"I feel like I just witnessed a miracle," Mary says while typing something into her computer. "Where do think you'll go to lunch?"

I plop down into the seat next to her and bury my face in the palms of my hands. "I don't want to do this," I tell her.

Mary sighs and her hands fall on top of her keyboard. "Haley, what is so glamorous about being lonely?"

"I'm used it to it," I tell her. "It's comfortable."

"Your mother wouldn't have wanted this for you," she reminds me.

"Well, she's not here, so it doesn't quite matter what she would or wouldn't have wanted." She was my best friend. Mom and I did everything together—she was more like a sister than a parent. Having me at eighteen and raising Brad and me on her own after Dad left, it created a bond that could not be broken by anything except death. It's not fair that she never got the opportunity to fill the lonely void of love in her life. Brad and I were her life, the only thing in life she had time for. She was the most selfless person I have ever known and it's hard to seek a life she never got the chance to have. I don't think it makes sense to anyone else when I try to explain this, but there's guilt. A lot of it.

"Listen to me," Mary says, placing her hand on my knee. "Your mother and I were friends for twenty-five years. She wanted nothing but you and Brad to be happy. So you need to stop feeling guilty and whatever else you're feeling that keeps you from living like a normal woman and get out there.”

A stinging pain retches through my chest. The familiar burn of tears hits the back of my eyes and I look up toward the fluorescent light to push the feeling away. "Okay," I breathe through the silence.

"Forget about everything else and get to know this man who is clearly interested in you," she says, squeezing my knee.

"What if he's crazy? He asked me out based on my looks," I say through quiet laughter.

"You have pepper-spray and you know how to use it, so I think you'll be okay for a lunch in a public restaurant." My head falls to the side, looking at Mary like she's ridiculous. I wasn't considering Dale being that kind of crazy, though, I suppose it's possible.

"Thank you, Mary," I tell her, despairingly.

She pushes at the seat of my chair, forcing me to roll a few inches away from the desk and she opens the door, retrieving a tube of lipstick and mascara. "Go freshen up. He'll be done in a few minutes."

I grab the make-up from her hand and head into the back room for my toothbrush and toothpaste. I can't believe I'm doing this. Forgetting about the fact that I'm going out to lunch with a patient, this is going to be like speed-dating. I have an hour, that's not exactly long enough to see if there's a connection worth revisiting with someone. This should be interesting, that's for sure.

I glide the lipstick over my lips while trying to remember the last time I've put lipstick on. It could have been at Mom's funeral, which was seven months ago, so that's sad. I use to care about my looks, maybe even too much, but recently, my life feels as if it revolves like a scratched record—work, eat, sleep, and repeat.

Mary finds me at the mirror and yanks the hair elastic from my hair. My burgundy strands fall over my shoulders it large waves after having my hair in a knot all morning. "You look beautiful," she tells me. "You look just like her, Haley." Mary's hands squeeze around my shoulders and she places a kiss on my cheek. "She'd be so excited about this lunch, even if you think this is lame."

I nod subtly, swallowing the large knot in my throat. "Yeah."

With a tight-lipped smile, Mary leaves the back room, forcing me to be alone with my reflection once again. I hate looking into my eyes, knowing the pain that resides in every fine line that outlines my features that used to look much younger. Maybe it's all in my head, but I can't look at myself and feel happy for my life. I'm a mess.

"She'll be right out," I hear Mary say from the front office.

Crap. I brush my teeth quickly and suck in a deep breath. I can be normal for an hour.

Walking out into the front of the office, I find Dale resting his arms on the front desk, chatting with Mary, but their conversation pauses when he notices me. "Thank you again for getting me in so quickly," he says to Mary while pushing off of the counter.

"Any time, hun," she says, turning to me with a quick wink—one I really hope he didn't see.

"How's your mouth?" I ask him.

"Right now, not so bad, but that might be because of the novocaine. I’m still hoping I don’t make a drooling fool out of myself," he says with a lopsided grin. I can't help but laugh a little, hearing the impediment in his words from the numbing. "I've never had novocaine before, so this is a new one for me."

