![]() ![]() Every seabird wheeling in the sky and dolphin leaping alongside forgets to exhale.įinally as one they look away, the same quick flash of eyes that so coyly invites pursuit. Everyone on the cruise, from crew to captains, hold their breath. They hold each other’s gazes for a long, long time. To stare into either pair of eyes is to feel oneself drowning in a tank of cement. They stare deeply into each other’s eyes, which are utterly unalike in appearance: light and dark, wide and narrow, round and sharp. His hair is platinum from root to tip and flows over his collar and down to his chest. He-let’s call the muse “he” although, at least by percentages, this is dead wrong-looks like nothing more than the most fuckable elf-prince of Mars. ![]() She is spooning a single deviled egg onto an undersized plate, objectively the most awkward food to serve at a buffet, but her muscular arms move it the way the hired dance virtuoso whirls an ingenue across the ballroom floor. She-let’s go with “she” for Agent Heartbreak, inaccurate though it is-she is a vision in a silk robe, bathing costume high to her neck and cut open just below her sternum, cheekbones like a jewel-thief’s kit. Their gazes lock above the brunch buffet. Everybody’s Got a Hungry Heart by Louis EvansĪgent Heartbreak and the Misery Muse meet cute on a lonely-hearts cruise. ![]()
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