Page 33 of The Problem with Dating

“Nice like you?”

“Yes. Nice like me.”

He huffed. “You’re not nice.”

“What? Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not. Nice people don’t say they’re nice. Self-conscious, trying too hard people say they’re nice because they are overly obsessed with people liking them.”

“I don’t care if people like me!” I remarked, which was indeed a lie. I did care. I cared so deeply that if I misspoke to a person, I’d overthink it for hours after the interaction. But I didn’t need grumpy-no-water-dish to call me out on my flaws and insecurities. I already overthought them enough for us both.

“Well, that’s a good thing because I don’t like you, and you need to take that stupid dog dish and get away from my restaurant!” he shouted. The veins in his neck popped out as he waved his hands in dismissal. His eyes were on me, but they looked so very far away. They swam with rage, or wait…sadness? When he blinked, his eyes looked so sad. As if he was trying his hardest to keep it together.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, confused about his harsh tone. Sure, we hadn’t had the best interactions, but the severity of his anger seemed very misdirected. No one could be that upset over a water dish.

“You!” he yelled. “You’re what’s wrong with me! This whole stupid town is what’s wrong with me! This stupid town and their stupid water bowls for their stupid dogs and stupid Walter the cat! This stupid town and their vandalizing, and gossiping mouths, and dumb traditions! This stupid town and how badly they treated her when she was nothing but good!” he hollered, his eyes glassing over with tears and rage and hurt.

So much hurt.

Oh gosh. What happened to this man?

“Who was nothing but good?” I whispered, confused by his words.

He blinked as the rage simmered. He blinked as those tears fought not to fall from his eyes. He blinked, and I saw it—his true self. His hurt self.

He shook it off quickly, and his stare hardened again.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Just go, will you?” he hissed.

“Alex,” a voice said, interrupting our argument. Well, more so his argument with the whole world of Honey Creek. I didn’t even think he was shouting at me anymore. His frustration seemed too harsh over a water bowl.

“What?” he continued yelling as he turned around to see the stranger standing on the sidewalk. The moment he locked eyes with the guy, his anger dissipated. “What are you doing here?” Alex asked.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he replied.

Alex rubbed the back of his neck but didn’t respond. His shoulders dropped. It was as if seeing that guy deflate his anger balloon.

The guy frowned, walked over to Alex, and hugged him. Alex didn’t hug him back. His arms stayed to his sides, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. He held on so tight as if he feared letting go. Then he said, “Whiskey?”

Alex shook out of his hold and raked a hand through his messy black hair. “I’ll get the glasses set up.”

“And clean yourself up a bit, will you?” the stranger ordered. “You’re filthy.”

Alex grumbled. He turned toward me, and all that was left was the sadness in his eyes. He didn’t say anything more, though. He simply walked inside, leaving me standing there with the stranger in front of me and the dog dish in my hand.

“Seems you two were in a heated conversation,” he told me.

“I was just trying to welcome him to town with a water bowl for the dogs in the community.” He smiled. The opposite of something Alex would do. I tilted my head toward him as I narrowed my eyes. “I know you.”

He held a hand out toward me. “Noah Colton. Nice to meet you.”

My jaw dropped. “Noah Colton, the celebrity chef on the showBite Sized?”

He smirked and shrugged. “The one and only.”

“Oh my gosh, I love your show. I’m such a fan. You’re friends with this guy? But you seem so nice and he seems so, so, so—”

“Grumpy?”

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