“Such a doll.” She unfolds her notepad. “I forgot to tell ya, my boys got us tickets to your performance next weekend for my birthday. We can’t wait.”
This draws a slice of happiness to my face. “I’ll be sure to dedicate a song to you.” I tap the menu. “Could I do a bowl of Apple Jacks, no milk, please.”
She jots it on her pad before turning to Warren, who givesher a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll do the same, with milk, and two waters, please.”
“Perfect. Two Apple Jacks and two waters, coming right up.” She collects our menus and leaves.
“When you said breakfast, I thought you wanted bacon and hash browns,” Warren says.
“Cereal is one of the few things I can stomach lately. Minus the milk. Anything dairy makes me sick.” I flourish a hand over the menu. “You didn’t need to order cereal too. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
He shrugs awkwardly. “Not really. I’m used to having breakfast for dinner anyway.”
My head tilts in question. “Why?”
A shameful blush creeps over his cheeks. “I sometimes work nights. They mess up the body clock.”
Understanding prickles. “I don’t know many marketing associates who work night shifts.”
He swallows twice before responding, and he has the audacity to look angry. It takes a moment to realize his disdain is aimed at himself, not me. “That’s because I’m not in marketing.”
“Yeah, I gathered, considering me and my friends searched high and low for you.” I pause when our waters arrive. “Whatdoyou do?”
If he wasn’t already grossly uncomfortable, shoulders hitched to his ears and jaw tense, my question would’ve done it. I watch the shutters go down behind his eyes. “I’m a firefighter and EMT.”
His response surprises me. “Why did you lie about your job? Granted, we agreed it was one night, but it would’ve made looking for you a hell of a lot easier.”
Warren seems equally frustrated. “It was poor judgment on my part. Whenever people find out what I do, they want toknow about all theheroicthings I’ve done.I didn’t want to do that the evening we met. I shouldn’t have lied. I’m so?—”
“This is going to go a lot easier if you stop apologizing. What’s done is done. Let’s talk about what’s next.” Parker would be so proud of me taking charge.
He drags a brawny hand over his jaw. It’s then I notice the raised skin on his knuckles and remember how rough his palms felt as they skimmed up my thighs and over my breasts. Of course, he doesn’t work in marketing. He works with his hands; that much is obvious, considering his strong and lean physique.
I’m jerked out of my memories when he clears his throat.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.” I dip my chin, hoping he doesn’t catch my blush.
“Did you always want to be a mother? In the restroom, you seemed confident this is what you wanted.” He continues to drum away on the tabletop, waiting for my answer.
“Oh.” I purse my lips. “When I first found out, I panicked and didn’t know what I wanted to do. I’d been on birth control for years and never thought I’d be in the one percent it wasn’t effective for. My friend Parker was with me when I took the test, and I’ll be honest, there was a part of me that didn’t think I’d keep the baby or was ready to be a mom.”
“What changed?”
My smile is wistful. “My mom. She was amazing, so compassionate and full of life. She made it look easy; having two daughters couldn’t have been, yet she never wavered and always showed me and my sister unconditional love. I’d always imagined being a mother. Not this way, but something clicked, and I knew this is what I wanted.”
“You’re speaking in the past tense. Is she…”
My heart pinches. “She passed away when I was nine.”
His brows furrow. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I just hope I can be half the mother she was, even if I do this alone.”
An elderly couple enter the diner, hand in hand, and the hostess greets them with familiarity before seating them at a table by the window. I make a mental note to jot down some lyrics later, something about old love or reunited childhood sweethearts meeting after years apart.
Warren contemplates my words, and when our food arrives, I’m given some extra time to prepare what I want to say next. All self-respect goes out the window when I inhale the bowl of dry Apple Jacks. Screw the heartburn.
