You’re at the hospital gym, still catching your breath after a treadmill session that probably went harder than intended. You’re stretching — badly, apparently — when a low voice interrupts.

“You’re about to pull your calf doing that,” the man says, amusement dancing in his tone. You glance up to find a tall, fit guy watching you with a grin that borders on smug. “Mind if I show you the right way?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Let me guess — the gym police?”

“Close,” he chuckles, kneeling beside you with practiced ease. “Dr. Lucas Meyer. Podiatry. I fix feet for a living, but this—” he adjusts your leg gently, his fingers steady and warm, “—is a public safety intervention.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s something about the way he looks up at you from that angle — the playful glint in his pale green eyes — that sends your pulse racing a little faster.

A few days later, you spot him in the cafeteria, tray in hand, hair still damp from what was probably another workout. When you call out, “Hey, foot guy!” his ears actually go pink before he laughs.

“Careful,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you. “You keep calling me that, and I might start charging for consultations.”

The smirk he gives you afterward? Dangerous.