Tristan's Decision [COMPLETED]

Says No

"I afraid but my answer is no," Tristan said. "I'm not your man. If you'll excuse me, I have a rehearsal I must get to."

Rising, the Agents shared a look but gave no indication of their emotions over his refusal. Tristan stood as well, wondering what thoughts lay behind their passive masks.

"We understand," Keller said, holding out his hand. Tristan shook it. "We appreciate you hearing us out."

They crossed in front of Tristan, but before they were swallowed up by the mass, Owens turned back to Tristan.

"Please remind Cece that if she bugs another Senator's room we will have to press legal charges," she said, donning a pair of sunglasses.

Like wraiths, the pair melted into the crowd. For a moment, Tristan stared at the spot where they had vanished, turning over what he had said no to. Then he waved away the thought and tugged at the collar of his coat. The wind picked up and tousled his hair. Burying his hands in his pockets, he joined the traffic of the sidewalk. Music played in his ears once again, turning the world around him into a ballet of discordant and off tempo movements.

Tristan came to a stop at an intersection. The world around him had little impact on his thoughts, for his mind was shaping an altogether different scene. The delicate world he was creating snapped as someone bumped his shoulder. A figured took a step into the street in front of him.

Acting on instinct, Tristan reached out and pulled the woman back as a car sped around the corner. Shaken, the woman looked at him. She had black hair that curled as it fell over her shoulders, soft features, bright green eyes, cherry red lips, and a pointed chin.

"Thank you," she said.

Releasing her, Tristan merely nodded and tried to recollect the scattered pieces of his dance. The sign changed and the throng surged forward. As the two sides of the street converged, the woman vanished from his sight.

As Tristan pulled the door open to the dance studio a blend of voices and music welcomed him. Inside the prestigious building the walls were lined with the faces of the most inspiring and influential dancers, the floors were a dark wood and wandering dancers tracked his every step.

Whispers like bumble bees buzzed from lips to lips, each ringing with a note of awe. Tristan gave no mind to these murmurs, his thoughts more important than their awe and admiration.

In the largest studio, Tristan found a collection of Boston's best dancers stretching, talking, and waiting for him. As he entered, the room fell into a respectful hush. Without a word, Tristan settled a chair before the wall of mirrors and sat down.

As if being called to class, the dancers huddled into one mass. In their eyes were the looks Tristan had grown accustomed to: wonder, excitement, eagerness, respect.

He gave a careless wave of his hand. "Continue stretching."

Though the command was simply given, no one was under the impression that it was a straightforward request. They knew his eyes would be sizing them up, analyzing their strengths, weaknesses. There was a rumor that passed from place to place, Tristan McKenzie could tell the talent of a dancer just by seeing them. So for him, the dancers went back to stretching, giving every act as much grace and poise as they possessed.

Tristan made no comment, watching them, doing as they believed he was, sizing them up. With each shift in stretch, he formed a chart of their abilities. When he gleaned as much as he could from their basic warm up, he told them to split into groups of five and to perform a small sequence across the room.

They did as they were told, the anticipation rising. From the collection, one dancer stood out. She had black hair tied into a knot on her head and moved with the grace of a bird gliding on the wind.

When each group had gone the dancers stood before Tristan, waiting for what he might say. He said nothing for a long while, his mind making adjustments. No one spoke. No one moved. The energy on the room was palpable. Every eye remained trained on him as if watching him think was the greatest honor they could be given. When it felt as if someone might crack and break the silence, Tristan spoke two words.

"Let's begin."

Over the course of the next four hours, Tristan pounded, molded and shaped the dancers into something that would steal thoughts, steal breathes and steal hearts. Like a flower blooming each minute revealed a fraction of the beauty that would come. To their credit, the dancers gave everything they had to his work. Each one danced knowing that the gift they had been given was something they would go on to tell their children.

By the end, they were exhausted, spent and filled with a pride that they would carry them for the rest of their lives. Sweat beaded from their foreheads and breathes came in heavy waves as they waited for Tristan's final words. Words they would hold close. Tristan stood and a collective breath was taken.

"Decent start."

Grinning with the praise, the dancers dispersed, whispering their excitement to each other. As Tristan reached for his bag, a dancer approached. It was the same dancer that had caught his eye at the beginning. It was also the woman whom he had saved. Despite what Tristan had just put her through, she didn't look at all worn out. Instead, she glowed with a warmth that surprised him.

"So," she said, smiling at him. "The famous Tristan McKenzie saving my life wasn't a dream after all."

Her voice was light and flirty, a sound that pulled him in.

"Am I often in your dreams?" he asked.

"Only the good ones," she said.

Against the odds and his history, Tristan smiled. It was a rare sight and one that had the desired effect. The woman's eyes took on a brighter gleam and she held out her dainty hand.

"I'm Hope."

Tristan took the offered hand, noting the strength that lay beneath the thin fingers.

"A pleasure Hope. I haven't seen you here before."

"I'm replacing Erin in the company."

"I see."

"Did I make a good impression?" she asked.

"I find a second impression is always better than the first."

Hope smiled. The look was inviting, playful and mischievous. It was as she was laughing without making a sound. For some reason, Tristan found he had the desire to hear that sound. It was in that moment he found himself in with a dilemma.

Would he ask her out or not?

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