Page 396 of The Doctors Will See You Now

Nick: They were perfect if you were trying to enhance my capability for empathy. Apparently, THIS is what it feels like when I root around in someone’s brain.

Me: LOL. Whoops. What are you doing tonight?

Nick: Letting my liver recover.

I snorted at his response. I could picture him saying those words to me in person, his mouth crested in a sarcastic little smirk.

Me: But it’s Friday, Nick. Liver recovery is for Sundays and Mondays. Tonight, we should go out again and have some fun.

Nick: I think you’re secretly trying to kill me. I’m forty, AKA an old man by drinking standards. And, you do realize I’m inside people’s brains all day, right? Just confirming.

I giggled out loud at his dramatics.

Me: LOL. Don’t be ridiculous. Pretty please, Nick. Hang out with me tonight?

Nick: No begging necessary. I’m a big fan of spending time with you, and I had an amazing time last night. But, tonight, for the sake of civilization and any hope of the brain cells you claim to need for FMSP, I need to stay low-key.

Before I could respond, he sent another text.

Nick: Not gonna lie, I felt like a shit dad this morning when even my daughter picked up on the fact that I was hungover.

Oh hell. Break my heart, why don’t you. My mouth fell into a small frown as I typed.

Me: You are NOT a shit dad. But I’m one hundred percent down with low-key. No alcohol, or even dancing for that matter. Just a nonthreatening, nonviolent, nonmind-altering dinner. I know the cutest little diner a few blocks from your office. They literally serve the very best milk shakes and cheeseburgers the world has ever known.

Nick: Dinner without violence sounds spectacular. I only have one request.

Me: And what’s that?

Nick: You let me kiss you again.

The instant I read his text, I squealed. Out loud. Like a total girl.

Kiss me again? Yes, please!

Nick Raines could press his lips to mine whenever he wanted.

Me: If you must… PS-You must.

Oh boy. I think I have it bad for the brain surgeon.

Harry’s was a staple for NYC locals. Greasy food, kitschy fifties décor, and Harry himself running the show every single day of the week, it was basically an Americana icon. One that I’d frequented with my parents since I was old enough to walk.

With the dinner rush in full swing, a hostess led us to the last empty booth in the joint, and I slid into the vacant seat, only to have my handsome dinner date slide in right beside me.

I grinned at Nick as the hostess with a name tag that read Suzy Q set our plastic menus on the table.

“Our special tonight is the double-decker cheeseburger with a side of fries, and our homemade, Oreo-infused chocolate milk shake,” she explained with a hand to her poodle-skirt-covered hip. “Take your time looking through the menu. I’ll be back to get your orders in a jiff.”

I picked up my menu and moaned out loud at the staged picture of my very favorite item on the bottom of the first page—The San Francisco Frisco Melt.

“Someone sounds a little excited.” Nick chuckled softly beside me, but his eyes stayed fixated on his menu.

“I can’t help it.” I shrugged and shivered playfully at once. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and I feel like it’s been a hundred years since I ate at Harry’s.”

“This is my first time eating here.”

“What?” I damn near shouted. “You’re a Harry’s virgin?”