THE DANCE
Part 1 - The Stranger
He'd been on this ship for eight years and never once had he longed for what lay behind him - or looked forward to what might wait ahead. Now, here in the dead hours of the mid-watch, he did both.
He marveled at the sweet memory of it - the moment in time when his defenses had quietly crumbled and the essence of her had rushed in to fill the void that was his heart. Somewhere between leaving the table, her small hand nestled within the greatness of his own, and the final turn of the dance, he had become lost to her. And, God help him, lost to himself.
Something had changed in her as well. He had felt the softening of her body to his as they danced, had seen the light of laughter fill her eyes. Here on deck, the night breeze whispered across the back of his neck, reminding him of the way her fingers had lingered there, gently drawing him closer, until her breath warmed the hollow of his throat.
Later, as they stood in her doorway with their parting between them, so many things to be said and so few words with which to say them, he found himself wanting to thank her, but was not exactly sure what it was that he would have been thanking her for.
In the end, he had walked away without a word, not even a goodbye, for to say it would have been too much to bear, and it would have stolen from him the fading warmth of her kiss.