Page 6 of Blind Date with a #Doctor (Love Canyon: Blind Date #3)

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.”

We stop at a booth selling fresh flowers, and I busy myself looking at the bouquets, mostly so I don’t have to keep making eye contact with him.

My eye catches on someone looking at us from behind a pillar.

It’s Nan, wearing sunglasses the size of dinner plates and pretending to examine a basket of apples like she’s not watching us.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, nodding toward her.

Carter follows my gaze and snorts. “Is that…?”

“Nan,” I confirm.

She notices us looking and immediately picks up an apple, studying it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

“We’re being surveilled,” he says.

“Obviously.”

“We should give them something to talk about.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

And before I can ask what he means, we’re moving again, stopping by the bread stand, where he picks out a loaf of sourdough and tosses it in the bag like this is our weekly routine.

“Do you always do this?” I ask.

“Shop for bread?”

“Flirt at the farmer’s market.”

He smirks. “Only on Saturdays.”

We make our way back to my car, and I’m half expecting the moment to end with a casual “see you around.”

But as I unlock the door, Carter lingers, still holding my bag, standing way too close. Just before he hands my bag back, he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s quick, soft, but definitely not accidental.

“See you around, Aspen,” he says, his voice low and warm.

Then he’s gone. Leaving me standing there with my heart beating hard in my chest and no idea what to do about it.