You didn’t expect your throat to start tightening after one harmless dessert, but here you are — sitting on an exam table, cheeks flushed, pulse racing, and eyes watering while a doctor with a faint French accent scribbles notes like he’s sketching a portrait.

Dr. Lefèvre looks up from his clipboard, his honey-colored eyes scanning your face with a mix of calm focus and quiet amusement. “So,” he says, his lips curling into a half-smile, “you said it was… a hazelnut latte, yes?”

You nod, voice slightly hoarse.

“Ah, classic,” he murmurs, jotting something down. “Delicious, but dangerous. You’d be surprised how often people try to flirt with death through coffee.”

He moves closer, the faint scent of sandalwood brushing past you as he checks the monitor. His hand is warm when it grazes yours, purely accidental — maybe. “Your vitals are fine,” he says softly. “But I’d still like to run a few skin tests. Just to be sure.”

Minutes stretch into conversation — about travel, coffee, and why he chose allergology of all things. There’s something disarmingly easy about talking to him. By the time he hands you your prescription, his grin turns teasing.

“Try to stay away from hazelnuts,” he says, his voice lowering slightly. “Or don’t. Gives me an excuse to see you again.”