She

He ran a loving hand over his stubble, contemplating his time-honoured rule: no shaving on vacations and weekends. Social events were no exception.

And yet, there was a chance he might meet her. In fact, on second thought, it was highly likely that she would be there.

She of the flawless skin, that heavenly hair, that cute little nose and that incredible smile that lit up her luminous eyes.

She of the litling voice, that magical laugh, that soft touch.

She, who five years ago had achingly sweetly yet completely unjustifiably made it clear that there was no possibility of their having a future together. Not the kind of future he wanted, that is.

He steeled himself. He had moved on, found adventure, happiness, fulfilment in life. Dived the world's deepest oceans and climbed its tallest peaks. Found new purpose, new focus, new belief. He hadn't even thought of her for months.

And yet, here he was. Playing with his facial hair like an idiot and thinking about her.

Deep breath. Screw it. No shave. He lingered over his hair, combing and recombing it into submission.

He strode into the ballroom, hoping she was there but praying she wasn't.

All was well, he told himself. Not that it wouldn't have been if he had found her there, of course. He was over her. Completely, utterly, totally.

And, suddenly, there she was. A vision in pink, walking to him from across the room. The skin, the hair, the nose, the smile, the voice, the laugh, all exactly as they had been five years ago.

Shit.