Page 36 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

His mouth moves, barely. “Actually, my name is⁠—”

“Wait,” I say. For a moment I’m overwhelmed, as if knowing his name would make it real. “I don’t need to know.”

He raises a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“But I know yours, Maggie.”

My stomach flips.

I gesture vaguely toward myself, toward the room, toward the whole impossible situation. “How did you recognize me?”

He looks at me for a second.

Not searching. Not embarrassed. Just looking.

Then he says, “I just did.”

That’s all.

“Sit down, Maggie.”

My name in his voice is worse in person. Much worse.

I sit. Not because he tells me to.

Obviously.

I sit because I was going to sit anyway.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

The server comes by with water. I take mine too quickly and almost spill it, which is humiliating but also grounding. Good. Excellent. Nothing says adult woman making controlled decisions like fumbling glassware in front of a man with cheekbones and silver hair.

I look down at the menu even though the words are suddenly in no language I understand.

“Well,” I say, because silence around him feels like standing too close to a flame, “I suppose I owe you noodles.”

“You do.”

I glance up. “You’re very comfortable accepting tribute.”

“I earned it.”

A laugh escapes me.

“You should try the pad Thai,” he suggests. “And the red chicken curry.”

“Okay I’ll have that,” I say, mostly relieved that he chose for me. He gives his order, and it feels like he’s doing it for the hundredth time. I look around and catch a server smiling at him. He doesn’t smile back but gives a nod. “You come here often?”

“Sometimes,” he says. “I don’t like cooking. Plus, they’re crazy fast. Sometimes all I have to do is text them my order while I’m on my way and I can pick it up just as soon as I get here.”

I don’t know why but my stomach does a little flip. I had initially thought he picked a random restaurant. But now it feels like he’s invited me into his personal sanctuary. Weirdly intimate. He probably doesn’t think much about it.

“So,” I say, because looking at him too long feels dangerous, “they really start your order before you even park?”

“Yes.”