"I'm used to talking to people who just had novocaine, so I won't notice much of a difference," I tell him.

"So, you don't notice when people are slurring their words and drooling?"

"Not at all," I say, looking away from him, trying not to laugh harder.

"Oh, Haley, your next patient isn't until two, so you have a little extra time today." Oh my God, Mary. I know I had a one-thirty appointment. "The patient asked to push their appointment a half hour later." Mary quickly follows her remark, knowing I'm aware of my schedule.

"Thank you," I turn to her, giving her wide eyes.

She smiles and waves at me with a sinful look in her eyes.

I step in front of Dale and head out the office door. "I'm glad you agreed to lunch," he says as we walk down the short hallway.

"Yeah," I exhale, "It'll be fun." Did that sound like a lie? I wasn't trying to, but I think I sound strange when I'm nervous.

"If you don't want to have lunch...I completely understand. I didn't mean to put you on the spot," he says from behind me. I stop walking, feeling bad. Dale steps in front of me. "Really, I didn't mean to make things uncomfortable."

"It's not you, it's me, and I would like to have lunch, but I don’t think you should be eating right now."

He smiles, the lopsided one again, and now I’m wondering if that's his normal smile or if it's caused by the novocaine and he normally looks this cute. "You can't blame a guy for taking his chances with a pretty woman. I’ll have soup, so don’t worry about me."

I feel the heat rushing through my face. Feeling flustered, I push my hair away from my face and continue walking. "So, where would you like to go?"

"Probably into the elevator first," he laughs as we walk past it.

"Right," I say, stopping my direction toward the stairs. Elevator. That thing normal people go into to get from one floor to another.

"Unless you prefer to go down all of those flights of stairs?" he says.

"No, the uh—the elevator is fine." I keep my focus set on the closed doors of the elevator, but I can feel him giving me a questioning look.

The doors part and I walk in first, immediately placing myself in the far corner across from the buttons. He leans over and presses the button for the first floor, keeping his eyes locked on my face. Avoiding his stare, I close my eyes as the doors close us in.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. Are you claustrophobic?"

"It's fine," I tell him, keeping my eyes closed. "I've never liked elevators. No real reason, just not a fan," I say through nervous laughter. I can feel the sweat beading up on the back of my neck and I try to silently count out the seconds I know it takes to get to the first floor. Forty. Forty long seconds is the amount of time it takes to get from the eighth floor to the first.

When the doors open, he's still staring at me with intention. "You should have said something," he says while standing in front of the opening for me to walk out.

"I just met you. It's not something I brag about," I say, walking toward the building exit.

"I understand," he says, jogging ahead of me and opening the door. He opens doors, that's one point for him. I don't remember the last time someone has opened a door for me. "Do you trust me enough to drive?" I hadn't considered getting in this man's car, but I suppose that would be the normal thing to do. Although he isn't coming back here after and I am.

"Are you sure? I'd hate for you to have to come back here after lunch."

"I'm sure," he says, placing his hand gently on my back, guiding me toward his car, I assume. Yup. It's shiny and electric blue. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this wasn't it. When I think of someone preparing to be a psych doctor, I think neutral and boring.

"I like your car," I tell him as he opens the passenger side door for me. "It's pretty."

"I was going for pretty," he tells me with a smirk. I slide into his two-seater car with black leather seats and the cleanest dashboard I've ever seen in a man's car. Another point there. He closes himself in and starts up the car. The low hum of the engine relaxes me a bit and I lean back into my chair, forcing myself to breathe. "There's a new cafe down the street. Want to try it?"

"That sounds good."

"You're quieter than I thought you might be. Do you only talk when the person you’re talking to can't talk back?" he asks, looking at me quickly before backing out of the spot.

"Actually," I prepare to correct him. "I try to make sure my patients can respond when asking them questions."

