Disclaimer: I own nothing but Dorothy and her family. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: I have already finished this story in it's entirety, so it's just a matter of publishing it and making a few changes when inspiration strikes. Reviews are always welcome!

0o0o0o0

I fell onto the bed and rubbed my face tiredly. Inspiration had struck around dinner time yesterday, and I'd been up all night writing furiously on my laptop.

It had been well over 24 hours since I'd slept, but I was now too wired to sleep. There was something so incredibly satisfying about finishing a story, about writing that final sentence and sending it to the publisher. It was better than any drug could ever be.

Every time I finished a book, I celebrated. Before, I would have take one of our family's horses and ridden as fast as I could around one of our tracks, the breakneck pace enhancing the feeling of elation and freedom.

Of course, given that I had moved to New York three months ago, riding a race horse was sort of out of the question. So, I decided to take a walk and see if inspiration struck. Lord knew, as a full time writer without a 9-5 job, I needed to get out of my apartment more.

Pulling off my pajamas, I threw on old jeans and a T-shirt before heading out.

I locked my apartment and headed down the stairs, putting on my headphones as I did so. Distracted as I shuffled through my iPod, I failed to notice the tall man heading into the building at the same time. We ran into each other at full speed, the collision causing him to drop his grocery bags.

"Oh, crap. I'm so sorry," I apologized hastily, yanking my headphones down around my neck. I nearly groaned aloud when I recognized the sexy stranger I'd had a crush on since I'd moved in a month ago. We'd never exchanged words, but they occasionally passed each other in the hall, and my heart did a little flip every time he smiled shyly at my. Hoobah, that boy was handsome when he smiled.

Mentally facepalming my bad luck, I bent to help him gather the food.

"It was an accident," he assured me, putting a cereal box into one of the bags. The two bags had been packed full, and one of them had split open when it hit the ground.

"Here, let me help you carry these," I offered, examining the unsalvageable paper. "There's no way you'll be able to carry this on your own now."

"Uh…thanks," he accepted tentatively, peering at my awkwardly from under thick dark eyebrows. I smiled back at him and proceeded to gather milk and vegetables in my arms. "I live just on the second floor," he said as he led me up the stairs.

"You live next door to me," I commented as they came to his door. "I'm 2C."

He stared at me. "You're Mozella," he realized aloud. His cheeks and ears went red and he ducked his head in embarrassment when my eyebrows shot up. "Mozella. You listen to her a lot. I could hear it through the walls and I recognized the songs."

I grinned as we set down the food on his counter. "Yeah, she's one of my favorites. I didn't realize I was being so loud. Sorry."

"Oh, it didn't bother me," he assured my hastily.

We stared at each other awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. As discreetly as possible, I studied him.

He was easily over six feet, given how he towered over my 5'8 height. Thick rimmed glasses were perched on a nose almost too big for his face. Given how shy he seemed, he was clearly unaware of how handsome he was or the fact that butterflies were staging a rebellion in my stomach.

"I'm Gabriel Gray," he said, abruptly remembering his manners and offering his hand.

Smiling up at him, I shook it. Mental Dorothy was loudly pointing out how his large hand engulfed my small one, and was wondering what else was large on him. I shoved a sock in her mouth to shut her up. "Dorothy DuValier."

Another awkward pause. Silently, I wished I were better at this social thing like the characters in my books. Of course, smooth talking is easy when you control both sides of the conversation, I thought dryly.

I tried to remember anything my vivacious sister had told me about flirting, but my mind seemed to go completely blank. Mental Dorothy, on the other hand, was urging me to jump his bones. It seems my mini-me was becoming something of a strumpet where Gabriel was concerned.

"Anyway, I guess I should go," I said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Wait," Gabriel exclaimed before promptly flushing red. He cleaned his glasses on his sweater, the action speaking more of nervous habit than of any actual necessity. "Uh, would you maybe want to go out? To dinner? With me?"

I beamed at him. "Are you doing anything tonight?"

He blinked, clearly not anticipating an affirmative answer. "No. I'm free."

I shifted uncomfortably, wondering if I'd come across as too eager. "I…uh…I'm sort of celebrating something, and I thought maybe you'd like to join me."

"Yeah, I think I'd like that," he said, offering me a small smile.

