The Grump I Despise (When In Waverly 3)

“I love it. I would happily stare at your red mouth all day now.” I’m glad it’s dark so he can’t see my flaming cheeks.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, changing the subject.

“The Greek restaurant.” That’s it. The final straw. If I wasn’t in love before, I definitely will be after tonight. How did he know the way to my heart was tiropitakia?

Colby’s hand is on the small of my back as we walk into the restaurant. I wish I had a sweater to hide all the goosebumps popping up on my arms and neck, but maybe I’ll get lucky, and he’ll assume I’m just cold despite the perfect seventy-five-degree temperature outside.

“Reservation for Colby Stuart,” he says to the hostess while my gaze scans the room. The walls are painted dark green, giving the place a moody atmosphere. The paintings covering the walls are framed in gold, antique frames, making me feel like I’m in an art museum. Each table has a brass candlestick with a lit candle. It’s almost like we’ve stepped back in time.

The hostess looks Colby up and down and smiles subtly, clearly appreciating what she sees. I step up next to him, and he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me in close. Claire, according to the name tag pinned to her crisp, white shirt, looks at me and huffs an exasperated breath before looking at the list on the podium in front of her.

I feel nauseated. This woman is gorgeous with her slim figure, shiny red hair that’s not a frizzy mess, and her bright-blue eyes. Her skin is pale and creamy, and there’s not a single blemish in sight. I bet she gets weekly facials. She’s clearly interested in Colby, and who can blame her? The man is every woman’s waking dream. He screams marriage material. And she looks like just the sort of woman he would end up with—meaning the exact opposite of me.

She walks us to our table, and heads turn to follow us as we walk past occupied tables to get to ours in the middle of the quiet restaurant. They’re probably all wondering what a man like him is doing with an average woman like me. Average is being generous.

We sit at the table, and Claire hands us our menus and lists out the specials for the night. She gives Colby a shy smile before walking back to the front with an exaggerated sway to her hips. She looks like a model strutting down a runway. If I tried walking like that, my feet would get tangled up. The woman’s good. I could never flirt with a perfect stranger, especially one who is on a date with another woman.

I mean, who does she think she is? I’m a flesh-and-blood person sitting right here, and she immediately deemed me beneath her notice. She decided without even knowing me that I’m not good enough for Colby, so it’s okay for her to go after him. And what hurts the most is that I don’t necessarily think she’s wrong in her estimation.

“Everything okay?” Colby asks from across the table. I nod my head and hold my menu up in front of my face to hide my distress. What am I doing? Why am I here on this date with him? All this is accomplishing is making me fall for him even more, and now it’s going to hurt ten times worse when this ends. Because it will end. At some point, some gorgeous woman like Claire, if not Claire herself, is going to throw herself at him, and he’ll wonder why he’s with me when he could have her. He’ll kick me to the curb without a second thought.

Seriously, why is Claire looking over here like that? She looks like she’s going to eat Colby for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack. I can feel her stare from across the room. Pretty rude, if you ask me. Give me some privacy so I can have my meltdown in peace.

A hand reaches over the top of my menu and pushes it down. His eyes meet mine across the table. His brows are scrunched up in confusion. It’s obvious he went through a lot of trouble to plan this evening, and I don’t want to ruin it. He has no idea the bombshell in the front is playing psychological warfare with me, and I don’t want him to. So, I sit up straighter in my chair and force a smile onto my face.

“Lady, tell me what’s wrong,” he says in a gentle voice.

“Nothing,” I reply. I can hear the strain in my own ears, so I’m sure he can, too.

“Liar,” he says, but he lets it go.

Our waiter comes to our table, and we order our drinks and food. Thankfully, the restaurant gets a little busier, and Ms. Claire over at the hostess stand gets too busy to spend all her time staring at Colby, which helps me relax a little. The food is delicious, and the conversation with Colby is even better. Maybe I was just hungry, and that’s why I was in a sour mood for a few minutes there.

After dinner, Colby takes me to an art museum. This seems like the last thing he would want to do with his Friday night. He must have conferred with my mom or one of my sisters, because this is exactly my idea of a perfect date. The man is winning points left and right.

I’m staring at a painting of a ship in a stormy sea. Sailors are working on the deck to keep the ship from going down. It’s emotional. I know it’s just a painting—that it’s not real—but I can’t help but wonder if they made it out of the storm and back to their families. Colby reaches over and wraps his hand around my wrist. I feel the calluses on his palm and fingers as his hand slides down to hold mine. Our fingers twine together, and my eyes are suddenly stinging and watery.

He doesn’t let go of my hand again until we’re standing at the door of my parents’ house and he’s kissing me goodnight.

I wake up early the next morning, feeling like a weight is sitting on my chest. I can’t breathe, and my mind won’t shut off. Last night is replaying on an endless loop in my head. It was an absolute dream.

Before last night, I didn’t think I could fall any more in love with Colby if I tried, but he thoroughly proved me wrong as we walked through the art museum, hand in hand, discussing which paintings were our favorite and which ones we didn’t care for. Colby was more interested in the sculptures, but I liked the paintings with their melancholy colors.

I roll onto my back, press my pillow over my face, and scream as forcefully as I can. I cannot believe this is happening. I wasn’t supposed to love him. I was just going to date him for a few weeks until the rumors quieted, and then we would “break up.” Only, he didn’t put a stop to it like I expected him to. He’s still acting like he’s into me. Meanwhile, my heart is turning into pulp. How long am I supposed to let this go on? Until I’m walking down the aisle of a chapel, wearing a white gown, and he’s finally forced to admit it was all a farce?

I can’t do this anymore. I throw my comforter off and shuffle into my bathroom on sleepy feet to take a shower and get dressed. I hate what I’m about to do, but it has to be done. I have to protect my heart. If I don’t look out for myself, who will?