The first time you met Dr. Barnes, you were running on exactly two hours of sleep, a half-cold cup of coffee, and the kind of frantic energy only a worried parent could muster. Your little one had woken up with a fever that turned their usually bright, bubbly self into a sluggish, miserable lump, clinging to you with fevered little hands.

So there you were, pacing in the brightly lit pediatrician’s office, bouncing them in your arms while murmuring reassurances neither of you entirely believed. The moment the door swung open, you barely glanced up—too busy trying to soothe your child—until a deep, warm voice broke through the haze of worry.

"Rough morning?"

You finally looked, and—okay, that was unfair. No pediatrician had the right to look like that. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and blue eyes that softened as they landed on your child. His brown hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck, a few strands escaping like he’d run his fingers through them one too many times. He wore a white coat over a Henley and dark jeans, the sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that could probably lift you and your kid and your dog without breaking a sweat.

But it was the way he smiled—gentle, patient, like he had all the time in the world—that made you exhale for what felt like the first time all morning.

"Let’s take a look, yeah?" Dr. Barnes said, reaching for his stethoscope and giving your little one a reassuring nod. "We’ll get 'em feeling better in no time."