Page 3 of Blind Date with a #Doctor
Me: Exactly.
Kendra: Tell me you’re going.
Me: I’m not going.
Me: …
Me: Okay, I might go.
Kendra: BLACK DRESS. You know the one.
Me: Jesus.
But she’s right. Because here’s the thing—this is ridiculous and dangerous. Possibly the dumbest decision I’ve made since agreeing to go on that second date with a guy even after I found out he referred to himself as a “finance bro.”
What if it’s not a prank? Or a murder plot? What if it’s Carter?
I’ve known him forever without really knowing him. We’ve orbited around each other for years—community events, mutual friends, the occasional run-in at the grocery store. I’ve always had the biggest crush.
Carter Reed is hot, smart, and kind. A type of man women in small towns invent excuses to see.
The kind of man I’ve never let myself even consider because I do not have the time or the emotional capacity to get invested in someone who might leave the same way my ex Ryan did.
But.
If this is Nan’s doing—and I’m starting to feel dangerously sure that it is—and if this is Carter…I don’t hate the idea. Which is exactly why I should stay home, work late, watch trashy TV, and eat mac and cheese straight from the pot and tell myself I’m better off.
I open my laptop. Stare at the contract in front of me. Then close it.
Me: Okay. If I die tonight, please avenge me.
Kendra: I’ll wear black and make dramatic speeches. But if you’re not dead at the end of the night, please report back immediately.
Me: Deal.
And just like that, I’m doing this. I pack up, go home, and pull out the black dress Kendra insists makes me look like I’m “effortlessly seductive,” which is hilarious because I’m about as effortlessly seductive as a PowerPoint presentation.
But still. I do my hair, swipe on some lipstick, and stare at myself in the mirror long enough to wonder what the hell I’m doing.
“You’re not getting murdered,” I tell my reflection. “You can leave if there are creepy vibes.”
This is fine.
I slip on my heels, grab my purse, and spend the drive convincing myself that I will walk into Bistro 9, have a laugh, discover which one of Nan’s partners in crime set me up, and go home with a funny story. That’s it.
I park outside the restaurant, my heart pounding so loud I’m half-convinced the valet can hear it. Maybe this is crazy. I should probably leave. But my feet are already moving, carrying me across the parking lot and through the doors before I can stop myself.
The hostess greets me with a smile. “Table for two,” she says, checking the list. “Right this way.”
I follow her—one step after another. Half of me ready to bolt and the other half buzzing with something that feels dangerously exciting. That’s when I see him sitting at the table.
Carter Reed.
He looks up at me with the same stunned expression I’m sure is on my face.
“Oh,” I say, blinking like an idiot. “It’s you.”
He smiles, slow and easy, like this is all just as ridiculous to him as it is to me. “Hey, Aspen.”
