My Grumpy Alpha

4

Ivy

I shouldn’t have done it.

I shouldn’t have tried to “fix” Rowan. I knew better. I’d been warned by my friends, my family—hell, even my instincts—that people like him didn’t want help. They didn’t want to be seen. They wanted to fade into the background, to live their lives quietly and without interference.

And yet, here I was, standing in the middle of a coffee aisle, shaking my head at the glaring injustice of it all.

Rowan had walked in looking like a storm in human form. His broad shoulders were hunched like he was constantly fighting off an invisible force, his jaw set in that permanent scowl of his. I had to admit, there was something fascinating about him. The mystery, the gruff exterior—it was like a puzzle I couldn’t put down. But I didn’t want to solve it for him, I wanted to solve it for me.

Because what did it say about me that I had a neighbor who drank instant coffee like it was something normal? Like it was a good choice?

I couldn’t just stand there and let that slide. I couldn’t.

He’d tried to ignore me. Of course he did. That was Rowan’s thing: push people away, keep them at arm’s length, pretend like he didn’t care. But I wasn’t someone who could be pushed away easily. I’d lived my whole life being the one to reach out when everyone else retreated. I had to be.

I couldn’t change who I was any more than I could change the fact that the sky was blue or that my hair was pink.

So when I saw Rowan reach for that container of instant coffee, I did what any sensible person would do: I confronted him.

And, okay, maybe I went a little overboard with the dramatics. Maybe I did gasp loudly and clutch my chest like I’d just been slapped. But, honestly, did he expect anything less from me? Did he really think I could just let that slide without at least a little bit of theatrics?

His reaction—classic Rowan—was everything I’d expected. He stared at me like I had three heads, then tried to brush me off. He didn’t know how to deal with my energy, and that was fine. I liked it that way.

But when he tried to walk away without acknowledging me, that was the moment I realized how far I’d gone.

What was I doing?

I didn’t know what I was trying to prove. I didn’t have a point to make, at least not beyond the obvious one that instant coffee was an atrocity. Yet, here I was, dragging him into a conversation about something as trivial as caffeine, acting like it was the most important thing in the world.

Maybe it was just because I was tired. Tired of the quiet, tired of feeling alone in this big, old town where no one seemed to care. I’d spent so many years of my life being the one to reach out, the one to make the first move, and yet it never seemed to get easier.

But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop trying to connect. Not with Rowan, not with anyone.

The weird part was, when I’d grabbed his arm, I’d expected him to pull away, to brush me off completely. Instead, he’d stood there, that steely wall of indifference on his face. He wasn’t going to be easily shaken, I knew that. But there was something else behind his eyes—something I couldn’t quite name.

His voice, when it came, was low, quiet, but there was an edge to it. “Not even a little.”

It should’ve been a warning. It should’ve been enough for me to back off, to retreat, to let him have his space. But there was something in me that wanted to break through. To see if, under that hard exterior, there was anything worth saving.

I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I wanted to fix him.

Not that he needed fixing, of course. He was fine. Or at least, he would be, once I was done with him.

But the second I suggested I could change his mind about coffee, I saw something shift in his eyes. That flicker of challenge.

And I knew. I knew that I’d gotten under his skin.

That was the moment I realized I wasn’t going to give up.

The moment I understood Rowan was like every other person I’d ever encountered who tried to shut themselves off from the world—he was afraid. Afraid of the connections that people like me demanded, afraid of the vulnerability that came with letting someone else into his life.

And I couldn’t just let that go.

Later, when he walked away, I watched him go, my fingers lingering on the last muffin I’d picked out. I didn’t know if he’d take me seriously, if he’d show up at my doorstep with a cup of actual coffee in hand. But I knew one thing for sure: this wouldn’t be the last time we crossed paths.

Because Rowan—grumpy, aloof, brooding Rowan—had just become the most interesting thing in my life.

And I wasn’t about to let that go without a fight.

The next day, I found myself standing in front of the oven, watching my cinnamon rolls rise in the heat. I wasn’t sure why I was so determined to keep going, but I couldn’t help myself. It felt like something I needed to do.

It wasn’t about the coffee anymore. It was about proving a point. And, if I was being honest, it was about getting under Rowan’s skin just a little more.

I had no doubt that he’d been pissed when I’d made fun of his coffee choice. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to being criticized—it was that he didn’t know how to handle someone like me. Someone who didn’t back off. Someone who would go toe-to-toe with him, even when he didn’t want it.

I wasn’t trying to break him. I was just trying to make him see that it was okay to let people in. That it was okay to feel something.

So, when the cinnamon rolls were golden and perfect, I carefully placed them in a basket with a note that read, “For the neighbor with questionable taste in coffee. - Ivy.”

It wasn’t much. But I knew it would get his attention.

I slipped out of the house and made my way over to his front door, my heart pounding in my chest. It felt ridiculous, like I was somehow setting myself up for some kind of rejection, but I couldn’t stop.

Before I could change my mind, I knocked on his door and stepped back, my fingers nervously brushing against the edge of the basket.

There was a long silence on the other side before I heard footsteps. And then, the door opened—slowly, deliberately.

Rowan stood there, his expression unreadable. His gaze flicked down to the basket, then back up to my face.

“What’s this?” His voice was low, guarded.

I smiled brightly, trying to hide my nerves. “Cinnamon rolls. You know, just a little something to sweeten your day.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what’s the catch?”

I shrugged, pretending to be casual. “No catch. Just thought you could use something better than that instant coffee.”

There was a beat of silence. His gaze held mine, a flicker of something—something I couldn’t quite place—shifting across his face.

“I don’t need your pity.” His tone was rough, but I wasn’t intimidated.

“It’s not pity,” I said, a little too quickly. “It’s just a neighborly gesture.”

Rowan stared at the basket, his jaw tightening. He didn’t take it. He didn’t even move to grab it.

But he didn’t close the door in my face, either.

“You think these are going to change my mind?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

I smiled again. “I don’t know. But I think they’ll make your day a little sweeter. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

He looked down at the basket again, then finally stepped aside, opening the door wider.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Come on in.”

And just like that, I was in.