Page 1 of Tempted By the Handsome Doctor (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #3)

"Breathe," I whisper to myself, gripping the bathroom sink. My reflection stares back at me, dark circles under my eyes, hair piled in a messy bun that's more "slept like garbage" than "effortlessly tousled."

It's been exactly twenty-nine days since Lisa, my best friend, dragged me to Finch's Bar downtown, insisting that I needed to "live a little" after two years of shuttling between the library and my dad's empty cottage.

Twenty-nine days since I met him. Twenty-nine days since I did something completely out of character and took a gorgeous man home.

Daniel Morrison. At least, that's what he said his name was.

I splash cold water on my face, trying to shock myself out of this nightmare. But when I look up, I'm still me, still pregnant, still completely, utterly screwed.

My phone buzzes on the counter. It's Lisa, because of course it is.

*Did you take the test?* her text reads.

I snap a photo of all three tests lined up on the sink and send it without comment.

Three dots appear immediately. Then: *HOLY SHIT*

Then: *What are you going to do?*

The million-dollar question. What am I going to do?

I'm twenty-five, living in my dead father's house, with student loans that make me nauseous every time I think about them, and a job that, while I love it, pays just enough to keep me treading water.

I have exactly $1412 in my savings account.

I have no partner, no support system beyond Lisa and my elderly silver-haired neighbor, Mrs. Gunderson, who brings me homemade dumplings on Sundays.

What I do have is a name—possibly fake—and the knowledge that he works at Cedar Falls General Hospital. Or claimed to.

*I'm going to find him,* I type back.

My phone rings instantly.

"Maya, wait," Lisa says when I answer. "Think about this. The guy ghosted you. Complete radio silence for a month. Do you really want to track him down?"

"What choice do I have?" I snap, then immediately feel guilty. "Sorry. I'm just... freaking out."

"I know, honey. I'm coming over."

"No," I say, more firmly than I intend. "No, I need to do this now, before I lose my nerve. If I wait, I'll talk myself out of it."

Lisa sighs. "At least let me come with you."

"You have that big catalog meeting today. I'll be fine." I try to sound more confident than I feel. "I'm just going to confirm he actually works there. Maybe peek at him from afar. I'm not planning to march up and announce my pregnancy in the middle of the emergency room."

Though the mental image is somewhat satisfying.

"Text me updates. Every fifteen minutes, or I'm calling the police," Lisa insists.

"Deal."

I hang up and stare at myself in the mirror again. I look exactly the same as I did yesterday, but everything has changed. The universe has tilted on its axis, and I'm hanging on by my fingernails.

Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed in my most professional-looking outfit—a navy pencil skirt and cream blouse that says "I have my life together" instead of "I just found out I'm pregnant with a stranger's baby.

" My hands shake as I twist my hair into a neat bun and slide on my glasses.

The librarian armor, Dad used to call it.

I take a deep breath and grab my car keys. The drive to Cedar Falls General is only fifteen minutes, but it feels like crossing an ocean. My ancient Toyota protests as I push it up the hill that leads to the hospital, as if it knows this is a terrible idea.

The parking garage is packed, of course. I circle for what feels like hours before finding a spot on the roof level, about as far from the entrance as physically possible. Figured.

Walking toward the hospital's main entrance, I rehearse what I'm going to say. *Hi, I'm looking for Dr. Daniel Morrison? No, too direct. Excuse me, could you tell me if Dr. Morrison is working today? I need to speak with him about a... personal matter.*

God, this is a disaster. What am I doing?

The automatic doors slide open, and cool, antiseptic air washes over me.

The lobby bustles with activity—nurses speed-walking with purpose, visitors clutching wilting flower arrangements, patients being wheeled to and from various departments.

I force myself toward the information desk, where an older woman with steel-gray hair and kind eyes looks up at me.

"Can I help you, dear?" she asks.

"I'm looking for Dr. Morrison," I manage. "Daniel Morrison."

"Oh, Dan!" Her face lights up with recognition, and relief floods through me. He exists. "Are you a patient?"

"No, I'm..." What am I? A one-night stand? A walking catastrophe? "I'm a friend. I need to speak with him about something important."

She eyes me with a hint of suspicion, then softens. "He's just finishing up his shift in the ER. If you want to wait, you can have a seat in the cafeteria. It's down that hallway, make a left at the gift shop."

"Thank you," I say, already backing away.

The cafeteria is half-full, mostly with staff in various colored scrubs hunched over coffee cups. I buy a tea, and find a table in the corner with a clear view of the entrance.

And then I wait.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. I've shredded my paper napkin into confetti and am working on destroying the cardboard sleeve from my cup when my phone buzzes.

*Status update?* Lisa texts.

*In hospital cafeteria. Waiting.*

*He works there?*

*Apparently.*

*Holy shit.*

Holy shit indeed.

I'm typing a response when the cafeteria door swings open, and suddenly, there he is.

Daniel Morrison in the daylight. Daniel Morrison in scrubs, looking exhausted and somehow even more handsome than he did in the dim lighting of Finch's Bar.

His hair is messier than I remember, brown strands sticking up like he's been running his hands through it.

He has a stethoscope slung around his neck and dark circles under his eyes that match mine.

My heart pounds so hard I'm certain everyone can hear it. The cafeteria seems to shrink, tunneling until he's all I can see. I'm frozen, tea clutched in my white-knuckled grip, as he approaches the coffee station.

He hasn't noticed me yet. I could still leave. I could walk out right now and figure this out on my own. I don't need him. I've been taking care of myself since Dad got sick. I can handle this, too.

But then he turns, coffee in hand, and his tired green eyes land on me.

For a moment, he just stares, coffee suspended halfway to his lips. I watch recognition dawn on his face—followed quickly by something that looks remarkably like panic.

"Maya?" he says, and I hate hearing him say my name. He doesn't deserve it.

I stand up, smoothing my skirt with damp palms. "We need to talk," I say, amazed that my voice doesn't shake. "Now."