My mother eyed me with suspicion

My mother eyed me with suspicion…

My mother eyed with suspicion. I blankly stared at her, careful not to blush or flinch, but adding a slight non-understanding look to my face. I carefully kept my eyes off the table where she was preparing our meal, and I was helping by cutting the different ingredients. We were making the most delicious salad ever: with mozzarella cheese and small round tomatoes, black olives, champignons mushrooms and smoked salmon.

My mouth was watering and, unable to keep a neutral expression anymore, I turned to the sink to wash my hands from the oil of the olives I had been slicing just a couple of minutes ago. My mother was still eyeing me with suspicion, alternating this with a look at the smoked salmon pieces and the champignons bowl. I’m sure she had noticed the amount diminishing every time she turned away from the sink… but instead of saying a word, she came up with a lopsided smile. She handed me the mozzarella cheese to cut and started to chitchat cheerfully again. When she turned to the sink to wash the basil my hand shot, once again, to the champignons and I had almost grabbed the largest one when the ladle hit my fingers so hard that I cried loud. “Gotcha, little thief!”. I looked at my mother with disbelief and even a little bit of anger, because she had actually hurt me, but her accomplished expression was so comical that I burst out laughing and she joined in.