horizon, painting the sky a beautiful watercolor pink and orange. After a few moments of walking, I spot a figure sitting on a large rock jettying out toward the water. She's silhouetted in the sunset, her knees pulled up to her chest and her face pressed against the last light of the dying sun.
I like Hanna. She puts on a beautiful facade, a fearless prima ballerina who holds the world in her hands, but there's something more beneath that mask. She says she's out here to get away, get away from what? Work? Pressure? A man?
In a quiet moment last night, I did my research on Ms. Thurber and found out she did eight years with a prominent ballet company, working her way to being the principal dancer during her last two years. Out of nowhere last summer she missed a performance due to, what was later claimed as a medical episode before the show. She hasn't performed since.
She's single, never been married, and has been seen around town with a chorus line of underwhelming boyfriends who all looked too self-absorbed to know what to do with a creature like her.
And that little dark voice in my head reminds me I know exactly what to do with her.
I know Hanna's type, and I’m willing to bet she’s very much like the cocky prick I left fuming in his office. She’s too caught up in her head, so sure she knows what she needs, but doesn’t settle easily. I'm dying to crack her open to see what's inside.
As I approach Hanna sitting peacefully on the rock, I stand a few feet away, putting my hands in my pockets and clearing my throat to make my presence known. She's so peaceful and such a contrast to the tension-filled discussion I just left with Nash.
"Oh hey," she says with a smile, instantly straightening her spine and painting a soft expression on her face. If I had any desire to preserve this moment of beauty, I'd take a picture of her right now. In this light, the warmth of her skin absorbing the sun’s glow, she looks stunning, but it's not exactly the outer beauty I'm interested in.
"I hope I'm not bothering you."
"Not at all," she replies, throwing her wind-swept black waves out of her face.
"Care to walk with me?" I ask. There is a spark of interest in her eyes as she hops off the rock.
"Absolutely."
I don't head back toward the house yet. There are approximately six miles of beach on this island and while I’m not interested in walking them all now, I want to prolong this quiet moment with this girl.
"So, I have a confession," I say, watching for the way she tenses and looks almost guilty already.
"Ich kanne eine bischen Deutsch."
Freezing on the sand, she lets out a clipped laugh and swats at my arm. She seems almost disarmed, a little looser than she was yesterday, and I wonder if it's my presence or the lack of Nash's.
"You can speak German? Wait," she says, looking up at me with a dimple in her cheek. "How did you know I was half-German? Did you look me up? Have your spies done their research?"
An easy smile spreads across my face. "I might have done a little stalking online last night."
She laughs for a moment until the humor drops off of her face like water running down the panes of a window. She's realizing at this exact moment that by looking her up I've discovered the moment she's ashamed of.
"You have nothing to be embarrassed about," I tell her flatly as we walk.
"The media loves to tell their own story sometimes."
"I'd like to hear yours. Someday." When I do look at her, there is so much sincerity in her eyes I worry, not for the first time, that this woman could work her way under my skin. She is easy to be around, so genuine, like a jewel that requires nothing from you except to admire how beautiful it is. And that's all I want from Hanna, to admire her.
And maybe to push her, just a little. Find her limits. I bet she’d surprise even herself.
“Want to go back to my room?” she blurts out, and my head practically snaps as I look at her.
“Why do you want to go back to your room?” I stroke the side of my chin as I notice her swallowing. I know exactly why she wants to go back to her room, but it was a little