Page 72 of The Problem with Dating

“Yes! Five minutes! Ten minutes tops.”

I could almost feel her eye roll as I hurried outside and crossed the street. As I got closer, Alex, dressed in all black, was trying to approach the dog from the side, which only led to the poor pup getting more aggressive.

“That’s a bad idea,” I warned him.

The deepened wrinkles on his forehead and the pronounced grimace against his lips were enough to make me almost retreat. Maybe we weren’t friends.

“I don’t recall asking for your input,” he snapped, but then he turned toward me. As he did, his intensity softened. His stern brown eyes eased from the aggression, and he stood. “Yara. Sorry. I…didn’t know it was you.”

I laughed a little, unsure how to feel about the shift in his demeanor. Did I do that to him? Did I calm the commotion in his eyes?

“Do you snap at everyone but me in this town?” I joked.

“Yes,” he quickly said. “But that’s only because they treat me like crap.”

Fair enough.

“Yes, well, I’m here to help.”

“It’s okay. I have this handled.”

“Okay, it’s just…” My eyes fell on the poor dog. “He’s scared.”

“He’s scared? I’m not the one trying to bite him. If anyone should be scared, it’s me.”

“Imagine a six-foot-one man coming toward you when you’re the size of a sofa pillow. That’s scary. He’s just on high alert.”

He muttered, “Six-foot-four.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you serious right now? That’s your concern?”

“All I’m saying is I’m not six-foot-one.”

My hands went up in surrender. “Okay. My mistake. I didn’t mean to sting your precious masculinity.”

“I’m just saying. Three inches can make quite a difference.”

“That’s exactly what I tell all men, but they refuse to believe me.”

He smiled.

Oh! Friends. We were totally friends.

Play it cool, Yara.

I crossed my arms. “What’s the story with the dog?”

He paused for a moment before sighing and raking his hand through his messy midnight-colored hair. “He was sent by my great-aunt. She passed away a few weeks ago, and for some reason, she thought I needed a dog to keep me company so I wouldn’t get lonely.”

“Did she pass away on the day you broke my dish?”

“No. She passed the day before I stepped in your dog crap. Then her funeral was the day of the dish.”

And just like that, his grumpiness from the weeks prior made a little more sense.

My hands flew to my chest, and I shook my head. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Why are you doing that?” he asked.

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