Esme took a deep breath as she waited.. and then another.. and another. She tried to keep busy, or at least make it appear as if she was when Carlisle arrived. Four or five times she switched positions where she sat or stood. Another two or three she tidied up the already tidy kitchen.

What now? She thought, though no sooner than a few seconds after she pondered the next task, there were three knocks on the big, wooden door.

Esme froze. She quite literally felt her bottom lip separate from her top one but couldn't control the response. Her eyes remained locked on the front door, unblinking for a long moment before her mind finally ordered her to walk across the room.

With a final breath and a hand that felt heavy with nervousness, Esme flung open the door. Again, several seconds passed and after a stalemate of staring, she finally broke the ice.

"Three knocks.." she blurted out, immediately feeling her face grow hot with embarrassment. Esme tried to correct what she perceived as a stumble on her words, "Thank you for.. letting me know it was you. It's nice to see you.. again."

Carlisle tipped the corner of his mouth up in a half smile. He tried not to inhale her scent but easily gave into the temptation of it - which was strongly out of character for him.

Breathtaking, Carlisle thought in his mind. Despite having no need or desire to indulge in Esme's blood, Carlisle felt the salivation of venom from his teeth. It was an odd reaction - one he hadn't had much experience with.

Why is that happening? For a split second he wondered if he was right to trust himself around her. Carlisle acknowledged that his guard was let down just a bit more than usual.

He pushed the thought from his mind. His self control was harnessed. He didn't crave Esme's blood.

"Are you ready for that walk?" Carlisle asked. He thought about extending a hand but didn't want to make Esme feel uncomfortable or obligated to take it.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "That would be lovely."

Carlisle nodded and watched as Esme stepped out, securing the door behind her. The two of them let out a simultaneous breath and then wandered down the path toward the cliffs.

"You know.." she began talking about the problems within the town, "This place used to feel like home." Her eyes alternated from straight ahead to the ground and back up again.

"Was it different long ago? When you were young?" Carlisle asked.

"Much," Esme explained. "There wasn't this constant feeling of dread.. or fearing that what you were doing could be construed as witchcraft."

"Of fearing a lie could lead to the gallows," He added.

"You know.. someone claimed they saw a woman's spirit flying around town." Esme looked outward toward the ocean as they approached the ledge where they had met the night before. "And just like that she brought in.. imprisoned.. killed."

Carlisle looked at her, "So you didn't believe it? The stories?" He didn't either. In fact, he knew it was all fabrication.

"No." Esme whipped her head in his direction. "Do you?"

"No." Carlisle said immediately. "I don't believe in any of it." His mind went back to his human years, just before his demise. With his preacher father leading the chase, they had been no different than the witch hunters of Salem. Carlisle had felt wrong about it - about hunting so-called vampires.. until he found out they were, indeed, real.

"I wish there was something that could be done."

"We would need more like-minded people," he explained, "People like us to make a difference."

"I'm afraid there may not be many.. if any." Esme's eyes lingered with hope and fear, alike. She was hoping that maybe Carlisle had some secret solution up his sleeve.

"What can we do?" He pondered the question aloud. "Do you have anyone you trust in town?"

"No." Esme was saddened by the thought. Many of the townspeople she had known nearly her entire life.. and here they were killing each other off at the blink of an eye. "I just don't understand it. These are our neighbors.. our family.. our friends. We work together, attend ceremonies together, cook and hold festivals together." She shook her head.

Carlisle placed a hand on her shoulder, though quickly brought it away when Esme jumped. She was almost startled.

"I'm sorry," he quickly said, "I didn't mean to scare-"

"Your hand is so cold," Esme quickly cut him off, staring down at her shoulder and then back to him.

It's probably best you didn't take her hand, Carlisle thought to himself.

"Oh, I know." He glanced down at her palms for a moment and used a line he often used with his patients, "I think my temperature just runs a little cooler than most."

Esme stared at him a moment and then shook her head. "I'm sorry. I.. I didn't mean to jump." She wished she hadn't. Cold hands or not, she welcomed Carlisle's gentle touch on her shoulder.

"I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay." Esme knew her words came out a bit loud and then she let out a quiet laugh. "It's just.. really warm out." She felt like she was judging now and so she searched for something to change the subject.

Carlisle beat her to if. "So.. tell me about yourself."

