The Nice Guy

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Brynlee

Sitting at a table makes me feel less on display compared to when we stood by the bar.

It seems that every single person here stops by to chat.

I’m not delusional enough to think it has nothing to do with wanting to check out the new kid in town, but I can see that most of them genuinely want to speak to Rhett.

“I’ll let Hardy know you’re still waitin’ on that package,” Rhett says with a laugh and turns to me. “My younger brother works at the post office.”

“It’s still crazy to me that you’re from a household of ten. That’s so many people,” I say, unable to tear my eyes from his chocolate brown ones. They look as warm as he is.

He smirks. “It wasn’t too bad. By the time I got to high school, we were down to about half.”

“But still. Please tell me you have boisterous and large holidays. You said everyone’s married, right? Are there kids, too?”

A shadow crosses over his face, but he smiles regardless. “Yes, they’re crazy. Not everyone has kids, but holidays and family gatherin’s are pretty much the definition of chaos. But I love it. I don’t know anythin’ other than it, I suppose.”

More people stop by and interrupt us to talk to Rhett, and I pat his arm when the newest group walks away. “You’re everyone’s friend in town, aren’t you? The one they know they can call for help whenever they need it.”

“That’s me,” he says with a resigned sigh. “The forever friend.”

“I don’t know why you say it like it’s a bad thing. You’re a nice person. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

He snorts and takes a drink of beer, but I can see the muscles in his well-defined arm tense while he avoids my gaze.

Clearly, he has an issue with this, but I’m not certain why it bothers him.

There’s something to be said about a man who’s kind and caring, but it feels like I’ll make the situation worse if I say that right now.

“So…” I say, changing the subject when he refuses to say anything else, “how many of your ex-girlfriends are in here right now? It’s a small town, right? You’re kind of stuck being around people you’ve dated.”

“I know it’s a shock,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “but I don’t have that many ex-girlfriends. Most of them are from surroundin’ towns.”

Taken aback, I tilt my head at his sudden shift in attitude. “No one you’ve dated is in the bar right now? Not even someone you went out on one date with?”

“Only one.”

“Who?” I ask, eyes wide as I look around, trying to guess which girl is his type.

I want to see the woman who captured Rhett’s heart.

As much as I hate to admit it, I want to see if I stand a chance.

Men don’t usually stray from the type of woman they’re interested in, and this might help settle the war of whether or not Rhett’s interested in me or just being friendly.

Even if she’s a bottle blonde, I know I stand a chance. Please let her be blonde.

“She’s the one on Everett’s arm.” He doesn’t look in any specific direction, so I search for the other man who looks like Carter.

My heart sinks when I see a redhead. A redhead with pale skin and freckles and hazel eyes.

Her hair looks to be dyed based on the deep shade it is, but her eyebrows are a natural red-tone.

She’s taller than me by a good two inches, and she’s thin without many curves.

Aside from Darla, I’m not sure there’s a woman more opposite from me in here.

“That would be Honor Phillips.”

The woman keeps turning and glaring at me, and I look at Rhett. “I don’t think Honor likes me very much.”

“Probably not.”

“Why? Did you break her heart?”

Rhett chuckles dryly and takes another drink. “I’m not the heartbreaker in this town.”

“She broke your heart?” It makes me both sad and angry, and I lock eyes with her for a brief moment.

Sighing, he finally looks at me. “I was head over heels for her. I liked her for her. She made some mistakes in high school, and not many others could or would look past her reputation. No one wanted more than a night with her. Except me.”

My stomach flips thinking of them together, but I don’t interrupt. I just keep staring into his sad eyes.

“We were pretty serious for about six months, and I brought her home to meet Mom and Pop. She just used me to help boost her image, and once she felt redeemed enough, she left me. Then immediately started datin’ Everett.”

My jaw drops. “Wait, is that why you’re not really friends with him?”

“We’re friends, just not close friends. We don’t really talk that much anymore, though. And we don’t speak when Honor’s around. The truth is, I was just a pit stop on her drive. Everett was the destination.”

