In A Fix - Mary Calmes Page 0,56
shrugged. “Today he does.”
She sat down on one of the four barstools at the island in the middle of the kitchen. His stove had been placed there, I was guessing, so that after you cooked, you could just plate the food and pass it over. I was a fan of the stainless-steel appliances, the granite counters, and all the storage space. The window above the kitchen sink was perfect, so that was where I placed the herbs I bought, all the little plants that would need care once I was gone.
She held out her hand, and I smiled as I took it in mine.
“I’m Cate,” she told me, “with a C, like Cate Blanchett.”
“Croy, not Troy, with a C as well.”
I saw it then, the same smile as her brother, the one that made her eyes shine.
“So, Cate, may I offer you an omelet?”
She made a face. “I don’t like the yolks or meat and––”
“How about an egg white omelet with spinach and avocado?”
There was a pause as she studied me.
“Well?”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Then yes, please,” she almost whimpered.
She watched me as I began the prep work, but then leaned down to dig in the rucksack masquerading as a purse to find her phone. She took a deep breath before answering. “What?” She listened for a moment. “No, I totally disagree. I don’t think calling it the Women’s Wellness Center is a good idea. That’s going to appeal only to older women, not the demographic we’re actually after.”
I caught bits and pieces as I made coffee, using a blend I had come up with for the guys at the office and making myself some tea. Waving at Cate, I pointed at the coffeepot and the teapot, and she pointed at the tea, and therefore made a place for herself in my heart forever. We tea people had to stick together.
The second she was off the phone with whoever made her cry again, she got a call from her mother, and I knew that from the “I can’t talk now, Mom. I’m about to eat the world’s greatest omelet.” There was a pause. “Croy made it for me.” Another pause. “Oh, I wish, but no, he belongs to Dallas.”
And I was going to correct her, but she put the phone on speaker and put it down on the counter so she could take the plate I passed her.
“Mom, he made hash browns too. From scratch. I watched him grate the potato.”
“Are you serious?”
“You’re on speaker,” she said with a snicker before she dug into her plate.
“Croy?”
“Hello,” I said, horrified that I was talking to the mother of a man I hadn’t even known for a full twenty-four hours yet.
“You’re cooking for my daughter?”
“Yes, ma’am. She looked like she needed some food.”
Cate moaned in the background as I poured her some orange juice and put buttered wheat toast down beside her plate.
“Is it good?” her mother teased her.
“Ohmygod, Mom, it’s so good.”
“Well, I will definitely need to come see, then.”
What?
“You’re almost a half an hour away,” Cate reminded her.
“Normally, but the way I drive, it’s more like fifteen.”
“She drives like a maniac,” Cate assured me.
“I was coming to check on the state of your brother’s refrigerator before yoga, so I’m almost there anyway.”
“Likely story,” Cate whispered, happily rocking back and forth in her chair before she raised her voice. “Listen, Dallas isn’t awake yet, so don’t be noisy when you come in.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Dallas is sleeping.”
More silence.
“At eleven thirty in the morning?” she finally said.
“We’re working a case together,” I informed both women, “so we were up late last night.”
“Are you with the FBI as well?” Cate asked between bites.
“No, I’m a private contractor in town from Chicago.”
“What?” Cate gasped.
“Oh heavens, no,” his mother said and then hung up.
I flipped my omelet, adding the cubed ham and mushrooms, red peppers—because I didn’t like the green ones—and an excessive amount of cheese.
“Is she actually coming over here?” I asked Cate.
She nodded, back to looking sad.
“So, tell me why Women’s Wellness Center is a no-go.”
“Oh,” she said, deflating, “well, I wanted to call it Stirrups, because we have this sort of western theme going and because, yes, we offer counseling that doesn’t include therapy horses, but the horses are a huge part of our business.”
It explained her outfit, the riding boots that had seen better days and the breeches, as well as the dirt on her pale blue polo.
“And you have a partner, or partners?”
“Partners,” she explained. “Two of them, both counselors like me, and they