Young Faces
He sees her staring, longing in those eyes so full of life (to him only, to her they are full of death) and he tips his hat at the lovely lady.
"And who are you, sir?"
"Carlisle, Carlisle Cullen, Miss. Pleasure to meet such a fine woman."
This wasn't him, wasn't Carlisle Cullen, no indeed. He was the one blushing behind the hat, words stuttering out but that smile, those eyes brought out something new, something different in him.
From her looks, he could tell she was older, one or more years (or maybe several?) his brightest smile fills young lips - only twenty-three! - and already shocked into love.
"Such a flattering man, I'm Esme, Esme Evenson. But I'd watch out; Mr. Evenson my husband is a far removed man but when it comes to me, you never quite know."
But of course this siren from the sea, goddess from the clouds was taken, taken before he had the chance to try.
"Oh, s-sorry, miss, I'll be on my way." Carlisle lingered in the shadows.
Esme moved gracefully like a swan - but fast, before he could rush off with a blush of shame covering his cheeks, her lips rested on them.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Carlisle, maybe in another life we'll run into each other again. Goodbye."