Chapter 1: The Injury
Harry knocked on Anne’s door, his heart thumping hard against his ribs. The sweet, rich scent of vanilla cake seeped through the wood, mixing with the evening air. When Anne opened the door, her blonde hair was tied in a messy bun, and she offered a tired smile. "Hey, you made it," she said, stepping aside to let him into the warm, lamp-lit living room. The room was cozy, shadows dancing across the worn couch and a coffee table cluttered with magazines. A half-eaten cake sat proudly in the center. "I might have gone overboard with the baking," she admitted, moving to clear a space. As she turned, her foot snagged on the edge of the rug, and she stumbled forward with a sharp cry. Harry lunged, catching her arm, but she winced, her hand flying to her hip. "Damn it, that’s sore," she hissed, leaning heavily against the wall. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low with worry. She nodded, but pain tightened her features. "It’s just a stupid fall—my hip’s been tender from yoga." Harry’s pulse quickened; this was an opening he hadn’t expected. "Let me take a look—I can massage it for you," he offered, keeping his tone professional. Anne hesitated, her gaze drifting toward the window as if remembering her boyfriend was away. "I’m not sure, Harry... that feels a bit intimate." He shrugged, fighting to keep his expression neutral. "It’s what I do for a living—strictly therapeutic." She studied his face for a long moment, then relented. "Okay, fine. But I’m keeping all my clothes on."