“I don’t understand,” I say and glance over to see Honor still shooting hate-filled looks my way. “And why does she look like she wants to stab me with one of those little umbrellas in her drink?”

This makes him chuckle, and I lighten a bit. “She probably does. She has a thing about her exes with other women. Even though she never really wanted me, she doesn’t want anyone else to have me, either. And she really doesn’t want to see me with someone prettier than her.”

“That’s just… stupid.”

This time, he actually laughs. “I think so, too. Bein’ tossed to the side for someone better isn’t new for me. I’m everyone’s friend. The nice guy. And normally, I don’t hate it, but I’m gettin’ to the age where I want to be settled. Get married and have a kid or two. Or seventeen.”

My nose wrinkles. “That’s just mean to do to a woman. I mean, sure, making them would be a blast, but woof.”

The idea petrifies me, but he laughs again and bumps my arm with his elbow. “I’m kiddin’. I’m too old to have seventeen kids, anyway. Unless there were triplets or somethin’ in there.”

“I can’t even imagine being pregnant with triplets. I think I’d be as wide as I am tall,” I say with a horrified laugh. “I’d need to be rolled around everywhere like Violet in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

“I think you’d look beautiful pregnant,” he says, his eyes on his beer.

“You see, those are the types of comments I’m talking about. It sounds like flirting, but then you refuse to look at me when you say it, so I can’t read you.”

Nodding, he swirls his beer in his glass.

“It doesn’t matter much either way, does it?

I mean, let’s be honest and put all our cards on the table, Brynlee.

You’re a thirteen on a scale of ten. At least. I’m a six in good lightin’.

Most women look for someone who’s a seven or higher.

I’m the friend. A nice guy, but not one a woman sees themself settlin’ down with.

As much as I wish I could be a jerk like others, it’s just not who I am. ”

Wow. His interpretation of his self-worth makes me sad.

“First of all, I’m not a thirteen on this scale you have.

Trust me, I know women far prettier than I will ever be.

And I hate the number thirteen. For the record.

Secondly, I know men who most women would consider a ten out of ten, but the moment they open their mouths, they drop down to a two, at best.”

“I don’t think you get what—”

“No, I do. Using looks as a form of measurement is just stupid because at the end of our lives, looks fade. In forty years, everything’s going to sag and get wrinkly. Personality, though? That’s the real attraction. That’s what should be measured.”

“Easy to say for someone who has a line of men waitin’ to ask her out. But I get it. Personality is the constant. I’ve never looked at it that way before.”

“And you, sir, are a twenty on a scale of ten when it comes to personality alone. I also would put you much higher than a six in the looks category.” He opens his mouth, but I put a finger up. “And I’ve seen you in a few different types of lighting.”

Laughing, Rhett finally locks eyes with me. “If only everyone thought the way you do. Every single person in this bar is wonderin’ what someone like you is doin’ wastin’ time talkin’ to someone like me.”

“Or maybe they’re making assumptions about me because they don’t know me, and they’re wondering what a man like you is doing wasting his time talking to someone like me.”

“What does that mean?”

My eyes fall to the table. Why does he always make me say the things I’d never say to anyone else?

It’s like I can’t keep the thoughts in my head.

“I know I’m a pretty girl, okay? And I’m not saying that to be conceited, but it’s a fact I’ve come to live with.

It’s the only thing people see when they look at me, and I know assumptions come with looks like mine. About the type of person I am.”

“Like what?”

“Take your pick. If a girl’s too pretty, she’s bitchy and conceited.

You said it yourself that you expected me to be like that when you first met me.

Or, she’s looking for a man to pay her way through life.

The one that bothers me the most, though, is when they assume there’s nothing beyond the face.

Most people can’t fathom the idea that I might be interesting or funny or smart.

They believe there’s only air between my ears.