I rewarded him with a thousand watt smile. "Be at my place at…" I glanced at my watch and hastily added a few hours for sleep and errands… "eight?"

"I'll be there."

"Great," I said beaming at him before flouncing to the door. "See you then." I closed the door behind me on my way out.

As soon as the door shut, I indulged in an extremely embarrassing, undignified victory dance, complete with moonwalk and head banging.

0o0o0o0

"Dorothy Jean, are you really saying that you moved to New York, the city that never sleeps, and you have nothing to do," Rose said over the phone. My big sister was clearly amused.

"Hey, hey, hey," I said defensively. "I went shopping for something to wear tonight."

"Oh? And what did you find?"

I glanced at the ice cream in my hand. "Super Fudge Chunk," I said sheepishly.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Rose said dryly.

I snorted indelicately. "Shush, woman, and help me think of something wear."

There were sounds of kids screaming and laughing in the background. "Alex, Charlotte, no running in the house," Rose yelled at my kids. I pulled the phone away and rubbed my ear. "Ok, what about that blue top? It brings out your eyes."

I frowned as I held up the blouse. "I was thinking something more feminine."

"How fancy is this date," my sister asked.

"I'm not really sure," I replied, flipping through my closet. "I don't have anything planned."

"Well, what about a dance club or something," Rose suggested.

I pulled the phone away and stared at it incredulously for a moment before holding it back to my ear. "I'm sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm your little sister, Dorothy. You know, the one who can't walk across a flat stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

"Oh, ha ha," Rose retorted. "Most women like dancing. Ok, then, what about dinner and a movie?"

"Yeah, I think we'll have to, since I don't know anywhere good yet," I said, holding up a likely dress. "What about that pink dress you gave me? Ladylike, but flatters my curves."

"Well, that color is certainly attention getting," Rose said dryly. "But it really is a flattering color for you. It sets off your dark hair and blue eyes, and goes well with your fair skin."

"So pink dress is a go," I confirmed, pulling it out of the closet. "Shoes?"

"Go with the black pumps," Rose suggested. "I know you're a total klutz in heels, but they look so cute together."

"Ah, the age old debate: fashion vs. emergency room visit," I replied wryly.

"Hey, 'It hurts to be beautiful'," Rose quoted.

"Alright, hair. How should I do it? I was thinking 1940's Victory rolls."

"I like it, but leave the back down." There was a busting noise in the background and Rose cursed. "Ok, your nephew is currently trying to light himself on fire, so I'm gonna go. Love you."

"Love you, too," I said before hanging up the phone.

Twenty minutes later, I was spritzing perfume on when I heard a knock on the door. "Wow. 8 exactly," I murmured, glancing at the clock. I gave myself a quick once-over in mirror before hastily running to the door.

Gabriel was standing outside, dressed in a button down and sweater vest. With his hair parted to the side and his thick glasses, he looked more than a little like Clark Kent. Mental Dorothy leered at him and held up a spandex Superman costume for him to try on. The thought made me smile.

"Hi, Gabriel," I greeted. "Come on in." I stepped aside so he could enter.

"You look lovely," he said, smiling down at me as I closed the door.

"Thank you," I replied with a grin.

"Oh, these are for you," he said, handing me the flowers in his hand.

"They're beautiful. Daisies are my favorite," I said with a pleased smile as I accepted the bouquet. "How did you know?"

Gabriel smiled nervously. "They're on your arm."

I laughed, glancing down at the tattoos. "Fair enough. Let me put them in some water real quick."

"So, I don't know New York very well yet," I said over my shoulder as I finished working on the flowers. "I was hoping you might know of a good place to eat."

"Well, there's a really good Italian place down the street," he suggested tentatively.

"That sounds great," I said, setting the flowers by my window. On my way back to him, I grabbed my purse and keys from the door. "Let's go."

"So, where are you from? By that strong accent, I'm guessing somewhere in the south," he commented as I locked my apartment.

I laughed. "I'm not the one with the accent, honey. It's all you Yankees that speak funny," I teased. He smiled down at me as we made their way out of the building. "But Georgia, to answer your question. You?"

"I've lived in New York my entire life."

I shook my head. "I can't imagine. It's so different here. I still haven't gotten used to it."

"What's it like in Georgia," he asked curiously.

