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May 2002
Angela loved watching people dance, and—no matter where she was—she always found her eyes drawn to the best dancers on the floor.
Tonight her eyes were drawn to him.
She watched him surreptitiously as the lights of the Barcelona disco bounced off his glistening face. His eyes were closed with an expression she recognized from her own experience; an expression that communicated how absolutely blissful he felt in that very moment. He moved to the music as though it was emanating from within, rather than without.
He was beautiful. Perfect. One with the music.
She felt pulled to him, beckoned by the movement of his body on the dance floor, but instead she sat rooted to the spot.
How did they get here?
