The briefcase and half empty glass of juice meant only one thing.
Julia tapped her papers against the glass table.
“Why do you always do this?” Robin dragged his fork through the syrup running over his pancakes.
“Why do I always do what?”
“This.” Robin pointed at her briefcase with his dripping fork.
“Go to work?”
“It’s lame. When I grow up I’m gonna be a dancer.”
Julia leaned down to the boy’s level where his blue eyes pierced her own.
“That sounds wonderful. I know you’ll do that but until then …”
Julia lifted his backpack and ballet slippers.
Word Count: 100
For the always wonderful Friday Fictioneers