Page 1 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

Chapter one

Ruby

It was barely 8:00 a.m., and I was already one sneeze away from a full-blown disaster.

With one arm full of mismatched wildflower bundles wrapped in brown paper and the other balancing a dangerously full to-go latte, I tried to shoulder my way out of the back door of the shop. Naturally, the bell above the door snagged in my hair, jolting me mid-step and sending a stem of baby’s breath flying into the wind.

“Great,” I muttered, swiping at the flyaway curls clinging to my lip gloss. “Exactly the ‘I’ve got it all together’ look I was going for.”

Today was supposed to be important. No—monumental.

My shop, Ruby Bloom, had been nominated for the Cedar Springs “Business of the Year” award, and for the first time in my life, people weren’t whispering bless her heart after every mention of my name. This event could finally prove I was more than the messy girl who forgot to send in her tax forms lastquarter and once stapled her cardigan sleeve to a customer’s receipt.

This was my shot to prove I wasn’t just a creative disaster. I was a businesswoman. A professional. A florist with actual systems now, thank you very much—ones that included color-coded Post-its and everything.

I just had to survive this morning.

Which meant getting to Hazel’s café, grabbing the custom lavender scones for the VIP shelf display, and getting back to the shop before the mayor’s wife arrived to browse her weekly peonies. Easy.

I speed-walked down Main Street like a caffeine-fueled tornado in yoga pants and mismatched socks, my latte splashing dangerously close to my thumb. The flower bundles bobbed with every uneven step, making me look like a deranged woodland creature hauling springtime chaos.

The bell above Hazel’s café jingled as I shoved the door open with my hip, head down and breathless. “Hazel! Tell me you remembered the—”

Crash. Splash. Swear.

A tidal wave of hot latte erupted from my cup and splattered across a human wall of white cotton.

I gasped and stumbled back, narrowly saving the bouquet from its doom. The man I’d just baptized in espresso stood completely still, his jaw tight, his now-drenched dress shirt clinging to a clearly defined chest.

He looked like someone who belonged in a Manhattan boardroom, not standing in the middle of Hazel’s cozy café with flower petals stuck to his sleeve. Salt-and-pepper stubble lined his jaw, and his steel-gray eyes narrowed at me with military-grade precision.

“Oops.” I cringed, and then, because panic tends to bring out my inner weirdo, I grinned. “Looks like you’ve officially been flower-baptized into Cedar Springs.”

A slow blink. “Do people here assault strangers as part of their morning routine, or is this just your specialty?”

I straightened, determined not to let the heat in my cheeks turn into full-on embarrassment. “It’s not my specialty,” I said with forced cheer. “More like…an occasional bonus.”

He glanced down at his shirt, jaw clenched. “It’s scalding. And it smells like vanilla bean and regret.”

“That’s the limited-edition blend.” I paused. “You’re welcome?”

Hazel peeked from behind the counter, her brows lifting when she spotted the human collision zone. “Ruby! I told you I’d bring the scones to you.”

“Too late now,” I whispered, still locked in an awkward stare-off with Mr. Sizzling Fury. “I’ve already baptized a customer.”

He stepped back and tugged a damp napkin from the counter, dabbing at his shirt with surgical precision. His expression never changed—cool, unreadable, mildly homicidal.

“Next time,” he said, voice dry as toast, “maybe keep the coffee in the cup and the chaos in your shop.”

“That’s a big assumption,” I muttered. “You think my chaos stays in the shop?”

He turned, clearly done with me, and strode toward the exit like a man who had more important places to be than in the orbit of a frazzled florist with questionable coordination.

And yet, just before he pushed the door open, he looked over his shoulder.

Just one sharp, lingering glance.

And oh no. There it was.

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