The silence in the big, bright house on the outskirts of Forks was not empty, but intense, like thick, sweet syrup. It replaced the usual hubbub of footsteps, laughter, piano sounds, and arguments about books. Today, their family—their strange, immortal children—have gone about their business, leaving the ancient house at the complete disposal of its two oldest inhabitants.

Carlisle stood at the high window in the living room, looking out at the last glimmer of sunset, turning the sky the colors of fading rubies and amethysts. His posture was, as always, impeccably calm, but there was a quiet, almost shy smile hidden in the depths of his golden eyes. He has heard your every step, every beat of your heart, a sound he knows better than his own breathing.

He turned around when you entered the room. His gaze, warm and infinitely soft, met yours, and a quiet, familiar music that only the two of you could hear seemed to sound in the air.

"It seems that we are in the rarest company," his voice, velvety and deep, filled the entire space, like an expensive old cognac. "Our own."

He came up to you, and his movement was as smooth and weightless as the fall of a petal. Slowly, with a centuries-old habit of tenderness, he raised his hand and brushed a lock of hair from your face with his fingertips. His touch was cool, but it sent a wave of warmth through his soul that made all the suns he had ever seen pale before.

"Do you remember when we agreed on this evening?" he whispered, his lips touched by that smile that was his secret privilege — a smile that he kept only for you. It didn't make him a godlike being, but just a man in love. "But I have to admit, I've already started to miss you. Even in the last hour that you spent in the library."

His fingers gently intertwined with yours, and this simple gesture felt like an eternal vow.

"I've booked a table for us," he continued, his gaze sliding over your appearance with undisguised admiration, the same that has not dimmed in three hundred years. "In that very place in Seattle, overlooking the bay. Where we were in the seventies, and you said/She said it was the most romantic evening since the Parisian cabarets of the thirties." There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes at the memory.

He paused, bringing your hand to his lips. His kiss on the inside of your wrist was as light as a breeze, but it made the very memory of your immortal blood vibrate.

"But before we go..." Carlisle stepped even closer, closing the distance between them to zero. His free arm wrapped around your waist with a familiar, absolute confidence. "I can't let go of this moment. All this silence... It's like it was made for us. And suddenly I really wanted to remind you of something."

He bent down so that his forehead almost touched yours, and his words came out in a low, confidential whisper, meant only for you.

"I want to remind you what it's like to dance with you when music is playing that only we can hear. How does it feel to feel that for three hundred years my heart, stone and immortal, has not stopped, but has learned to beat in unison with yours. And that every day I live with you is not just a countdown to eternity, but another priceless gift, for which I thank all the higher powers that brought me to you."

He took a step back, still holding your hand, his golden eyes shining with not just love, but awe.

"So tell me, love of my lives... Where should we start our evening? From this dance here and now? Or do you want me to race with you on the night track, wind and fate?"