Hooking Him (How to Catch an Alpha #3)(27)

“Not as often as I’d like to, but I try to go at least once a month to clear my head,” he says as I cover my mouth to yawn and try to force my eyes back open. “Sleep, Anna.”

“I’m not going to be a very good copilot if I’m sleeping.”

“Copilot?”

“When I was learning to drive, my instructor told me being the copilot is just as important as driving the car, because I might see something you don’t and then be able to warn you.”

“As much as I appreciate that, I think I’ll be okay if you sleep for a while.” I hear humor in his tone, but I don’t have the energy to turn and see if he’s smiling. “I’ll wake you up when we get to the diner.”

I don’t ask if he’s sure. Between the dim light from the rising sun, the scent of him that’s taken over the cab, the warm blanket, and the soft music, I’m lulled to sleep before I can even open my mouth to question him.

“Anna, we’re here.” My eyes flutter open, and I groan before I sit up and blink against the bright light. I shake out my hand, which has fallen asleep under the weight of my head, and wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth, trying not to make it obvious. “Did you know you snore?”

“I do not,” I deny, swinging my head around to narrow my eyes on his.

“You do. It’s cute.”

“I do not.”

“Babe, you do. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?” he asks, sounding curious.

“No, because I don’t snore.” Or I don’t think I do anyway.

“We’ll agree to disagree.” He smiles, then tips his head to the side questioningly. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.” I take the blanket off my lap and pick up my bag from the floorboard. Without a word, he gets out, and I start to do the same, but before I can, he opens my door and holds out his hand. I take it and allow him to help me down from my seat. “What’s good here?” I ask as we walk hand in hand through the mostly empty parking lot toward the plain-looking restaurant.

“Everything.”

“Okay, what’s your favorite thing?”

“It’s a toss-up between the pancakes and the eggs benedict.” He opens the door to the diner for me to walk in ahead of him, and my stomach rumbles as the familiar scent of breakfast food and coffee hits me.

An older woman whose hair is in a long graying braid down her back smiles at us from behind the cash register, where she’s ringing up two men. “Grab a couple menus and take a seat anywhere. I’ll be with you in a minute,” she says.

“Thanks,” Calvin says, dipping his chin. He leads me to an empty booth and motions for me to sit before he slides in next to me, leaving the other side empty in a move that makes my chest warm.

“This reminds me of home,” I tell him, unwrapping my knife and fork from the napkin.

“Chicago?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly, not sure why I called it home when it doesn’t feel like it. I’m not sure if it ever did. Not when home is where you should feel the most comfortable, where you can be yourself without worrying about being judged. I never felt like that when I lived in Chicago or when I was around my family or my friends. “In Chicago, there’s a diner on almost every corner. I’ve only seen one since I moved here, and I haven’t gone to it yet.”

“There are a couple in town, but with tourists come fast food and chain restaurants. There are days I drive down Main Street and don’t even recognize it anymore.”

“I think most people who grew up in small towns feel that way,” I tell him softly. “Everything is becoming modernized, and rural areas are shrinking as cities expand. By the time we have kids and they grow up, small towns won’t be so small anymore.”

“Do you want kids?”

His question surprises me, and my heart picks up speed. I fiddle with my napkin, unsure how to answer that question. With a deep breath, I decide to be honest. “I like the idea of having kids, but I’m not sure I’d be a good mom. I didn’t exactly have a good role model.”

“You and your mom weren’t close when you were growing up? Did you have anyone else?” he asks curiously.

My throat burns, but I fight against the pain. “No, I had nannies, but they got switched out so often that I learned early to never get attached to them.”

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“It is what it is.” I shrug like it doesn’t still hurt, when it does.

“What about your dad?”

“Our relationship was better, but we weren’t close,” I say, feeling uncomfortable with him for the first time. His parents chose him—they sought him out because they wanted to be parents—while my parents barely seemed to care about my existence until it suited them.

“Sorry about the wait.” The woman who greeted us earlier interrupts us with a smile, and I see that the name tag attached to her top says FLO. “Have you two had a chance to look at the menu?” Flo asks, pulling a pen from her pocket while looking at me.

“I’ll have coffee and an order of pancakes.”

“Just the pancakes, or do you want to add eggs and bacon for a couple bucks more?”

“Can I get my eggs scrambled with cheese?”