Sometimes it’s better to play the airhead, but it sucks. ”

He reaches out to rub my shoulder, and I feel his touch across every inch of my skin as the goosebumps spread. “I think there’s more to you than your looks, Brynlee. And you should never have to pretend to be anythin’ other than what you are.”

“There are times it’s better to play up the dumb blonde angle. For some reason, women usually see others as competition, and if I’m both pretty and smart, I’ve bested them.”

“Because they wish they could be a beauty queen.”

I wish I’d never shared this with anyone now.

“I don’t care how many pageants I’ve won—I’m no better than anyone else.

Is it really that much to ask for? To be seen for who I am as a person and not what I look like?

It’s part of the reason I wanted to get away from Chicago.

Everything is so superficial that it makes me sick. ”

Thinking about the life I almost had puts a damper on my mood. Where would I be right now? Out with Kevin eating an unsatisfying dinner by some fancy chef? At another function where I have to wear an evening gown and parade around as though I’m back on stage for everyone? I much prefer this.

“I’m sorry I assumed you wouldn’t be as nice as you are when we first met. I think I was just happy you didn’t spray me with mace when I stopped, but that’s more about bein’ a city girl than bein’ pretty,” he says, and his thumb caresses my collarbone.

His comment makes me smile, but it’s hard to think about anything else other than how much I like the feel of his touch. His skin is rough and his grip strong. And I want to feel it on other parts of my body, too. “I suppose I can forgive you.”

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” Darla asks.

She and Carter take the seats across from us at the table, and Rhett’s hand leaves me as he smiles. “It’s good. How’s the birthday?”

I hate how cold and dejected the loss of his hand makes me feel. I’ve never craved someone’s touch before. Not like this.

Carter rolls his eyes and groans. “It was good until Darla told me we have plans tomorrow.”

“Uh-oh,” I say and smile, imagining some type of flea market or farmer’s market outing. Something I’d love to go to. “You don’t like the plans?”

“Not particularly.”

Pushing his shoulder, Darla glares at him, and it looks like more than just friendly banter between husband and wife. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

“What are you doin’?” Rhett asks, and his laugh sounds forced. Weird. “Clearly not walkin’ to your death. From the sounds of it, you’d be a little more excited for that.”

“That would be much more pleasant,” he says. “She’s leavin’ the kids with your sister and draggin’ me to the county fair.”

“Gem?”

“Elena,” Darla says.

As much as I’m intrigued with the need to clarify which sister of his their kids are staying with, I stare with excitement. “County fair?”

“Yeah, you know, fried food, rides, 4H, some concert playin’ that will make my ears bleed, and more people than we have in this bar a thousand times over,” Carter says.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never been to a fair before. What’s 4H?”

Darla’s mouth drops open in surprise before she shouts, “Double date!”

“What?” Rhett asks, his eyes wide.

“Come with us. It’ll be a double date, and Carter won’t feel like drivin’ off a bridge with you there, Rhett.”

Looking over at my pretend date for the evening, I give him the biggest smile I can muster. “I’ve always wanted to go to the fair. Do they have those deep-fried sandwich cookies?”

“You’ve had them before?”

Shaking my head, I clasp my hands in front of me to beg. “No, but I want to try them. I tried to make one at home once, and I started a grease fire. It also wasn’t very good, and Mama about had an aneurysm.”

“You really want to go? On a double date to the county fair?” Rhett asks, his face serious.

I nod and smile even bigger until my cheeks ache. “I really do. Oh, do they have a Ferris wheel? I’ve always wanted to ride one. They always look so romantic in the movies.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to a fair,” Darla says. “Never?”

Shaking my head, I look at her. “Mama had very particular feelings about them, so I wasn’t allowed to go. And then things never aligned once I was old enough to make my own decisions,” I say and turn back to Rhett. “Please, Rhett? Pretty please?”

He sighs and gives me a smile. “Of course, we can go tomorrow.”

Darla slaps her hand on the table. “Great! It’s a double date. We’ll meet you there around six?”