"Quiet," I said promptly. "And much slower. Especially since I grew up on a farm. It's a completely different world."

"So how did the farmer's daughter come to the big city?"

I clicked my tongue and winked at him playfully. "Ah, but I didn't say my family were farmers. We breed race horses."

"You're joking," Gabriel said incredulously as they walked.

"Totally serious. My family is no small name in the racing world," I said proudly.

"By racing, you mean things like the Kentucky Derby," he asked.

I nodded. "We've raced a few horses in the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes. But there are many other races that you probably haven't heard of unless you follow horse racing."

"Well, that explains the tattoo," he said, gesturing to the full sleeve tattoo on my left arm. Black and white images of horses racing towards a checkered flag interwove with delicate script and tiny daisies around my arm.

I smiled. "The horses on it are my three favorites. This one, Hermes, is the one I rode when I was little and first learning. Sweet as molasses and about as fast," I said dryly. "This one is the first one I helped foal and train, Eomer. Don't smirk," I said, gently nudging him with a grin, "I was going through a Lord of the Rings phase. Anyway, and this one is Ruffian, who I never met, but whose story I love."

"What was her story," he asked curiously.

"Well, for starters, she was a filly, which is unusual in the racing world. But even today she's considered the greatest female racehorse in history, and one of the greatest racehorses of the 20th century. she was undefeated until her final race at Belmont park against Foolish Pleasure. She hurt her legs in the race, but was so determined to win that her rider couldn't stop her."

I shook my head as I continued. "Her injuries were so severe that they ended up having to euthanize her. But still, she was so determined to win that she ran with broken legs and torn ligaments. Ruffian was such a legend that they buried her near a flag pole in the infield of Belmont Park, with her nose pointed toward the finish line."

"She was special," he said with a small smile. "She represents the things you want in yourself."

I smiled up at him, glad he understood.

"If your family are horse breeders, what brought you to New York," he questioned.

I laced my arm through his as we walked, and he seemed to have to suppress a smile.

"Well, I'm the youngest of 5 kids, three boys and two girls, so the family business was never going to fall to me. I became a writer, and eventually decided I wanted to try a different way of life."

He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been published?"

I laughed outright at that. "Ah, the very subtle way of asking if I'm actually a writer or if I'm a bum who's been working on the same 'novel' for six years. I get that a lot," I added, grinning up at him, clearly not offended. "Yes, I've been published several times. As a matter of fact, this morning I finished my latest book and sent it to the publisher, which is what we're celebrating."

"Congratulations," he said, sounding impressed. "What do you write?"

I smiled a little sheepishly. "Well, I write trashy romance novels, actually, but I'm thinking of branching out for my next book into Mystery. I've got the beginnings of a plot in my head, but I'm not sure where it's going yet. But enough about me. It's your turn. What do you do," I asked curiously.

"I'm not nearly as interesting as you. I fix time pieces," he said sheepishly.

I arched a surprised eyebrow at him. "Are you kidding? That's awesome." At Gabriel's skeptical look, I shook my head. "No, I'm being serious. I've only half-joking when I say I've kind of always thought clocks just run on magic."

He laughed, relaxing a little. "Nothing so fantastic as that, I'm afraid. They're like puzzles. You just have to figure out how they tick."

"See, you're speaking, but all I hear is 'I'm a wizard'."

He grinned down at my in amusement. "Do you want to see the shop? We're close now and it's on the way to the restaurant."

"Heck yes! Why was that even a question?"

He seemed more relaxed than when he'd shown up at my door. "So, what's it like being a writer?"

I smiled in amusement. "What's it like being a watch maker?" I shook my head and shrugged. "Every job has its downsides, but I get paid to daydream. With every new story, I get to fall in love all over again."

He smiled. "How do you come up with stories?"

"I can honestly tell you that I have no idea. I just wait for inspiration to strike, and then suddenly, there are these characters in my head, and they already have a whole story to their lives. My job is just to sift through the veil of fog to find out what that story is."

"Here it is," he said, pulling me to a stop. For some reason, he seemed tense and anxious, like it mattered if I approved or not.

"Gray and Sons," I read from the sign. I looked at him. "Can we go in?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, holding it for me politely as I entered.

I looked around curiously. "So this is where you practice your voodoo magic," I teased, glancing back at him with an impish grin. "Can I see the inside of something? I'm still half convinced there will be very tiny people pushing gears around."