"I'm kidding," he says, placing his hand down on mine for a brief moment. A brief moment that makes my world freeze in place. His touch makes my heart thud against my chest. It's in my head, though. I've amped myself up for this lunch date. After not going on a date in over a year, I'm rusty and out of the routine of getting to know the next man that will lose interest in me and my life after a week. "Are you cold?"

"A little." I'm freezing. I forgot my coat and it can't be more than forty degrees.

He turns up the heat and presses a button beneath the stereo. "In about thirty seconds your butt will be nice and warm."

I laugh at the thought and take the moment to look at his profile as he concentrates on the road. Yesterday, he was clean-shaven, but today he has more than a five-o'clock-shadow. As if all of my senses are crawling out of their hiding place, the strong scent of cologne fills my nose and I suddenly feel as though I'm swallowing it. It's kind of delicious. His hair looks the same as it did yesterday—purposely messy, just as dark as mine but without the reddish hue. He has light blue-grayish eyes to compliment his dark features though, unlike me and my coffee brown eyes. "You don't look like a shrink," I tell him.

"Hey now," he laughs. "We don't like that word."

"Oh, what word do you like?" I ask, curiously. "It must be a common mistake."

"Nope. Not really. Most people don't call us shrinks to our faces," he says with a raised brow. "Well, it won't be an issue come May. You'll be able to call me ‘doctor.’ For now, though, since I don't refer to you as gum thrasher, how about Dale?"

I deserve that. "Ouch," I tell him, meaning it in more than one way.

"I haven’t been on a date in...God, must be just over a year now," he says, smoothly changing the subject. His dating life sounds oddly like mine, however, I find it hard to believe with how good looking and charming he is, but as he said this morning, he spends most of his time working and studying.

"Same here," I tell him. "By choice, though."

Somehow our five-minute car ride is over and we're pulling into the lot in front of the cafe. The place looks kind of empty for noon, but at least we won't have trouble getting a table. I hop out of the car and he meets me in front where he replaces his hand back on my back. I'm so cold that his warm touch is melting through my thin shirt. We make our way inside and take a seat at a table in the corner. The cafe has a warm feeling, designed with distressed wooden walls and decorative white lights that line the ceiling. It could be day or night and it would appear the same inside. Maybe they don't use the natural light as ambiance to help people forget about the cloudy, rainy, and snowy days that come as an abundance during half of the year here. There's a fire burning in the opposite corner with encircling couches and people reading newspapers and magazines while sipping on oversized mugs of coffee. There's a soft instrumental music playing out of the ceiling speakers, which muffles some of the surrounding chatter, and the pungent scent of basil fills the air. It's as if this is the perfect place to bring a date. Well done, Mr. Carter.

I place my bag down beside my feet and pull my cushiony chair in toward the small pine table, trying to make myself comfortable, while at the same time, being aware of where his legs are so I don't kick him with my restless movements. "So how long have you been a hygienist?"

I rest my arms on the table and think for a brief moment, realizing how fast the years have flown by since I graduated from college. "I'm coming up on five years now."

"So you graduated in 2013?" he asks.

"Yeah, it feels like a century ago."

"You're telling me," he laughs. "I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree in 2013, and I'm still in school."

"But you'll have a Ph.D. to show for it," I remind him. "Are you planning to open up your own practice?"

"I already have my own practice," he tells me. I guess that explains the pretty car and all its fixings. I was wondering if he was a career student.

"That's pretty impressive, Mr. Carter," I say.

He places his hand back on mine, this time holding it there longer. "You can call me Dale. I asked you to lunch as Haley, not my hygienist."

"Dale, I'm sorry." I'm trying to focus on what I'm saying, but I can only concentrate on his hand resting on mine. I glance down, seeing the freckles on his knuckles and the jagged scar on his ring finger. The longer he holds his hand in place, the more comfortable it becomes, which is so bizarre because I don't know this man hardly at all.

"I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to come over here. Here are a couple of menus for you two. I'll give you a moment," the waitress says.

