Between These Walls by John Herrick

said, his voice a tad louder. “A massage one.”
    “We can do that. Have you visited us before?”
    “No. Never,” he replied, making sure she heard the second word.
    “So you probably don’t have a particular massage therapist you’d like to see. I can schedule you with—”
    “Actually, a friend of mine goes there. Her name is Ellen Krieger. She told me to let you know she referred me. Whoever she sees is fine with me.”
    “Oh sure, I love Ellen! She always makes us laugh.”
    “Do you have an opening this evening? I’d like to stop by on my way home from work, if possible.”

CHAPTER 5
    The small lobby reminded Hunter of a sunrise.
    From the framed prints on the wall to the color of the chairs, the room featured early-morning pastels in blues and pinks and sherbet oranges. On any other day, Hunter wouldn’t let anyone catch him dead in a place like this.
    Ellen better be right, he thought. At the sound of spa music coming from speakers overhead, he sighed to himself. Then the discomfort in his back caused him to shift at his waist toward his left, and he remembered why he’d come in the first place. He took a quick look around the room and breathed a sigh of relief to find it empty. No one would see him here.
    He made his way to a receptionist’s glass-topped desk. At the corner sat a glass globe filled with sand and seashells. A starfish sat atop the contents, as though a perfectionist had left it behind in her haste. Kara would have loved it here.
    “May I help you?” asked the receptionist, who had wispy, sandy-brown hair and a winning smile. From a few feet away, Hunter could detect the scent of bath oils on her skin.
    “My name is Hunter Carlisle. I spoke to someone on the phone this morning about a massage thing.”
    “Ellen’s referral?” she said as she slid a sheet of paper into a clipboard. She grabbed a pen from a cup on her desk and handed both items to Hunter. “This is a client intake form. We’ll need your name and address. Please also note any past injuries, health problems, or if you have a specific area of discomfort you’d like us to focus on.”
    Hunter filled out the form, noting the discomfort in his back as the reason he had made his appointment. He picked up a chill in the room but attributed it to self-consciousness about showing up in such a place at all. He returned the form to the receptionist, who started typing its details into a computer, and he took a seat on a plush chair.
    A minute later, the receptionist waved him over to follow her.
    “You caught us at a good time, between the afternoon appointments and before a lot of people show up after work,” she said. She opened a door and allowed Hunter to lead the way inside.
    Hunter swept the quaint little room with his eyes. “Do many guys show up here?”
    “You’re not the first,” she replied with a smirk that implied she understood the self-conscious origin of his question.
    Hunter’s eyes went straight to a massage table in the middle of the room. Covered by a striped bed sheet, the table appeared a few inches longer than his height. One end had what looked like a cushioned doughnut, which Hunter assumed was for his head, with a hole for him to look through.
    “Would you like the table warmed up?”
    He had to grin at the thought. No one had ever pre-warmed a bed for him.
    “I guess that’s fine. Does it come with the package? I’ve never been to one of these places before.” As if she couldn’t tell by now.
    She flipped a switch beside the table, took a final perusal of the intake form on the clipboard before leaving it on a small desk. As she did this, Hunter turned around and noticed a small bookshelf behind him. He examined its shelves and found books on various topics, from massage techniques and anatomy to healthy-living cookbooks and inspirational literature. A small boom box sat on top of the bookshelf.
    On the other side of the room, certificates hung above a small desk. Hunter noticed two