He chuckled and led me to a desk. "Here's one of the watches I've been working on." He gingerly took the back off.

I leaned over to look inside, but I couldn't make heads or tails of all the small gears. "Mmm…Well, the tiny people theory is out," I said in amusement. "I think I get how it works, though."

"Oh," he asked, the tone sounding very much like he didn't believe me.

I nodded seriously and glanced over my shoulder at him. My face was serious, but my eyes grinned at him. "See, you wave your magic shillelagh stick over it, chant a little, and poof, it works."

"Clearly, I must be a wizard," he agreed somberly.

I straightened, unable to contain my grin any longer. I raised an eyebrow at him, "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Sherlock Holmes," he said, smiling.

"You've read Sherlock Holmes," I asked, pleasantly surprised.

He shrugged. "I read a lot."

"Every writer loves to hear that," I teased. "One day, you'll have to show me how this works, but for now, I'm starving," I said. Gabriel nodded and stood. After he closed the shop, we continued to the restaurant a few blocks away.

They were seated without a wait in the small, but crowded restaurant. "Can I get you and your sister something to drink," the waiter asked, his gaze dismissing Gabriel but lingering on me a moment too long for comfort.

"I'm not his sister," I corrected with a polite smile. "Can I get sweet iced tea, please?"

"Water, please," Gabriel said, frowning at the waiter.

"So, how did you get into your line of work," I asked as the waiter left.

He shrugged. "I thought it would make my father happy, and it's something I'm good at."

"What about your family? What was little Gabriel like?"

"Awkward," he said with a shy smile. That, I could believe, but I bet that it was as endearing on him then as it was now. "As for my family, it's always just been me and my mom. My dad left when I was young."

I frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. But I bet you and your mom are really close."

He grimaced slightly. "You could say that. We've stayed close, but she sometimes has trouble accepting that I'm a grown man. She constantly tells me I can be anything I want. She wasn't happy at all when I became a watchmaker."

I cocked my head to the side curiously. "How old are you, anyway?"

He fiddled with his glasses, another of his nervous habits. "30. You?"

"Guess you're robbin' the cradle. I'm 23." I was grinning, clearly amused.

He blinked. "You're a published author at 23?"

My grin just widened. "I was a published author at 19."

Gabriel frowned. "So, why are you interested in me, really? You're clearly out of my league."

"Thanks, but I definitely wouldn't go that far," I said dryly. "I –"

I was cut off by the arrival of the waiter, bringing our drinks. "Have you and your friend decided on what to eat," he asked, smiling at me again. Gabriel's gaze landed on the table as he shifted uncomfortably.

"I'll have the chicken ravioli, please," Gabriel said, staring at the man for a moment with that unblinking gaze. He turned to me with a half smile. "And my date will have…"

It was all I could do not to laugh at the look on the waiters face, but my mother had raised me to be a lady, and ladies were unfailingly polite. "I'll have the vegetable ravioli, please," I said, grinning.

Gabriel was looking at me with an eyebrow raised pointedly.

"Oh, please, Gabriel," I said, rolling my eyes. "It was a simple mistake."

He looked at my incredulously. "Even the waiter thinks doesn't believe we're on a date. He's hitting on you."

I rolled my eyes. "He's a guy in his early twenties. He probably hits on anything in a skirt." Gabriel clearly had no clever rebuttal for this, for which I congratulated myself. "So tell me about Gabriel Gray as a kid. Paint me a word picture," I said with a dramatic wave of my hands.

He gave a small smile. "I didn't have many friends because we were poor and I wore glasses. Mom was very religious, so I wore collared shirts and pants, instead of normal kid clothes. As a result, I was very quiet and nerdy. I spent most of my time reading and studying."

"I want to give you a hug so badly right now," I said honestly. He looked uncomfortable, so I restrained myself. "Still, I bet you were an adorable boy," I teased to reassure him I wasn't going to leap over the table and attack him. "I can just imagine a chubby cheeked Gabriel with glasses and collared shirts."

It was Gabriel's turn to roll his eyes. "What about you," he asked. "'Paint me a word picture'."

