Sara's POV:

I had barely finished writing my notes from the previous appointment when I glanced at the clock and realized I was already running behind.

Typical Thursday.

The soft instrumental music drifting through my office had started blending into the background hours ago, and the faint scent of lavender from the diffuser near the bookshelf no longer registered unless I focused on it intentionally.

Still, I liked my office this way.

Warm lighting. Cream-colored walls. Quiet enough for people to feel safe the moment they stepped inside.

Safe enough to unravel.

I reached for the small button on my desk that connected directly to reception.

"Lucy," I said, scanning the next patient file briefly, "please send my next patient in."

"Of course, Doctor Bennett."

I set the folder down and reached for my coffee just as the office door opened.

But instead of a nervous patient or exhausted executive, Harry stepped inside.

And suddenly I forgot every coherent thought in my head.

He closed the door behind him casually, like he belonged there, dressed in dark trousers and a loose black sweater that somehow made him look both elegant and unfairly approachable at the same time. His curls were slightly messy beneath a knit cap, his rings catching briefly in the warm office light as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Then he smiled at me.

And God.

That smile did dangerous things to me.

"Harry," I breathed, already standing before I realized I had moved. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello, love," he said warmly.

The sound of his voice instantly softened something inside me.

He crossed the room slowly before dropping onto the couch across from my desk like he had all the time in the world.

"Well," he continued thoughtfully, "Doctor, I'll admit I've been experiencing some emotional instability lately."

I narrowed my eyes immediately, already fighting a smile.

"Oh really?"

"Yes." He nodded solemnly. "Mostly related to a certain woman named Sara."

I laughed despite myself.

"That sounds serious."

"Tragic, honestly."

He pressed one hand dramatically against his chest before grinning, unable to maintain the act.

"Lucy mentioned your next appointment got canceled," he admitted. "So I thought I'd take advantage of the timing."

My heartbeat picked up slightly at the shift in his tone.

More sincere now.

More intentional.

I leaned lightly against my desk, crossing my arms. "Okay," I said carefully. "I'm listening."

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His fingers laced together slowly, and something about the posture alone told me this mattered to him.

The playful energy faded from his expression, replaced by something softer.

"I'm heading back to Britain for a bit," he said quietly.

My stomach tightened unexpectedly.

Not because he was leaving.

Because I suddenly realized I didn't want him to.

"But before that," he continued, "I'm stopping in New York."

His eyes lifted to mine.

"And I'd really love it if you came with me."

For a second, I just stared at him.

"You mean..." I blinked. "Go to New York with you?"

"And Britain after, yeah."

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Britain.

His world.

Not late-night dinners or hidden moments squeezed between schedules anymore. This felt different. Bigger somehow.

"You're serious?"

"Very."

There wasn't even a trace of hesitation in his voice.

And that certainty undid me a little.

"You'd also get to see Jiselle and Lyndsey," he added gently. "They're coming too. Liam's bringing Jiselle. Niall's bringing Lyndsey."

I laughed softly in disbelief.

"So this is becoming an international group trip?"

"Looks that way."

"And you're inviting me into the chaos willingly?"

"That's how much I like you."

The honesty in his tone hit me square in the chest.

I didn't think after that.

I just moved.

I crossed the office in seconds before sitting beside him on the couch, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body immediately.

"Of course I'll go with you," I said.

The relief that crossed his face was subtle but unmistakable.

Like my answer genuinely mattered to him.

Harry's hand lifted slowly toward my face, giving me every chance to pull away.

I didn't.

His thumb brushed softly along my jaw, the touch impossibly gentle for someone who carried such magnetic presence everywhere else.

Then he kissed me.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like he wanted me to feel every second of it.

The kiss tasted faintly like coffee and mint and something entirely him, warm enough to melt every coherent thought left in my head. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against mine.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?"

"For saying yes."

And somehow that affected me more than the invitation itself.

***

The flight to New York passed in a haze of quiet intimacy.

I had never traveled on a private jet before, and the entire experience felt surreal from the moment we boarded. Soft leather seats. Dim lighting. Endless champagne I barely touched because I was too distracted by Harry sitting across from me with one leg stretched toward mine.

Everything about it felt strangely personal.

Removed from reality.

At one point, I caught myself watching him instead of the clouds outside the window.

The way he absentmindedly tapped rhythms against his knee while reading.

The way he looked up every few minutes just to check whether I was comfortable.

The way his expression softened every single time our eyes met.

It should have terrified me how quickly I was growing attached to him.

Instead, it felt natural.

Dangerously natural.

By the time we landed, dusk had begun settling over Manhattan.

A black car waited for us on the runway, and the city unfolded around us in glowing streaks of gold and white as we drove toward the Upper East Side.

New York pulsed differently at night.

Faster.

Alive in ways no other city managed to be.

Harry checked us into the hotel effortlessly while I stood beside him trying not to look overwhelmed by the absurd elegance surrounding us. Marble floors. Crystal lighting. Staff who somehow always appeared exactly when needed.

When we finally entered our suite on the thirty-sixth floor, I stopped in the doorway.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Manhattan like a living painting, the skyline glittering endlessly beneath the darkening sky. The room itself felt warm despite its size—modern furniture softened by amber lighting and dark wood accents.

And directly in the center sat one enormous king-sized bed.

I set my bag beside the dresser and exhaled dramatically.

"That flight destroyed me."

Harry glanced over while removing his jacket.

"Destroyed you?"

"I'm exhausted."

"You sat for four hours."

"Emotionally exhausting."

He stared at me for a beat before smirking.

"Right."

I barely had time to react before a pillow flew directly into my chest.

I gasped.

"Did you just throw a pillow at me?"

"Maybe."

Another one hit me immediately afterward.

My jaw dropped in mock offense.

"Oh, you're finished."

Harry laughed as I grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it back at him with zero hesitation.

Within seconds, the room dissolved into chaos.

Pillows flew across the suite while we laughed uncontrollably, dodging around furniture like children. Harry stumbled backward onto the bed after one particularly accurate hit, and I immediately took advantage of the opportunity.

"You're losing!" I announced triumphantly.

"Am not!"

"You absolutely are—"

Before I could finish, he caught my wrist gently and pulled me forward.

I landed beside him on the mattress with a startled laugh, both of us breathless now.

The city glowed behind us through the massive windows.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Harry turned his head slightly toward me, his curls spread messily against the pillows.

His expression softened completely.

"Tu es parfaite," he murmured quietly.

I blinked at him.

"I don't speak French."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"That's a shame."

"Why?"

"Because it's beautiful."

His gaze lingered on me for another second.

"You've got that in common."

Heat rushed immediately into my cheeks, though I still didn't fully understand what he had said.

But somehow the way he looked at me made it feel important anyway.

I lay there beside him afterward, staring out at Manhattan sparkling beneath us while my heartbeat slowly steadied.

And somewhere between the laughter, the flight, the invitation, and the way Harry looked at me like I was something precious, I realized something terrifying.

This no longer felt temporary.

It felt like the beginning of something real.