My Female Alpha

FIFTY TWO

emery

"You don't have to come in," I tell Denver, my gaze locked on the brick building. A large board cut into a coffee mug shape hangs above the door.

"I'll come in separately," he says.

I turn away from the building to shoot him a pointed look. "What is she going to do to me in there? She's a human, Denver."

"You are also a human. She was friends with that rogue that Alpha chased off. I don't trust her. I think she knows more than she lets on."

I think about how Calla reacted when Lenora choked Deja. "I doubt it, but fine. You wolves are all so damn stubborn."

He smiles briefly and cuts the engine. "You head in. I'll follow you in just a minute."

"Okay." I hop out of the Jeep and head for the coffee shop door.

The bell over the door jingles as I step inside. I'm coated in warmth right away.

My eyes rove through the coffee shop. It's rather small with only a few tables but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and delicacies greets me. Soft instrumental music plays through speakers in the ceiling and paintings from local artists hang on the wall.

Calla at least wasn't lying about this place's environment. It's been so long since I've been out in public.

"There you are," calls a familiar voice.

Calla stands from a corner booth wedged into a small cranny in the wall. She's dressed in leggings and a baggy shirt that she's knotted over her stomach. Her curly hair is pinned to the top of her head in a messy bun.

I smile at the sight of her. She just looks so innocent and human. The thought of her plotting my demise with the rogues seems laughable now.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she says as she rushes to embrace me. "You haven't been returning anyone's messages and I just knew you don't know many other people in town. I was afraid you'd left town or something had happened to you."

I gently hug her back. "Do you always care about strangers like this?" I tease.

She snorts. "My only answer to that might make you uncomfy, so we'll just say yes." Grabbing my hand, she drags me over to the booth. "I ordered you a muffin and a latte."

"Wow, I feel so pampered."

We slide into the booth opposite each other and I gratefully take a sip of the latte with a small, gratified groan.

I should've grabbed my Keurig from the apartment—I've gone too long without getting my caffeine fix.

"So," Calla says, "what's been up? Did you get a new job somewhere else?"

I shrug and place the ceramic mug on its holder. "Yeah . . . I got a remote job. I can work from home now and it, uh, pays better. How've things been at the diner? Does Alex hate my guts?"

She laughs. "Maybe just a little. If I hear him complain about one more dishwasher quitting, I'm going to poke his eyes out." She grabs her mug but doesn't drink from it. "So, I guess I can't call you 'dishie' anymore then?"

"Probably not," I say with an awkward chuckle.

What the hell am I doing here? 

"I hate to ask, but did you quit because of how things ended with us?"

A bitter taste fills my mouth at her question. I take another sip from my coffee and open my mouth to respond when the doorbell chimes.