Chapter One

Noah

My bike hasn't sounded right for the last five miles. It's been just me and her for so long that I pick up on the smallest noises effortlessly. I know when there's an issue long before any hobbyist rider would. She needs to be taken into the shop as soon as possible, I'm more than aware, but I'd like to get to a city. Somewhere with a mechanic that knows his way around a Harley.

I'm not afforded that luxury, though. As I continue down the highway, the noise intensifies – a knocking sound that even an inexperienced ear could pick up. I'll be lucky if I make it to the next exit, let alone to a major city. I just have to pray that there's a shop somewhere close by, otherwise I'll be paying God knows how much in towing fees.

When I see an exit for a little town called Cherrywood Village, I breathe a sigh of relief. It might not be ideal, but at least there's civilization here. There'll be less work to get my bike looked at. Hopefully the local mechanic knows something about motorcycles.

I pull into the first establishment I see, a tiny gas station with one car parked in front of the doors. After parking my bike, I step inside and head straight to the counter, my eyes locked on the teenage cashier standing there looking bored. A flick of interest passes over his face – likely because he's unused to seeing faces he doesn't recognize.

He tries to chat with me after giving me the name of the mechanic and directions to the shop. I don't give him the opportunity, though. I'd prefer to get back on the road as soon as possible, out of here before this sleepy town sucks me in.

The mechanic, a man named Steven, is more knowledgeable than I expected him to be. He waves me back into the shop with him and shows me the issue. Then, he orders the part with me standing over his shoulder, apologizing for how long it's going to take to arrive. And, before I leave, walk to the only motel in town, he offers to show me his collection of vintage muscle cars in his back lot. If I weren't so frustrated with my luck, I might have taken him up on his offer.

Instead, I left, the sun beating down on my black leather jacket. I walked down the road, wishing for a sidewalk, for twenty minutes before the motel appeared. It's a beat up thing, run down likely from a lack of regular clientele. The only people I can picture stopping here are ones like myself and blue collar husbands hiding affairs from their wives.

I step inside, the chill of the air conditioner a welcome relief from the heat I attracted on my journey here. Even more refreshing is the bored-looking young woman twirling a strand of dirty blonde hair around her forefinger. She seems unimpressed by my appearance and says nothing until I'm in front of the desk.

"I take it you need a room?" she asks, removing her hand from her hair and reaching over for the mouse of her computer.

"How'd you guess?" I reply, my eyes catching on the name tag attached to her breast – Fiona.

"I'm a mind reader," Fiona says, a smirk on her face as she flashes her ocean-blue eyes at me. "You also walked into a motel. There's not much else you could ask for."

I chuckle, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my wallet. As I pass her my ID, I say, "Maybe I just saw a beautiful girl on my walk by and decided to come in to say hello."

That smirk is still on her face, but a pink blush settles over her cheeks. It's adorable. At least if I'm stuck here, I'll have this pretty little thing to pass time with.

"So what brings you to Cherrywood Village?" she asks, glancing from the screen to me. It's obvious she's a little flustered but trying not to let it show.

"The same reason everyone comes here," I say, leaning my elbow on the desk. "My bike broke down and this is the place it shit out."

Fiona giggles, a musical little sound, and says, "How unfortunate for you."

"What? There's nothing to do here?" I joke, already knowing the answer.

"I mean, if you like drinking we have a liquor store," she replies with a shrug. "A restaurant if you like to eat. Other than that, there's not much."

"I'm not much of a drinker," I say. "Riding a motorcycle hungover isn't as fun as it sounds."

"That sounds awful," she say, scrunching her nose as she passes my ID back. Then, after taking my credit card, she says, "I don't like drinking either."

"Sounds like you're damned to a boring existence then," I say, quirking an eyebrow.

"Ugh, don't remind me," she says as she rolls her eyes. "It's miserable. I can't wait to get out."

"Oh come on, now," I say good-naturedly. "It can't be all bad."

"I suppose you're right," she hums, sliding my card back across the desk. "Sometimes interesting characters like you stroll through the door."

"So other people like me come through here?"

"No," she concedes, punching away at her keyboard. "Usually it's families on their way to Disney World. We have cheap rooms and a low crime rate. If you're looking for a place to sleep, Cherrywood Village is perfect."

"Sounds like it," I say, glancing out the window in the front at the row of residential dwellings across the street. I hadn't thought there'd be much to do here, but some part of me had hoped that this gorgeous girl would tell me about a hidden gem, something that only the locals know about. From the sound of it, residents of this town are just as bored as the people passing through. "Guess this is a good opportunity for me to catch up on rest, then. I can't remember the last time I stayed in one place for longer than two nights."

"Really?" she asks, clear interest etched into her features. "Are you on the run or something?"

"God no," I laugh, scratching at my buzzed head with my short fingernails. "Well, I guess I'm on the run from a normal life."

"What's that supposed to mean?" her brow furrowing as she hands me my room key.

"I've never felt the need to settle down," I say with a shrug, running the pad of my finger over the numbers etched into the wooden tag on the keyring. "I spend a lot of time on the road. You can't get the same kind of rush in a town like this."

"I wouldn't know," she says wistfully, putting her elbow on the desk and resting her chin on her palm. "I've been stuck here my whole life."

"Sounds like you have plans to get out, though," I say, understanding the wanderlust she must be feeling. I couldn't imagine being tied down, unable to feel the wind around my face.

"I do," she sighs, the beginnings of a smile playing on the edges of her lips.

"You know where you're going to go?" I say, I'm not eager to get back to my room. I'm enjoying talking to Fiona. There's something about her that's undeniably electric, magnetic.

"Not yet," she admits. "I think I might like to travel for a little. I'll settle down wherever feels right."

"That could be dangerous," I say with a smirk. "You might end up liking being on the road so much that you never settle down."

"That doesn't sound too bad to me," Fiona replies, returning my expression. "Seems like you like it pretty well."

"That I do," I admit, giving her a conspiratorial wink. "I can't say it's an easy life to live, though."

"I think I'd welcome the challenge," she says, sitting up straight again. "I might not look it, but I'm pretty scrappy."

"Oh, I can tell," I say truthfully. She's able to keep up with me, something that some grown men struggle with. "I'm sure you have what it takes."

"I'll find out soon enough," Fiona says as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, showing of a cheek still plump with youth. "I'm trying to be out of here by the end of the year."

"Well, I wish you luck," I say, giving her a nod. As much as I want to stay here and talk to her all night, I know better than to be overbearing. The mechanic said it'd take at least a week for my bike to be finished, so I know I'll have time to see her again. "I'm going to head off to my luxury quarters."

"Enjoy your stay and everything that Cherrywood Village has to offer," she says sarcastically, giving me a faux salute.

I return it, smiling wider than I have in a while. Then, I turn around and leave the office, glancing down at my room number as I do. I'm right next to the office, which would normally bother me. Now, though, I'm glad to know that Fiona is just right next door, a few short steps away.

Inside the dingy room, I settle onto the king size bed. I click on the TV and turn the volume down so that it's nothing more than a background hum. Then, I throw myself back on the mattress and stare at the water stained ceiling above me.

I'm still frustrated by the fact that I'll be stuck here for at least a week, but I might have stumbled upon something that'll more than keep me entertained. By nature I'm a loner, preferring not to be tied down by anything. That doesn't mean I don't indulge in the occasional hook up.

She's not the kind of girl that I think I could leave behind, though. My policy is to stay away from women like that, women who I wouldn't be able to walk away from. There's something about her that makes me want to burn that policy and let go of it in the wind.