Page 49 of The Problem with Dating

Alex took a step closer to my table and lowered his voice. “Are you all right?”

I sarcastically laughed and brushed away the stupid tears that decided to slip from my eyes. “Don’t act like you care.” I sniffled and shrugged. “You win, okay? I’m the silly clown in your restaurant. I’m the silly clown in this town with a stupid ex-husband who scares off any guy who looks at me. I’m the silly clown who was just stood up by a guy I thought liked me.”

“British guy?”

“Josh,” I corrected. “His name is Josh.”

Alex grumbled under his breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s a douche.”

“Yeah, well, it takes one to know one,” I blurted out, then instantly felt remorse for my words. “Ugh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Or maybe I did. I don’t know. I’m just…not myself right now. And I can’t leave this place because if I leave, people will see that I left, and people will know I was stood up and, well, honestly, the last thing I want to do right now is talk to the guy who hates me about a guy who stood me up, okay?”

He stood there like a statue, staring at me so intensely. I got lost in his dark brown eyes, uncertain what to say, so I said the only thing that came to mind. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you have something to say, but you’re not saying it? Listen. I’m hungry and tired. You win. I’m the clown. I'd be quite happy if the clown could get some complimentary bread like the other tables.”

His mouth parted, and he nodded. “Sure, of course.”

He hurried away, and not long after, he came with fresh-baked bread, still steaming, a fancy kind of butter, a wine glass, and a bottle of merlot.

“I didn’t order that,” I said, pointing toward the wine.

He set the bread down, the butter, and the glass. He then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wine opener. As he uncorked the bottle, he remained quiet and poured me averyfull glass.

“I’m not paying for that,” I told him. “I mean, I’m going to drink it, but I’m not paying for it.”

“It’s on the house. The whole meal.”

I arched an eyebrow. “The whole meal?”

“Yup.”

“Like I can order anything?”

“Whatever you want.”

“You do know your prices aren’t cheap, right? To be honest, it seems you’re a bit big for your britches, if you ask me.”

“I’m glad I didn’t ask.”

I leaned in toward him and whispered, tapping the menu. “I mean, really. Twenty dollars for two croquetas balls?”

“That’s very cheap, considering.”

“For two balls? No balls are that good.”

“You haven’t tasted my balls yet.”

I grew slightly flustered from his words. “Touché, Chef.”

“My croquetas balls, I mean,” he corrected, growing a bit off-kilter. His cheeks reddened slightly. Good. It was about time I wasn’t the only one making a fool of myself.

“All I’m saying is, twenty bucks for two croquetas is highway robbery. I just wanted you to know about your pricing.”

“I’m well aware of my price points.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Back to the main issue at hand…I’m going to order everything on the menu.”

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