Danielle lived and worked in a small town. That was the story of her life. Small town life was all she knew. She had tried at one point to move to the City, but that had failed miserably. So, she determined she was destined to live and die in a small town. Oh, it had its nice points. She knew everyone. She never was far from her apartment. She could walk to the post office. Not like when she was in the City. She didn't even know where the post office was there. She actually had uprooted herself from her hometown after high school to move to the City. One disastrous year later, she moved to Clarkstown, not far from the City, but far enough. She liked the little town she now called home. She liked being on her own. Her parents and brothers and sisters had worried about her, being all alone, but she was perfectly capable of caring for herself and had proved that in the five years she had been gone.

She was content. Or so she thought.

It all started rather innocently. She was walking back to the office one Friday from getting the mail. As she thumbed through letters and flyers, she could hear the approach of an oncoming motorcycle. She cocked her head and closed her eyes, trying to see if she could figure out the make of it. Her father had tried to teach her that, being a motorcycle man himself. He swore that each had a distinctive sound to it, but to this day, Dani couldn't tell a Kawasaki from a Yamaha. The only one she knew she knew was a Harley. This motorcycle didn't sound at all like a Harley.

"Hmm, rice burner," she thought and opened her eyes. That's how she classified them. Rice burners and Harleys. She could see the figure of a rider bent over the bike in the distance. It was one of those sleek looking bikes her father hated. She always thought they looked uncomfortable, but fun to race with as streamlined as they were. Not that she'd ever actually been on one to know for herself.

The rider approached the intersection just as she was crossing. He slowed to a stop and gazed at her crossing. She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way quickly across. She glanced up to look at the bike, a red and white Honda, and then the rider. He wore a pair of ratty old jeans and a loose fitting flannel shirt, unbuttoned at the top revealing a patch of curly, dirty blonde hair on his muscular chest and a large silver cross around his neck. He appeared to be close to her own age. She glanced away, aware of his eyes still on her, not sure if she wanted to look any further. But, she couldn't help herself. This was a stranger. Someone she actually didn't know. She wanted to see who he was.

As she approached the curb, she looked up again, this time directly into his eyes. Steely gray-green eyes looked back. This was all she was aware of. Such penetrating eyes. It was as if time stood still and she was lost in them. She was subtly aware of a blue bandana at his eyebrows, covered with a dark helmet. She felt almost paralyzed as she looked back into eternity, but suddenly realized where she was as she felt the ground fall out from under her as she tripped on the curb. She instinctually put out her hands to catch herself, scattering mail as she did so. She landed with a thump on the cold hard cement. Pain radiated from her palms and up her elbows. Her knees almost felt numb from the trauma. As she gathered herself together, she could vaguely make out the form of the rider and his bike leaving in the distance.

"Figures," she said out loud embarrassed at her clumsiness, "The hottest guy around here since who knows when, and I go and make a fool of myself." She gathered up the scattered mail thankful that she didn't know who he was after all and went back to the office.