Dale's hand moves from mine to take the menu and I'm silently cursing the waitress from interrupting the first warm sensation I've felt in months.

"So," he says, opening his menu. "Do you live nearby?"

"Yes, I—ah—I live in Graton, so only about fifteen minutes away."

"Oh, nice. I'm in Red Springs, so just the next town over."

"I'm really bad at this," I tell him. "I'm not normally this awkward and quiet."

"Yes, you are," he says surely.

I'm a bit taken aback by his assuming response. "Excuse me?"

"When people are put into uncomfortable situations, the trueness of their personality shines through. Therefore, I want to bet that you are naturally a quiet, independent person who likes to be on their own agenda."

"Are you psychoanalyzing me?" I ask with a raised brow.

"I can't help it. I like to figure people out," he says softly, seriously. His gaze is burning into mine as if my autobiography were written across my face.

I place my cool hands on my cheeks, "Am I that easy to figure out?"

He nods his head and grabs his jaw. I can assume the novocaine is wearing off now. "I have to come clean about something," he says.

"You're in pain?" I chuckle. "You don't have to come clean about that."

"No. Well, yes, a bit, but I have a serious thing for women with red hair and freckles. There's an intriguing uniqueness that I'm seriously attracted too."

"Do you enjoy making women's faces turn red also?"

"Red-heads have a natural look because of their pale skin, so yes—you seem pure and true. You're easier to read than others."

"My hair isn't exactly red," I argue. "It's—"

"It's like mahogany. It's really something," he says.

I can't figure out if I'm creeped out by his intensity or enamored by it. "Who recommended you to our office?" I ask, changing the subject.

He laughs at my question and glances down at his menu. "I heard their paninis are good."

"Are you seriously going to ignore my question and change the subject? You can't work me like that." It's the first of my attitude to show through since we left the office. Regardless of him thinking I'm quiet, I'm actually not. I speak my mind, normally. I push for what I want. He just has me wound up.

My question attracts his attention and pulls his focus away from the menu. "I was looking for hygienists online and I saw your picture and credentials pop up. Both of them were eye-pleasing."

"Nothing like a little honesty," I tell him, glancing down at my menu. Geez.

"Why did you agree to go out with me?" he asks.

Besides that, I was kind of convinced... "You asked," I say with a chuckle.

"If I looked like I just crawled out of a trashcan and was ten years older, would you have still agreed?" He does have a point.

"Well, probably not."

"Okay, so it's probably safe to assume we both went with our initial impressions here."

"Except, I didn't Google you first," I argue.

"Google is almost always the answer to life," he replies.

"Is that how you got such an impressive career at a young age?"

He leans forward, resting his weight on his elbows. "Actually, Google was a big part of my research."

"So, what you're saying is, if I spent more time on Google, I could learn how to hypnotize people too?" I'm testing the waters and teasing him a bit. Obviously, my discomfort has subsided a touch.

"Yeah, if you want to become a comedian, which I might think you're capable of doing," he responds through laughter.

"I considered it when choosing a major. There's more money in hygiene, though."

He grabs at his jaw again. "Yikes, I might really need to go with the soup option."

"Maybe you can convince yourself it doesn't hurt," I mention. Isn't that what psychiatrists do?

"Mind over matter?" he asks. "It takes more than a session to make that happen."

"How many sessions does it take?"

"If I were treating myself?" he asks.

"What if you were treating me, convincing me that something no longer hurt, how long would that take?" I ask, very curious about his response.

"There's no telling how long something like that could take, but if you were hurting, I'd spend as long as necessary making it so you didn't have to feel pain anymore." That's what doctors do.

"So, you're going to make a good doctor."

"Are you in some kind of pain, Haley?" he asks. His gaze is firmly locked on my eyes and I feel almost hypnotized in a way that I can't figure out how to look away. Granted, this is not how hypnosis works, so maybe there's a different reason I can't look away.

"More than I could probably explain," I respond quietly.