Page 50 of Hello Stranger

“Thanks again so much,” I said, smiling like a just-fine person.

“I have a question for you,” Dr. Addison said once we were outside.

“What’s that?” I asked.

He finished turning the lock and turned to face me. “Would you like to go on a date with me sometime?”

Ten

WELL, THAT WASsudden.

In the way that something thatshould’ve already happenedcan also be sudden.

I mean, sure—I’d already decided that we were fated to wind up together. But even for fate, this was pretty fast.

“Canyou date patients?” I asked, in lieu of shoutingYes! Let’s get married!

“I mean, I can’t datePeanut,” he said. “But you’re not a patient.”

Ah. “Good point.”

“What do you think?” he asked.

What did I think? Hello! I was ready to plan the honeymoon.

That said… I hesitated.

It was one thing to charge boldly forth toward my happily ever after with my dashing veterinarianin theory.It was a whole other thing to make an attempt like that in reality.

In my current reality, especially.

I mean, come on. I was a mess. I had surgical scars in my hair. I was bursting into tears at random intervals for no reason. The whole worldwas a faceless blur. And every single thing that mattered in my life was disintegrating around me. Would this storybook perfect man want to date—or be anywhere near—a total disaster like that?

Definitely not.

I mean,Ididn’t even want to hang out with me these days.

So how on earth could I expect this dreamy, perfect, animal-rescuing man to be any different? Was I, in this moment, inany waysomeone who would be attractive or appealing orfun to date?

No. No, this would never work.

Could I have just been honest with him? Could I have just told him what was going on? He was a scientist, after all. He might have found it medically fascinating. I’m sure he saw weird, crazy stuff all the time in his line of work.

But… he didn’tdatethat weird, crazy stuff.

Dr. Addison shifted his weight.

My answer was taking too long.

So I gave the best reply I could think of: “I wouldloveto go on a date with you,” I told him. And then I added, “In three weeks.”

I felt his frown. “In three weeks?”

I nodded like this was a totally reasonable request. “I am a portrait artist,” I told him, cherry-picking selective facts about my life to not blow my cover. “And I’m a top-ten finalist in a hugely prestigious juried portrait show three weeks from now—and so I’m really directing all my time and energy into completing my submission.”

How did that sound?

Dr. Addison gave me my answer. “You’re a finalist in a big competition?”

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