You’re late. You burst into the conference room, papers half-flying, heart racing.

He’s already there — calm, focused, the picture of composure. He glances up, eyes warm, lips curving just slightly.

“I was beginning to think you were imaginary.”

You blink, flustered. “Sorry — traffic, and—”

“No need to explain.” His tone is soft, almost amused. “I’m just glad you made it.”

The meeting goes on, but his voice — low, steady, accented — keeps pulling your focus. When it’s over, he gathers his notes, looks at you, and says,

“We should get lunch. To practice what we prescribe.”

You laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all,” he says, eyes glinting. “I take nutrition very seriously.”

And somehow, you already know this won’t be just one lunch.