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“How are they different?”
“My parents, they have a very specific idea of a woman’s role in society, and when I question those beliefs, they react by doubling down and trying to make me conform. Honestly, my mom never stops meddling, and it gets…tiring, I guess. They’re never going to change, and neither am I. And my sisters did conform, so now they parrot the same lines.”
“Which means it’s easier to stay out of their way?”
“Exactly. My life is stressful enough without added reminders of my failure to live up to their expectations. Not that I mind the challenges at work. Most of the time, I love my job.” I took a sip of coffee. “You get along with your father, don’t you?”
“Usually I do, but that doesn’t mean we’re alike.”
“But you have plenty in common.”
A love of motorcycles and a complete disregard for legalities, for example.
“Yeah, and also no. Sure, we both enjoy riding Harleys, but he’s always been happy as ruler of his own small kingdom, and I wanted to see more of the world. The difference is that he supported me when I chose to go my own way.”
The waitress brought our food over, and I dug into the stack of blueberry pancakes. Hawk had ordered granola with yogurt this time. It was clear who the health freak was in this non-relationship. He didn’t get those abs by eating fries with every meal, not that I was complaining or anything.
“My parents think I should be married with at least two kids by now,” I said with a shudder. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Odette brought the wedding forward because she’s secretly pregnant.”
She’d sent me a picture of the gown, and it had an empire waist. Yes, she was a big fan of Jane Austen, but when I was messing around with the hotel’s booking system, I’d also happened to notice that there was a vacant weekend toward the end of September. Why hadn’t she taken that slot instead of rushing the arrangements? It was possible there had been another late cancellation, or maybe she’d just gotten herself knocked up and didn’t want to tell anyone yet? Oh, the scandal! Mom would be horrified.
“See if she drinks any alcohol at dinner,” Hawk suggested.
“I’m planning to.”
He watched me for a long while, chewing thoughtfully.
“You don’t want kids?” he asked finally, and I silently cursed myself. Why had I opened this stupid can of worms? No, it shouldn’t have mattered, but discussing my lack of maternal instincts with the man I was quietly screwing around with left me uncomfortable.
“I guess I just don’t see myself as a mom. I don’t mind spending time with my nieces, though.”
Was it really fair to bring a son or daughter into the world when, hand on heart, they wouldn’t be my priority? Clarice seemed to think it was okay—it was Buckley who’d wanted kids, and she’d gone along with it because it was her duty, but the girls spent an awful lot of time at after-school clubs, at summer camp, and at friends’ houses, plus Charity had ballet school, violin lessons, sewing club, and junior cooking classes. Chas seemed to prefer hanging out with next door’s cat. To Buckley, the girls appeared to be more of a status symbol than anything else—look at my perfect family and lovely home, see what a good hunter-gatherer I am—and he mostly hid out at the office.
“Hmm.”
Hmm? What did “hmm” mean?
“How about you?” I blurted.
Hawk stayed silent for so long that I thought he wasn’t going to answer, shifting in his seat. I’d never seen him anything but confident. He could Matrix his way through a hail of bullets, but talking about children made him uncomfortable?
“I don’t think I could do the job I do if I was a father,” he said after an age.
“Because you travel a lot?”
“Not that. I lost my mom, and it was hard.”
Without thinking, I reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “And if something happened on an op, you wouldn’t want to put a child through that?”
“Yeah. Or a girlfriend,” he added more quietly.
Oh.
One tiny sentence, one big confession. Or at least, it felt that way. I’d always assumed that Hawk had become the king of hookups because he simply didn’t like commitment. To find there was a deeper reason for him running out before the clock struck midnight was strangely comforting. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one whose past experiences had affected their ability to have a healthy relationship?
We both looked up as an oversized dirt bike spluttered into the parking lot. Was it meant to sound like that? I didn’t know much about bikes, but even I could tell there was a problem with the engine. The boy riding it—I put him in his late teens—pulled a face as he removed his helmet and ambled over to the waitress.
“I thought you fixed it,” she said.
