Hannah, on the other hand, is a little bit more like the girl next door. She has plain brown hair, cut in a no-nonsense bob, and most guys might say she needs to lose a few pounds, although I found her curves quite sexy. What struck me about Hannah that other guys might overlook were her dark-brown doe eyes and her genuine, heartfelt smile.

But this girl next to me has an incredible smile too—shining and bright, like a sunrise. I’ve always felt you can tell a lot about a person from her smile.

When the class is finished, I dismount my bike and wipe my face. My shirt is soaking with sweat. My hair feels like I just stepped out of the shower. The girl is sweaty too, her arms slick with perspiration, her hair damp at the temples.

“Wow,” she says, “that was fun.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak, and I love the soft elegance of her voice.

“I’m Claire,” she says, extending her hand.

“Logan.”

Her hand is small and smooth, and holding it is like touching electricity.

We wipe down our bikes and start talking. She’s lived in Tahoe for a only few weeks now, having moved from Ohio.

“Getting away from a bad job,” she says. She hesitates, as if unsure whether to be this forthcoming, then adds, “And a bad relationship.”

I tell her I’ve lived here for two years and love it: hiking, swimming, skiing. It’s an outdoor enthusiast’s paradise.

“That’s why I moved here,” she says.

I feel a pang of guilt, like I’m cheating on Hannah. But, I tell myself, we’ve never gone out. And, besides, something about Hannah was telling me to be cautious. Maybe I should listen to that voice in my head.

As Claire looks up at me with eyes as blue and deep as Lake Tahoe, I can’t help but marvel at my good fortune that, after two years of being alone, I’ve met two good-looking women in two days.

I’ve been told I’m handsome, but I have a tendency to be introverted. And my previous line of work always compelled me to be antisocial and paranoid, to never let anyone get too close. So I wouldn’t normally make the first move. But today I feel emboldened, and I ask her if she wants to exchange numbers.

“Maybe we can go for a hike before it gets too cold.”

She smiles, and we program each other’s numbers into our phones. We walk together as we head toward the door.

I figure I’ll walk Claire to her car, but as we’re passing by the front desk, one of the employees, a teenager in a San Francisco Giants ball cap, says to me, “Hey, man, I saw your picture in the paper. That was totally awesome. Way to go, dude.”