Page 8 of Blind Date with a #Doctor
They’re not wrong. It was the best date I’ve had in a long time—maybe ever. That realization sits heavier than I expect.Because now I’m wondering what happens next. Was it a one-time thing? Or is this… something?
“Anyway,” Nan says, leaning back like she’s the queen of the matchmaking universe. “Just know there’s more where that came from.”
“More women?” I ask, a little horrified at the thought.
She winks. “More plans. We’re very invested in your future.”
“Terrifying.”
“Necessary,” Sally corrects.
I grab my coffee to go, thank them for the interrogation, and make my escape before they can start planning a wedding.
But as I walk back to my car, I realize I’m smiling like an idiot, like a man who’s already hoping last night wasn’t just some fluke. Because, Aspen Hayes? She might just be worth putting up with all the meddling in the world.
Chapter Five
Aspen
I swear I’m just here for tomatoes. That’s the entire reason I dragged myself out of bed early on a Saturday. Tomatoes. Maybe some fresh bread if I’m feeling wild. Not because Nan told me that Carter always goes to the farmers market on Saturday morning.
Suddenly, there he is, standing at the honey booth like it’s normal to look that good in a T-shirt and jeans before nine in the morning. I almost turn around. I consider it. But then he spots me and I’m caught.
“Morning,” he says, flashing that easy grin that made me forget how words worked last night.
“Morning,” I manage. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta support the local bee population.” He holds up a jar of honey like it’s the most important purchase of his life. “Big plans today?”
“Not really, this is it for me.” I lift my tote bag as proof. “Carbs and produce.”
“Allow me,” he says, already taking the bag from my shoulder before I can protest.
“Oh, no, that’s—”
But it’s already in his hands, and wow, okay, I’m not mad about the visual of Carter Reed carrying my bag like some small-town boyfriend fantasy.
“It’s not that heavy,” I say, just to pretend I’m not swooning.
He shrugs. “Humor me.”
We fall into step together, weaving through the maze of booths, and it feels so comfortable to be with him. It’s like we’ve done this a dozen times before.
“So,” he says, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “How’d you feel about our surprise date last night? Scale of one to ten.”
I laugh. “Honestly? Closer to ten than I expected.”
“High praise.”
“And you?”
“I’m still recovering from the trauma.”
“Oh, sure. You looked very traumatized when you were asking for my number.”
“That was a cry for help.”
“Right.”
