Story of Us by Susan Wiggs Page B

road, seeing the dark silhouette of a motorcycle rider, backlit by the late afternoon sun. The girls were still paddling in the water and chatting, but I stayed on the shore, caught by something I couldn’t quite define.
    Did I know even then, with that first glance? It seems impossible, given that we hadn’t seen each other’s faces or exchanged a single word.
    But there was this feeling, deep in my gut. It was a twist of certainty and I can’t say it was pleasurable, but it was very intense. At any rate, I must have sensed something. Because at that moment, my thoughts rang crystal clear.
    He’s here. At last.

Chapter Three
    I felt the rumble of the Harley’s engine deep in my gut, and with the sunlit dust rising in a cloud, the rider looked like something out of a dream. Down at the lakeshore, my girlfriends didn’t notice him the way I did. I think that might have been because at that point, their lives were set. RaeLynn was going to marry Dallas Sitwell, and Trudy was headed off for a summer of travel before law school. I was free, still searching for what my life was to become, and for that reason, I was open to anything.
    Especially if it was a black-clad stranger on a Harley, driving straight toward me.
    I had always been a rational, no-nonsense person. Raised the way I was, I learned early on to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground and my head out of the clouds. Still, at that moment, as the stranger crested the hill leading down to the lake, I felt a strange shifting inside me, a tightening in the pit of my stomach.
    The girls were still oblivious, splashing water at each other and laughing. I walked toward the road, completely intrigued by the approaching rider. The dusty Harley shuddered like a live thing as he brought it to a stop a few yards away from me. Stirring up a swirl of caliche dust from the road, he planted his feet, in knee-high boots, on the ground. Despite the heat of the day, I felt a chill pass over me like a breeze.
    Do men remember what they were wearing on certain occasions the way women do? I doubt it. Women always do, though. I can recall, with the clarity of a photograph, what I had on for any significant occasion of my life. I wish I could say I had on something like Lucky Santangelo might wear, a leopard print bikini and gold mules maybe. However, on this particular day, I was wearing faded cutoffs and a blue bikini top, flip-flops and a shiny coating of sunscreen. No makeup other than toenail polish, and my hair in a ponytail, which made me cringe. This was supposed to be an all-girl weekend and we had dressed accordingly.
    The stranger, on the other hand, looked spectacular in black jeans and those tall boots. A shiny helmet and aviator shades gave him an air of mystery. I didn’t recognize the ganglike insignia and the logo “VAQ 465” on his black T-shirt, but the cryptic symbols only added to the enigma.
    “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, polite as you please.
    I asked, “Are you lost?” A mundane question on the surface, but given everything that happened after, it was strangely prophetic.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a voice as smooth as melted butter, “I believe I just might be.”
    Then he took off his helmet and shades, and I saw his face for the first time. A light-brown beard stubble beautifully accentuated the lines of his jaw, chin and cheekbones, and even though I couldn’t tell from a distance, I somehow knew his eyes would be blue. Just as I was getting nervous—what if he’s a gang member, an outlaw? What if my mother’s right after all?—a wonderful smile unfurled, a funny half grin that caught at my heart.
    “Um, can I help you? Where are you headed?” I asked.
    “I’m looking for someone…” he said with an unexpected awkwardness that was curiously endearing. “But I’ve forgotten who. My God, I can’t even think straight. You are just about the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.”
    For a few seconds, it didn’t register that he was