When Harry met Samantha

Harry arrived at Dr. Genet's office at ten minutes to three, too anxious to wait in his hotel room any longer. He'd changed his shirt twice, checked his breath four times, and spent twenty minutes in the bathroom trying to tame his hair into something presentable before giving up and accepting that he looked like he always looked—average and slightly nervous.

Dr. Genet gestured him to one of the two chairs arranged in front of his desk, and Harry sat, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. His palms were sweating and his heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to escape. This was it. In a few minutes, he'd meet the woman whose DNA matched his perfectly, and either the science would prove itself or he'd discover that compatibility markers didn't actually translate to real-world attraction.

The office door opened at exactly three PM, and Harry's head snapped up to see her walk in.

Samantha Brooks was not what he'd expected. She was pretty in a way that snuck up on you—not the kind of beautiful that made men turn their heads on the street, but something quieter and more specific. She was small, barely over five and a half feet tall, with a lean, athletic build that bordered on boyish. Her dark green eyes were striking, large and expressive, and her thick brown hair fell in natural waves around her shoulders. She wore simple jeans and a cardigan over a silk blouse, and when those green eyes found his, Harry felt something shift in his chest—not attraction exactly, but recognition.

His body knew her before his brain could catch up.

"Samantha Brooks?" Dr. Genet said, gesturing to the empty chair beside Harry. "Please, sit. I'd like you to meet Harry Thornton."

Samantha moved across the office, and Harry stood automatically, some ingrained politeness taking over despite his nerves. They faced each other for a moment, and Harry noticed details he shouldn't have been able to see from this distance—the way her pupils dilated slightly when she looked at him, the faint tremor in her hands, the rapid pulse visible at her throat.

"Hi," Harry said, his voice coming out rougher than he'd intended. "So you're the one."

"I guess so," Samantha replied, and her voice had that distinct New York edge to it, fast and slightly raspy. She extended her hand, and Harry took it without thinking.

The handshake should have been brief and formal, but the moment their palms connected, something electric passed between them. Harry felt it shoot up his arm and settle in his chest, warming him from the inside out. Samantha's hand fit his perfectly—her fingers slotting between his like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. Her skin was soft and warm, and neither of them let go for several seconds longer than was appropriate.

"Sorry," Samantha said, finally pulling her hand back, her cheeks flushing pink. "That was... weird."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, sitting back down because his legs felt slightly unsteady. "Weird."

Samantha took the chair beside him, and they sat there in Dr. Genet's office, acutely aware of each other's presence. Harry studied her profile as she turned to listen to something the doctor was saying. She wasn't his usual type—he'd always gone for curvier women with obvious feminine features. Samantha's body was straight and lean, her breasts small enough that he could barely tell their shape beneath her cardigan. But there was something about the line of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, that made him unable to look away.

Samantha was experiencing the same confused fascination. Harry wasn't conventionally handsome—no chiseled jaw or piercing eyes or anything that would make him stand out in a crowd. He was just... a guy. Decent looking with nice hazel eyes and light brown hair that stuck up slightly despite obvious attempts to flatten it. His body was average—not fat but not particularly fit, just normal in the way most people were normal.

But she couldn't stop looking at him. Something about the way he sat, the nervous energy in his leg, the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed—it all felt inexplicably right.

"So," Dr. Genet said, his clinical voice breaking through their mutual study. "Now that you've met, perhaps we should discuss what comes next."

"Right," Harry said, tearing his gaze away from Samantha to look at the doctor. "What does come next?"

"That depends on you both," Dr. Genet said, leaning back in his chair. "The science has brought you together, but the choice to pursue this connection is yours. I would encourage you to spend time together, see if the biological compatibility translates to practical compatibility. Get to know each other."

"Like... a date?" Samantha asked, her voice slightly higher than normal.

"If you'd like to call it that, yes," Dr. Genet said. "Though I suspect it will feel different from any date you've experienced before."

Harry turned to look at Samantha, and she was already looking at him. Their eyes met and held, and in that moment, the awkwardness that had filled the office began to dissolve. Something passed between them—an understanding, a curiosity, a mutual recognition that they were both in this strange situation together.

"Would you want to... I don't know, get coffee or something?" Harry asked, his words tumbling out quickly. "I mean, we're in Paris, there's probably better things than coffee, but I don't know what you—"

"Coffee sounds good," Samantha interrupted, and she was smiling now, a real smile that made her face light up. "I'm shit at being cool about this, so yeah, let's get coffee and be awkward together."

Harry felt his shoulders relax slightly. "I'm terrible at cool too, so we're already compatible in that way."

"See? The science works," Samantha said, and Harry laughed—actually laughed—for the first time since entering the office.

Dr. Genet observed them with his clinical detachment, but Harry caught something like satisfaction in the man's mismatched eyes. They stood to leave, and as they moved toward the door, Harry noticed they'd unconsciously matched their pace, walking in step with each other.

They left the office together, and as soon as the door closed behind them, they both exhaled simultaneously—long, nervous breaths that turned into more laughter when they realized they'd done it at the same time.

"This is so fucking weird," Samantha said, pushing her hair back from her face.

"The weirdest," Harry agreed. "I don't even know what to say to you. Hi, nice to meet you, our DNA says we're supposed to be together?"

"I mean, it's a better opening line than most guys use," Samantha said, and Harry caught the edge of flirtation in her voice. "At least it's honest."

They walked down the hallway toward the elevator, and Harry was acutely aware of how close Samantha was walking beside him—close enough that their arms occasionally brushed, sending small sparks of sensation through his body. He could smell her perfume now, something vanilla and warm, and his brain cataloged the scent like it was important information he needed to remember.

"So where are you from?" Samantha asked as they waited for the elevator. "Your accent is obviously British, but where specifically?"

"London," Harry said. "Born and raised in Islington, actually. You're American, yeah? New York?"

"Brooklyn," Samantha confirmed. "How did you know New York?"

"Your accent," Harry said. "I'm good with accents. It's kind of a thing I do."

"That's actually really cool," Samantha said, and she sounded genuinely impressed. "I'm terrible with accents. I can barely tell the difference between British and Australian half the time."

Harry laughed again, surprised by how easy it was to talk to her. They stepped into the elevator, and in the confined space, he was even more aware of her presence—the warmth of her body, the sound of her breathing, the way she kept glancing at him like she couldn't quite believe he was real.

"What do you do for work?" Harry asked, grasping for normal conversation topics.

"I'm a content strategist for a digital publication," Samantha said. "Basically I help decide what stories we run and how to present them online. You?"

"Marketing at a digital advertising agency," Harry said. "So we're kind of in the same field, just different sides of it."

"See? Compatible," Samantha said with a grin, and Harry felt his chest warm again.

The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and they walked out into the Parisian afternoon. The sun was bright and warm, and the street outside Dr. Genet's building was filled with people going about their Saturday business.

"There's a café just down the street," Harry said, pointing. "Want to try there?"

"Lead the way," Samantha said, and as they started walking, she added quietly, "I'm really glad it's you."

Harry looked at her, surprised by the admission. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Samantha said, meeting his eyes. "I don't know why, but yeah. This feels... right."

"It does," Harry agreed, and he meant it. Despite all his anxiety and insecurity, despite the strangeness of the situation, something about walking down a Parisian street with Samantha Brooks felt more right than anything had in a very long time.

Behind them, watching from his office window, Dr. Genet made notes on his tablet about their synchronized walking pace and their **** mirroring of body language.