I smiled as he threw my words back at me. "Pretty much the polar opposite of you. I was the youngest of five kids, and so I wanted to stand out. My siblings were the all-American teenagers, so, I rebelled in a big way, and at every turn. Lots of drinking and drugs and partying. Momma says most of her gray hairs came from me," I said dryly.

"What changed," he asked, his gaze piercing and unblinking. I felt like I was under a microscope.

"Well, I discovered writing, for one thing. But…I don't know. I realized I wanted to be more like a Cat Woman than a Mary Jane."

His head tilted to the side as he regarded me. "Well, aren't you a little bundle of contradictions."

I frowned. "Honestly, I think most people think I'm a backwater hick. I waved to someone the other day, and she glared at me. I can't imagine my accent helps."

His gaze met mine. "Dorothy from Georgia, I think your accent is cute."

He likes me! He likes me! I swallowed nervously, trying fruitlessly to stop my cheeks from turning red. "Gabriel from New York, I think you're the most attractive watch maker I've ever met."

We were saved from further comment by the arrival of our food. This time, blessedly, the waiter didn't even look at me.

Breaking the heavy discussion, I steered the conversation towards movies and books, knowing it would be a safe topic. I was pleased at how well read he was, but nothing compared to my happiness when he quoted Star Trek and Lord of the Rings back at me.

Nerd love is a beautiful thing, my friends.

Eventually, we paid and left, but took our time walking home.

"Alright, your turn," he challenged.

I thought for a minute, enjoying the game we'd been playing since we'd left the restaurant. One person quoted a well known movie or series, and the other had to guess what it was from. "'If you can't take a little bloody nose, maybe you oughtta go back home and crawl under your bed. It's not safe out here. It's wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross; but it's not for the timid."

"Star Trek," he answered promptly. "Good choice. Ok, my turn," he said, casually taking my hand as they walked.

I couldn't suppress a grin. For all he had been nonchalant about the gesture, I could feel the nervousness coming off him.

He pitched his voice high and affected a terrible British accent, "Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.'"

I laughed, grinning widely. "I don't know."

"Monty Python and the Holy Grail."

"Oh, right! I remember that scene," I exclaimed, snapping my fingers. "Alright alright, you clearly have me outmatched in this game," I said, looking down with a small smile. "There's no way I can win at this point."

He smiled at the ground. "Well, what about more questions. 10 questions, and we have to answer honestly." I nodded in agreement.

"Ok. I'll go first. Have you ever been arrested," I asked.

He raised an amused eyebrow at my. "No. You?"

I coughed into my fist, and his eyebrow shot up even further, making me laugh. "It wasn't anything serious. We were caught drinking underage..and trespassing."

"Do you have any tattoos other than the ones on your arm?"

"Several, actually," I said. His curious gaze traveled over my pale, unmarked skin. "They're all on my torso, so that no one can see them unless I want them to," I explained at his disbelieving look. "So what about you?"

"No tattoos. I'm pretty much just your average watchmaker," he said as we reached my door. The comment was made offhand, but I could sense bitterness and dissatisfaction radiating off him.

"I wouldn't say that," I said with a smile. "You're anything but average. You're the smartest man I've ever met, Gabriel Gray."

He looked down at me for a long moment, as if trying to figure me out.

Gabriel's hand gently cupped my jaw, pulling me to him as he slowly leaned down. When his lips brushed against mine, my heart began pounding frantically.

I deepened the kiss, dancing my tongue around his lips. His grip on my waist tightened, pulling me closer to him. His cologne is intoxicating, I thought dizzily as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed myself closer to him. When his tongue slipped into my mouth and danced around mine, I sighed against his lips.

After several moments, I broke away for air. I couldn't help the enormous smile that spread across my lips as I looked up at him. Mental Dorothy was demanding I return and finished what I started. Unable to resist, I planted one last sweet kiss on his lips before stepping back.

"Goodnight, Gabriel."

Gabriel was staring at me with a dopey grin across his face.

0o0o0o0o0

I was wandering the grocery store when my phone started ringing. Thinking it was my editor, I opened the phone without checking the caller id.

"Hey, Miranda," I greeted, staring down at the deli spread in front of my. "Do you know what's in salami? I'm standing here looking at one, and thinking about the fact that no one has ever said 'Hey, I'm gonna go shoot a salami.'"

There was masculine laughter on the other end of the line. "Salami is just cured sausage."