Esme grinned and shrugged. "I work closely with the animals in town. I clean the stalls for the horses and comb their manes. I retrieve apples and things to feed them."

"That's quite the job." Carlisle smiled.

"I enjoy it," she explained. "They don't always allow women to do hands on tasks like that so I'm very grateful. I.. need to keep busy," Esme went on, "I'm not the.. knitting type."

Carlisle felt as if he was somehow full of electricity as Esme spoke. She was very different than anyone he had ever met - in the best of ways.

"I think you'll be a pioneer woman," he told her with a smile. "Break through barriers.."

"Maybe we can start with gathering people to end these hangings and insane accusations," Esme told him. She stared for a moment and Carlisle felt his self consciousness kick in. "Your eyes look.. darker right now."

He looked away for a moment. Carlisle even forced himself to blink and was relieved when Esme looked back out toward the water.

"Must be the lighting.." he said, "Or lack thereof."

"I'm being a bit judgmental tonight," Esme said, looking back toward him.

"You're not," Carlisle assured her. He knew she was observant, and that was a good thing. Despite the townspeople looking for a witch hunt, not one of them seemed to actively or openly acknowledge his subtle differences. Esme had.. and gave an honest reaction, at that. She was right. His hands were abnormally cold. His eye color changed from light to dark and up until right then it had been because of the timing of his hunting activities.

I recently hunted, Carlisle knew. Why are my eyes black?

There were so many questions that were still unanswered about his immortality. Carlisle thought he had tackled all of them.

I guess not, he realized.

"What do you do when you're not at work?" Esme asked him.

"When I'm not at work.." Images of himself stalking and tackling a deer ran through his mind. Carlisle almost smirked at her absurd nature of his reality but didn't. "I work long hours most days but I do enjoy reading - most about new medical advancements."

"You love what you do," Esme concluded.

"It must sound like a bore."

"Not at all." She gave a genuine smile and looked deeper into his eyes, studying the vast difference in color. Esme knew his eyes had been lighter when he arrived at her door. Still, she didn't question it again.

Her eyes dropped to his hand again and Carlisle looked down. As he subconsciously lifted his arm, Esme reached for his hand.

A part of him, for his own security, almost brought it back; though Carlisle trusted Esme. He allowed her to take his hand in her own.

The cool nature of his skin alerted her senses again. It was far too contrasting to the hot, humid weather. She was sure, to him, that her hand felt like a ball of fire.

Carlisle's hand close gently over Esme's, and for just a second his thumb danced over her knuckles.

"I'm being rude for asking-" she began but he stopped her.

"You can ask me anything. You are far from rude Miss Platt."

"How?" She asked him. "How are your hands so.. cold?" Esme went on in marvel, almost, "Your skin is so perfect." Her fingers traced over his palm and then the back of his hand. Right then Carlisle knew she knew he was different.. at least in some way.

"Could that be a story for another time?" He asked.

Would there be another time? Carlisle wondered, Now that Esme knows something is off about me.

Esme looked up into his eyes again. Another time? She smiled wide. Of course they could talk at another time.. and another time after that.. and again.. and again.

"Yes, of course," Esme assured him. "I could even make you a cup of tea some time if it'll warm you up."

Carlisle laughed, relieved at her reaction. He was sure she had made up some logical reasoning for his less-than-average body temperature, and so he left it at that for the night.

"I would join you for a cup of tea any time."

Esme felt butterflies in her stomach. The setting. The scene. The man beside her. It felt romantic. Esme wondered if his lips would feel cold against her and it made her yearn for the opportunity to kiss him.

She didn't. She wouldn't. Not right then. Not that night.. despite how bad she wanted to.

Carlisle could literally feel the pick up in Esme's emotions from her heart rate alone. It was almost unfair that his senses were so inhumanly strong that the woman couldn't get away with keeping what she was feeling to herself. It made him feel.. impulsive.

"What's wrong?" Her voice interrupted his thoughts and Carlisle went to speak but didn't produce more than a single word.

"What?" His thoughts had been so wrapped up in her that his brain hit a mental pause button. "Oh.. nothing. I've just.. I have a lot on my mind. There's a lot going on.. in town and such."

Lie. Carlisle reflected on his response. He didn't want to lie to Esme. And so the question remained - how and when would he reveal his true self to her.. if ever?