance novels you’re always talking about.” I flipped a pancake with a flourish. ”
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Just don’t overdo it.”
“Romance novels,” she mused, taking a sip of coffee. “Now there’s an idea. I could give you some tips on how to charm that handsome boss of yours.”
I nearly dropped the spatula. “Mom!”
“What? He’s clearly interested in you.‘
“He’s my boss,” I said firmly, placing a stack of pancakes in front of her. “And we’re… figuring things out.”
“Mmm–hmm.” She cut into her pancakes, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “That’s why he looks at you like you hung the moon.”
I busied myself with making my own plate, hoping she wouldn’t notice the blush creeping up my neck. “He does not.”
“Please. I may be old, but I’m not blind.” She pointed her fork at me. “That man is smitten.”
“Eat your pancakes before they get cold.”
“Fine, change the subject.” She took a bite, closing her eyes in appreciation. “These are delicious. Almost as good as mine.”
“High praise indeed.”
After brushing my teeth, I returned to the kitchen.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few moments; the only sounds were the clinking of cutlery before Mom spoke again.
“So, any big plans at work today?”
“Just the usual.” I sipped my coffee. “Meeting with the development team, reviewing contractor bids, making sure Alexander doesn’t terrorize the interns.”
“Alexander, huh?” Mom wiggled her eyebrows. “Not ‘Mr. Knight‘ anymore?”
I felt my cheeks warm. “Force of habit.”
“Uh–huh.” She didn’t look convinced. “And does he call you ‘Ms. Harper‘ or ‘Madison‘?”
“It depends,” I hedged, cutting my pancakes with more focus than necessary.
“On what?”
“On whether we’re in a professional setting or not.”
Mom’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “And how often are you in… non–professional settings?”
“Mom!” I exclaimed, nearly choking on my coffee.
“What? It’s a legitimate question.” She looked far too innocent. “I’m just trying to understand the parameters
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of your relationship.”
“The parameters are none of your business,” I muttered, stabbing a blueberry.
“I’m your mother. Everything about you is my business.”
“That’s the most mom thing you’ve ever said.”
“And I’ll keep saying it until I’m dead and buried.” She stabbed another piece of pancake with surprising vigor.” Even then, I’ll haunt you if you make bad decisions.”
“Great. Just what I need—a ghostly matchmaker following me around Knight Industries.” I pictured Mom’s spirit floating through the hallways, pushing me and Alexander together in the copy room. The mental image made me snort into my coffee.
“What’s so funny?” Mom asked, eyebrows raised.
“Nothing. Just imagining you haunting my workplace.”
“I would be an excellent ghost. Very helpful.” She waved her fork dramatically. “I could whisper sweet nothings in Alexander’s ear about how wonderful you are.‘
“Please don’t even joke about that.” I gathered our empty plates and carried them to the sink. “The last thing I need is supernatural interference in my love life.”
“So you admit it’s a love life?” Mom’s voice was triumphant.
I turned, pointing my sudsy sponge at her. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“All I know is that man looks at you like you’re water in the desert.” She crossed her arms, looking smug. you’re not exactly indifferent to him either.”
“We have a… complicated relationship.”
“And
“The best ones usually are.” She rose from her chair with a slight wince that she tried to hide. “Now, where did you put my morning pills?”
“Sit down. I’ll get them.” I dried my hands and retrieved her medication from the cabinet.
Mom grimaced at the collection of pills I placed in her palm. “They get bigger every time.”
“Just think of them as your ticket to dancing at my wedding someday,”
“Your wedding to Alexander?” Her eyes lit up mischievously.
“To anyone!” I handed her a glass of water, “Take your meds and stop matchmaking.”
She swallowed the pills one by one, making exaggerated faces after each. When she finished, she set the glass down with a decisive thunk. “There. Happy now?”
“Very happy.” I glanced at the clock. “I need to get ready for work. You promise to take it easy today?”
“Cross my heart.” She made an X over her chest. “I’ll just sit here like a good little patient and watch my soap
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operas.”
“And call me if you need anything,” I added, heading toward the bathroom. “Anything at all.”
“Yes, mother,” she called after me, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
