Page 1 of Accidental Doctor Daddy

Chapter 1

Ella

The cocktail splashed across his lap before I could even apologize—orange and bourbon-soaked, like a drunken sunset—right onto the ridiculously hot older guy I’d been trying not to ogle.

His shirt darkened instantly. The Halekulani—the resort’s signature cocktail, all bourbon, pineapple juice, and a hint of lemon—bloomed across his chest and khaki shorts like a target I’d just painted on him.

Behind me, the open-air bar fell into a hush, like even the steel drum band needed a second to recover.

It looked like paradise in postcard form—palm-thatched roof, tiki torches flickering to life in the dusk, rattan chairs sinking into the sand. Vacationers sipped cocktails out of coconuts while fire dancers gathered near the shoreline, spinning torches like human lighthouses.

And there I was.

Standing in front of the hottest man I’d seen in… maybe ever.

Tan. Tall. Silver-haired with dark, fuck-me eyes. He wore an open white Guayabera shirt over a fitted tank top and those tailored shorts that somehow made his muscular thighs lookobscene. Strong jaw. Prominent nose. Lips that I could suck on for a day.

The kind of man who looked like he belonged on a yacht with a cigar in one hand and my hair clenched in the other.

When he ordered a gin and tonic earlier, I’d braced for a British accent. But nope—New York. Rough, clipped, confident. The kind of voice that made me want to say yes, sir before I even knew what he was asking for.

No wedding ring. No tan line, either.

Unfortunately for me, he was also clearly older than me by at least fifteen years—so there was no way he’d be into me.

Panic bloomed in my chest.

My heart was sprinting. My face? Inferno. My hands? Useless. I was frozen between bolting into the ocean or crawling under the bar.

Why couldn’t I just hold onto a damn glass?

“Oh my God,” I breathed, already reaching for a napkin I didn’t know what to do with. “I’m so, so sorry?—”

He glanced down, then slowly peeled his damp shirt away from his chest with a smirk, letting it fall back against his skin with a soft slap. His other hand brushed at the front of his shorts, right over his crotch, more for effect than actual drying.

“Damn,” he said, lips twitching. “Right in the lap. Bold move.”

I opened my mouth, mortified.

He cut in with a low, teasing chuckle. “Well, if you wanted my attention, sweetheart… you’ve got it.”

Sweetheart.

My legs nearly gave out.

I could barely form thoughts, let alone words. He wasn’t supposed to talk to me. Men likehimdidn’t talk to women like me—curvy, flustered, and alone at the bar with too many feelings and a drink I clearly wasn’t qualified to hold.

He turned to me with a smile that should be illegal, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Let’s call it… a creative icebreaker.”

What? Was he flirting? With me?

Lust is an ungainly beast. Especially when you’re on a solo vacation to recover from a breakup that did a number on your self-esteem.

Forget men, Ella. That’s why you’re here.

I forced a breath through my nose, straightened my spine, and reminded myself I’d handled grease fires, entitled food critics, and a sous chef who once stabbed himself in the hand mid-service.

I could handle this.

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