Page 11 of The Problem with Dating

“I have all my partnerships lined up already and—”

“And you should reconsider. Nobody has better ingredients than Honey Farms. I promise you that.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Trust me. I keep my promises.” He reached into the box and handed me an eggplant. If someone told me I’d be holding Nathan Pierce’s eggplant by nightfall, I would’ve called their bluff.

“You can have this whole box to test out the produce. I even tossed in some eggs and meat from my brothers’ butcher shop. You’ll see the difference in quality. You’ve never had something this great.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I find that very doubtful.”

“I don’t care if you doubt it. It’s just the truth.”

I shook my head. “It’s not every day a professional ball player shows up requesting to be a partner with my restaurants.”

“Former professional ball player. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Why is that?” I asked. “What happened?”

His nostrils flared slightly before he shook off his annoyance. “If you take me into your kitchen and cook some of these ingredients up, I’ll tell you.”

I chuckled. “No, you won’t.”

He shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

“Why is working with me so important to you?”

“A couple of reasons. First, my mom’s health isn’t doing the best, and I figured I could help her out with her farmland. My four brothers do a stand-up job, but I know it’s been a lot on them. I’m the head of the family and haven’t really stepped up the way I should’ve after my father passed. I’m back to do better. Second, you own my favorite spot in LA and my second favorite in Chicago. If I want my family’s farm to become the best, I should work with the best. Having Honey Farms partner with you could change our lives. When I saw you were opening a spot in my hometown, I figured it was meant to be. It’s that easy.”

“No offense, Pierce, trust me, I’m a big fan. Huge, actually. If my best friend, Noah, knew I turned down the chance to partnering with you, he’d have a few choice words for me, but the truth of the matter is, I can’t take on the risk.”

He stepped in closer. “I’m not a risk.”

Based on the articles I’d read about him, he was a bigger risk than I was willing to deal with. I already had enough going against my restaurant. I didn’t need an ex-pro with past addictions floating around the gossiping mouths in town. “With your past—”

“We all have a past,” he said, his deep voice dripping with regret. “But it’s not what I’m defined by. Give me a shot to prove that Honey Farms is the best for you, Chef. Just give me a chance that no one else in this town will give me.”

I felt a tug in my chest. I hadn’t been in Honey Creek long, but I could tell that they’d probably held grudges against people and their past demons. If they treated a new person the way they’d treated me, I could only imagine the torment they’d give Nathan. The words failure and junkie came to mind.

I really, really hated that town.

I arched an eyebrow. “You swear this is good stuff?”

“Better than you can imagine.”

Nathan Pierce was calling me chef. It was taking everything inside me not to ask for his autograph. Sure, he had a downfall after the Major Leagues, but no one could stop him when he was on that field. He had all-star written all over him until his injury in the final game of the World Series. After that, it appeared that he spiraled into the triple threat of darkness: partying, drugs, and depression.

I wondered what would’ve become of him if he hadn’t gotten injured.

Noah would lose his mind after I told him this story.

“All right,” I said. “Let me cook with these, and I’ll get back to you.”

Nathan shook my hand after he handed me the box. “I appreciate it, Chef. Thank you. My card is in the box, and you can call me. You can even visit the farm, and my brothers’ butcher shop is right down the road.”

As Nathan turned to leave, he paused for a second and gazed across the street at the dog daycare, The Pup Around the Corner. A wave of sobriety washed over his face as he stared. It was as if he’d stepped into a memory that swallowed him whole.

“You good?” I asked.

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