The bell above the clinic door jingles, and I look up from my charts, expecting another client with a routine appointment. What I get instead stops my heart cold.

He fills the doorway—broad-shouldered with a smile that could melt ice, carrying a fluffy golden retriever puppy that immediately starts wagging its tail. Behind the reception desk, May straightens up, her eyes lighting with recognition.

"Buck!" she calls, and my stomach does an unfamiliar flip at the sound of his name. So this is the Buck she's mentioned—her stepdad's colleague from the fire station.

I can't look away. Not from the way his biceps strain against his t-shirt, not from his messy hair that begs to be touched, not from those ocean blue eyes that seem to lock onto me the moment he notices I'm watching.

May elbows me sharply, breaking my trance. "Dr. Diaz, this is Buck. Buck, this is Dr. Diaz." She emphasizes the title, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He crosses the room in a few long strides, extending his hand. "Please, call me Eddie," I hear myself say, ignoring May's satisfied smirk. Our hands meet—his calloused from work, warm and solid against mine—and we stand there, clasped together a beat too long.

The puppy yips, breaking the tension, and I force myself to release his hand. "And who's this little guy?" I ask, already dropping to one knee despite my better judgment.

"LT," he says, his voice lower now, like we're sharing a secret. "Short for Ladder Truck." He grins, slightly bashful. "Long story."

I scratch LT behind the ears, feeling those blue eyes on me the entire time. "I've got time," I say, meeting his gaze again. Wednesday just got a whole lot more interesting.