Page 1 of Love to Hate You

Chapter 1

the meet-cute

Summer Russo believed in destiny, true love, and chocolate cake. She also believed that her perfect meet-cute was right around the corner. Or maybe right in front of her, she thought giddily, while staring up at her very own romance hero.

After months of watching Dr. Dashing from afar, Summer had finally snagged her man. Well, their leashes had snagged and, in trying to free their dogs, they’d become entangled. Thigh to thigh, chest to chest, their personal space bubbles completely merged. Then he’d asked for her number. Which was how she now found herself, on a cool May evening, outside her bookshop, All Things Cupid, staring into the eyes of a man who could possibly be her soulmate.

“Sorry about the dry-humping situation,” Dr. Daniel said with a half-cocked grin.

Summer waved a dismissive hand. “These things happen.”

“Well, I’m hoping after the...”—Daniel leaned down and used his hands as earmuffs for Freckle, his Dalmatian—“snip-snip, this won’t happen again.”

“He’s still a puppy. Think of when you went through puberty.”

“I didn’t go around humping random women.”

The word “random” made her cheeks heat with uncertainty. Sure, they’d only officially “met” a few months ago, and this was their first date, but the kind of rom-com-worthy meet-cute they’d shared didn’t seem to fit the word. Had it been love at first sight? No, but Cupid had been working his magic, because on that February-in-Connecticut day all those months ago, the sun had been out, the sky a brilliant blue, and romance had been in the air. Surely if your eyes met across a crowded dog park on Valentine’s Day, Fate had her hand in the mix.

“Today was nice,” Summer said.

“We should do it again sometime,” Dr. Daniel said, stepping closer. His eyes were the color of melted chocolate—and Summer loved chocolate. He had thick, dark brown hair, a strong jawline, and nice full lips. He was tall-ish—five-nine on a good day—and handsome in that I-love-science kind of way. He loved books—mainly medical journals—and dogs, and was a great conversationalist. He believed in science over fate, but nobody was perfect.

“My shop is closed on Mondays,” she offered, and then remembered the promise she’d made to herself when she was sixteen and her secret crush asked her twin to the prom.

Be bold. Be the heroine of your own story.

Summer had spent most of her life between the pages of a book—her heart was safer there. But she hadn’t given up on love. In fact, finding the kind of head-over-heels romance her parents shared was at the top of her list, only she had an embarrassing habit of turning her meet-cutes into meet-uglies. Like dumping hot coffee on Sexy Stockbroker’s shoes, or the time on the bus when she fell onto Handsome Handyman’s lap and elbowed him in his tool. But it hadn’t diminished her desire to find her person.

And the dashing Dr. Daniel might be that person.

He must have thought so too, because Dr. Daniel was checking out her boobs. He wasn’t ogling, but every so often his eyes would dart down for a little sneak peek of what was hopefully to come—a passionate kiss beneath the porchlight. Not surprising since the girls were on display tonight, and she’d made a strategic decision to leave the top two buttons of her sexy but Sandra-Bullock-subtle red dress undone. It didn’t show everything, but hinted at what was beneath curtain number one. And it was a showstopper.

“Or we can go across the street to The Distillery and get a drink now,” she amended boldly, hoping her smile translated into more of a Cool Girl vibe than the Concerned Family Member vibe she normally gave off. “They’re dog-friendly.”

Summer had never thought that a smile could be sensitive, but Dr. Daniel seemed to have a delicate touch. It probably came from years of helping patients navigate their best and worst days. She needed to compliment him on his work ethic because this was fast becoming one of her best days.

A romantic date at the park, where Princess Buttercup and Freckle had frolicked in a field of dogs, followed by this sunset walk along the lamp-lined Main Street, which was overflowing with spring flowers set against a sea of quaint brick-fronted shops, with yellow and white awnings and a history dating back to the late 1800s.

A cool spring breeze came off the coast, wrapping around them like a comforting blanket.

Old-town Ridgefield had rolled up its doormats before the sun went down, leaving Summer and Daniel alone in the night air. The sun was still setting, so the stars had yet to come out, but the million twinkling lights strung overhead, zigzagging across the street, were creating a ready-made, picture-perfect moment for a kiss.

“Or we can go back to my place.” She pointed at the upstairs window of her apartment, which sat atop her bookshop. “My sister’s away on business, so I’ve got the place to myself. I’ve got some wine in the fridge and homemade dog treats.”

At the word “treats,” Princess Buttercup, Summer’s French bulldog, stood to attention, one ear cocked, head tilted as if trying to read the room. Something Summer was trying to do herself, since Daniel’s answer was to look at his watch with a furrowed brow.

He glanced across the street at the upscale bar and sighed. “I wish I could, but I’m presenting at TEDMED this weekend and I still need to finish my presentation. Between rounds at the hospital and my podcast, I’ve barely had time to focus on my speech.”

Not only was Daniel a renowned fertility doctor, and a Doctors Without Borders frequent flyer, he was also the host of a successful podcast—another thing they had in common. Where Summer’s was calledAll Things Cupidand talked about romance, cake recipes, and book recommendations, Dr. Daniel was the host ofScrambled Eggs.

“What’s the speech about?”

“Ovulation Foreplay and the Miracle of Masturbation.”

Okay. Wow. That was a lot to unpack. “That sounds interesting.”

His eyes lit up. “I want to destigmatize the process of egg recovery. In vitro can be sexy and strengthen marriages if framed in the right way. Just the image of a wife assisting her partner to come to a climax for the sole purpose of fertilization is what love stories are made of. Don’t you think?”

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