The morning sun burned the hairs on his chest to translucent gold. Through the balcony doors, she could hear the waves beating rock, and between the foaming hiss and rising crash, his quiet snore.
She couldn't believe her life. From the poverty of Alabama to a hotel in Bermuda ... on a layover from Columbia to Germany?
And all she had done is smile, really.
The administrator at Delta had liked her smile. He hadn't even glanced at the resume on the desk in front of him. The pilot she shared the bed with that morning had liked her smile too, among other things.
She returned to her study. The small hairs rose and fell with his breathing, drifting off his smooth chest as it fell, and flattening as it rose.
She would remember this always. And never go back.
Why do I feel that she is not quite as fortunate as she thinks?
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There's darkness underneath.
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