I closed my eyes, wincing. Mental Dorothy sarcastically applauded my smoothness. "Hi, Gabriel," I said sheepishly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." I could hear his smile in his voice. "I called to say that I had a good time last night." There was a pause and he cleared his throat, like he was getting up his courage. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out again."

I smiled giddily. It was so thrilling to be experiencing the rush of new love for myself, instead of living vicariously through my characters. "Do you have plans tonight?"

"No, I don't." Gabriel sounded relieved.

"Groovy." I winced. Groovy? "When do you get off work?"

"I close the shop at 7."

"Well, I'm a little homesick, so I was going to make some soul food. Why don't you stop by after work, and I'll make enough for both of us?"

"What is 'soul food'," he asked quizzically.

I flapped my hand dismissively, though he obviously couldn't see it. "You know. Fried chicken, cornbread, sweet iced tea. Stuff to clog your arteries. Soul food."

The smile in his voice sounded like it had broadened. "That sounds good. Should I bring anything?"

"Just your eatin' pants," I said reflexively. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. This conversation was not making me look great. "I can't believe I just said that. Momma always says that when we have guests over. Sorry."

Gabriel was laughing. "No, it's fine. I'll be there in a few hours?"

"Yeah," I said, sighing mentally. "Let's hang up while I still retain some shreds of my dignity."

He chuckled again. "Bye, Dorothy."

I shook my head and slipped my phone into my purse. "You know, I was smart once," I muttered to myself.

A few hours later, I was singing along with a country song playing on my laptop, dancing barefoot around the kitchen while I cooked.

There was a knock on the door and I danced over to open it. Gabriel was standing there.

"Come on in, cowboy," I greeted with a wink as I stepped back to let him in.

"It smells delicious," he said.

"I don't keep any alcohol here, but I've got sweet tea, water, and cokes," I offered.

"A coke is fine," he said, smiling nervously. To distract himself, he perused my living room while I was in the kitchen.

Since the building was old, our apartments were structurally different. I had a separate bedroom, for one thing. Yet, even the feel of my place was much warmer and more inviting. It was clean but chaotic, books and CDs piled high on any flat surface. Where his place was subdued and organized neatly, mine was vibrant and alive with color.

The entire apartment smelled like a strange but pleasant mixture of Febreeze and my perfume. On one wall, there was a framed map of Middle Earth, and another was turned into a collage of framed photos.

"Just waiting on the cornbread to finish," I said as I came into the room with our drinks.

"You have a motorcycle," he commented, staring at one of the pictures.

"What? Oh, yeah, I do," I said, handing him the can. He was looking at a photo of me and my oldest brother, Nathan, astride our two bikes. Mine was a black 'crotch rocket' as my brother had termed it, whereas his had been an old style Harley. "I got my motorcycle license when I published my first book."

"Did you bring it to the city," he asked curiously.

I nodded. "I figured it was more practical to use in the city, but I also didn't want to ride it for 16 hours, so I towed it with my SUV."

He peered at me with that unblinking stare that was becoming familiar. "Tattoos, confidence, and now a motorcycle. We're so different. I don't understand why you're interested in me."

I smiled mischievously into my cup. "Maybe I'm secretly hoping you're Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne."

He smiled slightly, looking down at the wine in his hand. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just a watchmaker. Nothing special here."

I snorted, causing him to look up at me in surprise. "Gabriel, I've grown up around horses, and I can tell you from experience that humans and horses aren't so different. Greatness doesn't necessarily come in the form of a showy thoroughbred stallion." I ignored Mental Dorothy when she commented that he was a stallion I could ride all night long. "The greatest stories are usually about the underdog with no money that goes on to win the Triple Crown."

Gabriel stared at me. "And if I'm not a Triple Crown winner? What if I'm not even in the race?"

I shrugged. "Maybe you're just not looking at the right race, or judging yourself by the right standards. Maybe your skill isn't speed, but endurance." The oven timer went off and Gabriel followed me into the kitchen. "This metaphor is getting complicated, but here's the gist: we all have to judge ourselves by our own standards and our own strengths, because otherwise we'd spend our lives feeling inadequate." I set pulled the old-cast iron skillet out of the oven and set it on top of the stove. "Now, enough with the heavy talk. You hungry?"

Please R&R!