Have you ever had such a passion for something that it consumed your every thought? She is that passion. Before her, it was my work. As a SEAL, my focus and attention to detail are superb, or so I've been told. In my line of work, losing focus could mean losing your life. I have never taken that more seriously than since the day I met her.
The rain was so heavy that night that I couldn't see my hand two inches from my face, let alone how to control my motorcycle. I veered off the highway into the parking lot of a hole-in-the-wall bar. The sign read "Greylake" and it couldn't have been more correct at that moment.
The inside of Greylake Bar was about as appealing as the outside. It was lighting was dim with a few tables and booths filling the room. An ancient jukebox sat in the corner playing a song by the Fray for two patrons at a booth, nursing beers.
I walked up to the bar. She was stunning. The black T-shirt and blue jeans hugged her every curve. Hair in a ponytail and no make-up, she looked like a supermodel.
As I at down, she stopped humming, but continued to dry glasses. "What can I get for you?" she asked absentmindedly. "Whiskey," I replied. he smirked. "What?" I questioned her. "How very cliche of you," she responded. "How so?" I smirked back at her. " You pull up on your motorcycle with your black jacket and tattoos and order a whiskey. You're a walking, talking cliche," she explained, but poured the drink anyway. "Would a mojito have been better?" I asked. "You would have been more intriguing," she shot back. "So you're going to stereotype me when you don't know anything about me?" I refuted. "You're a tough guy, loves his bike, and probably army," she listed. "Or try to be tough," she amended. "You got all that from a drink?" I asked, taken back by the assessment. " Your appearance screams tough guy, you took the time to cover your motorcycle, and you have military tattoos," he explained. "And my name is Owen," I added, "Owen Elliot." "Alex," she responded.
"I put a lot of work into my bike, Navy not Army, and my toughness depends on my company," I explained. She laughed. It was like church bell on Christmas Eve. Light, musical, and full of the anticipation of Christmas morning.
"Well Mr. Owen Elliot, what brings you to Mt. Cade, New York? Home to nothing and no one?" she questioned, sarcastically. "I like the scenery," I countered. She rolled her eyes. Beautiful green eyes with pupils surrounded by brown stars. "What brings you to Greylake Bar," I asked, turning the questioning back on her. " I need the money," she stated simply," I'm leaving for New York City next week. You can't put a college degree to good use in Mt. Cade." "Well, it seems that we're headed in the same direction. Toronto winters are a bit rough on me, especially considering my current mode of transportation," I continued.