ONE
LILA
Lila’s fingers hovered over her laptop keyboard as the cursor blinked expectantly at the end of her final patient notes for the day.Sarah’s making progress with her PTSD symptoms, but she’s still struggling with sleep disturbances. Increase frequency of sessions to twice weekly.She saved the file and closed her laptop with a soft click that felt heavier than it should.
Five years. Five years of sitting in this chair, absorbing trauma like a sponge that never quite wrung itself dry. Today alone she’d navigated a veteran’s flashback episode, helped a teenager process their parents’ messy divorce, and talked a young mother through her postpartum anxiety. Each session left invisible fingerprints on her soul—marks of pain she carried long after her patients walked out that door.
God, when did helping people become so exhausting?
The thought sparked immediate guilt. She loved her work, genuinely believed in the power of healing, but lately, the weight of everyone else’s broken pieces pressed down on her chest like a lead blanket.
The early November twilight painted her office walls in muted grays. Christmas decorations already sprouted in the hallway—twinkling lights that felt premature and mocking.Another holiday season approaching, another year of playing family coordinator while her mother retreated further into her eighteen-year grief cocoon. Another year of her younger brother Liam checking on her, asking if she was eating enough, sleeping enough, and taking care of herself enough.
Psychologist, heal thyself.The irony tasted bitter.
Lila gathered her files, smoothed her black pencil skirt, and checked her reflection in the window. Her long dark brown hair was slightly mussed from running her fingers through it during Mrs. Tatum’s particularly difficult session. Her green eyes looked tired despite the concealer she’d reapplied this afternoon. Her ex-boyfriend Trevor used to tell her she had the most beautiful eyes.
Before he decided Jessica from accounting had the most beautiful everything. Stop it, Lila.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Her best friend Harper’s voice echoed in her memory: “You’re gorgeous and brilliant and caring, and that cheating bastard never deserved you anyway.”
Some days she believed it. Other days, the doubt crept in like fog, whispering that maybe she wasn’t enough. Maybe she’d never be enough. But not today. Today she’d choose to believe Harper.
Lila locked her office door and headed toward the lobby, her heels clicking against the polished floors. The clinic buzzed with end-of-day energy—colleagues saying goodbyes, cleaning staff preparing for their evening rounds, and the soft murmur of the last few appointments wrapping up.
She paused at the reception desk to grab her keys from her purse when movement in the waiting area caught her attention. A woman sat perched on the edge of one of the burgundy chairs, but she didn’t look like any patient Lila had ever seen before.
Tiny—maybe four-eleven in heels—but somehow commanded the entire space around her. Short white hair styled in a perfect bob that belonged in a magazine, not a trauma clinic lobby. Her pantsuit screamed designer, deep blue that made her eyes pop, and those earrings... were those actual diamonds? They caught the overhead lights like captured stars.
The woman held an old-fashioned leather notebook in her lap, her fingers drumming against its worn cover with barely contained energy. Everything about her radiated confidence, from her perfect posture to the slight smile playing at her lips, as if she knew secrets the rest of the world hadn’t figured out yet.
She must be waiting for Dr. Morrison or Dr. Webb.
But something felt off. Patients didn’t usually look so... pleased with themselves. And the air around her seemed different somehow—lighter, charged with an electricity that made Lila’s skin tingle. The woman glanced up, caught Lila staring, and winked. Lila’s cheeks heated.
Real smooth, Reyes. Gawk at the nice lady like a weirdo.
Lila fumbled with her purse strap, knocked her keys to the floor, and bent to retrieve them, mentally cursing her coordination.
When she straightened, the woman’s eyes had shifted from bright blue to something that looked almost... golden.
Must be the lighting.
But those eyes held hers with an intensity that made Lila’s breath catch. As if this stranger could see straight through to her soul, past all the professional competence and careful composure, right to the tired, lonely woman underneath who gave everyone else her best pieces while keeping the scraped-together leftovers for herself.
The woman’s smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth, and something electric sparked in the air.
Who the hell are you?
The woman stood with fluid grace and walked toward Lila, her heels clicking against the floor like expensive punctuation marks. Each step carried her closer with that confidence that seemed to bend the very air around her. The scent that drifted in her wake was intoxicating—vanilla and citrus with something electric underneath, like the moment before lightning strikes.
“Dr. Lila Reyes.” Her voice carried warmth and authority in equal measure. “I’m Gerri Wilder, owner and founder of the Paranormal Dating Agency.”
Paranormal Dating Agency?Lila’s brain stumbled over the words. “I’m sorry, are you waiting for Dr. Morrison or Dr. Webb? They handle most of our?—”
“Oh no, darling.” Gerri’s smile widened, and those eyes definitely flashed gold. “I was waiting specifically for you.”
Lila’s grip tightened on her purse strap. “I don’t understand. Why would a... matchmaker... need to see me at my clinic?”
