Page 80 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

“It’s a little early for most of the nicer dinner places to be open. But the diner on Stanton Street is open all day.” I look back up at her, at the hopeful expression on her face, the way she’s leaning forward slightly, waiting for my answer, and feel my carefully constructed resolve crumbling. “Genevieve makes a pretty mean meatloaf if you’re interested. And her pies are legendary.”

“I love pie,” she says, her face lighting up.

“Then it’s a date—” The word slips out before I can stop it, and I quickly correct, “I mean, it’s a plan. We’ll grab dinner.”

But she’s smiling, and her eyes are sparkling, and she doesn’t correct me.

And fuck if my heart doesn’t skip a beat at the sound of going on a date with her.

Chapter 27

Hannah

We enter the diner without a single paparazzi. It’s like the initial buzz of my arrival is calming down. Inside is exactly what I expected from a mid-town diner. Cozy, warm, and homey. I scan the room out of habit, checking for phones pointed my way, anyone who might recognize me. The few people scattered throughout barely look up. A young couple finishing their meal, an older couple talking over cups, a family in a booth, sharing pie.

This was a good idea.

Zac moves alongside me, and I wonder why he didn’t wait to be seated, but assuming he knows how this place works, I just follow him. I navigate the crutches between the tables, his body angling slightly toward mine, rather than ahead. He keeps his head down, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his stride quick, like he’s trying to be invisible. He weaves between empty tables without making eye contact with the few people scattered throughout.

We take seats across from each other at the corner table, and just a few seconds later, a young waitress appears. She’s maybe late twenties, with dark hair pulled into a ponytail and a name tag that reads “Julia.” She smiles brightly, though her eyes linger on Zac with obvious interest before she catches herself.

“What can I get you guys to drink?” she asks, sliding laminated menus across the table.

“Diet Coke, please,” I say, forcing a smile while ignoring the confusion twisting inside me.

“Just water for me,” Zac adds, his eyes still not meeting anyone’s.

“Great. So, we’ve got some specials today. A chilli soup with cornbread, a pot roast that Genevieve’s been cooking since this morning, and the fried fish is always a popular dish.” She rattles them off easily, her pen and notepad ready.

“Thanks, we’ll take a look,” I say, and she nods before heading back toward the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at Zac once more.

We’re left alone, and I lower my menu almost immediately, already knowing I want the meatloaf that Zac mentioned earlier. The one that’s supposedly legendary, and then pie for dessert with green tea. Because after the day I’ve had, I deserve pie.

But I can’t let this go. Can’t sit here pretending everything’s normal when he’s practically radiating discomfort.

“We didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to,” I say.

He stops scanning his menu and drops it to the table. His eyes meet mine, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “When did I say that?”

“You practically ran to the back corner with your head down like you were being chased.” I gesture to our secluded spot, tucked away from the windows and the main dining area.

He sits back in his chair, and his face softens, the tension in his jaw easing. His shoulders relax, dropping from where they’d been hunched near his ears. There’s a small lift at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but close.

“Hannah.” He says my name like he’s trying to explain something simple to a child, but there’s no condescension in it, just patience. “This place can be filled with the whole town on a Friday evening. People know everyone’s business here. It’s how mid-towns work. I just figured you’ve had a big day and might want to sit quietly for a moment without every person who walks through the door coming over to say hello or asking questions or for photos.”

Oh.

I take a moment to actually think about what he said, rolling it around in my mind, examining it from different angles. Do I want to make small talk with strangers right now, answering questions about the show and my ankle and whatever else they’d ask? Absolutely not. Do I want to sit alone with just Zac, in our own little bubble, away from prying eyes and expectations?

Yes. God, yes. I want to get to know him… the real him, not just Dr. Sterling, the doctor who’s been monitoring my ankle, but Zac, the man who carries me without being asked, who notices when I’m in pain before I say anything, who looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.

“Okay. I didn’t realize,” I admit, feeling foolish now for jumping to conclusions, for letting my insecurities show. “I’m sorry for assuming.”

“Don’t be.” He rests his forearms on the table. “We aren’t doing anything wrong, Hannah. We’re just getting you dinner before you go home and sleep. That’s all this has to be.”

That’s all this has to be. But not all it is.

The kiss is sitting right there between us on this table, unacknowledged, neither of us talking about it.