I hurried down the sidewalk, carefully sidestepping the other early morning commuters making their way to the train. The sun was barely peeking up over the horizon and I was once again left wondering why my morning has to start before the day even begins.

Because you love your job and you have more fun getting to relax there before all those pesky people come and ruin the day by just…really just by being there. I suppose it's equally helpful that you actually can't wait to get there if it means being anywhere but your house right now.

I sighed and attempted to move out of the way before a woman with a stroller ran over my feet. However my sideways movement caused a large man to brush up against me. Without thinking my whole body became tense and alert, preparing for the worst. A dozen images ran through my head, each more vulgar and disgusting than the last. I hesitantly opened my eyes when I realized they were shut and looked around.

Of course; he didn't even glance back as he kept hurrying onward and I, for the thousandth time, relaxed and told myself I was being stupid. No one is trying to hurt you. People don't even see you. Just keep moving.

So I did. I kept walking, picking up the pace once again as I realized just how late I was. For a reason that evades me now, but this morning I believed to be perfectly logical, I was wearing three-inch death traps on my feet, only further preventing me from moving lithely between the crowded streets.

Although even I have to admit these shoes look fantastic with this outfit. Alice would be so proud; that is, of course, if I were ever to admit defeat by accepting her outrageous fashion choices. I suppose I should consider myself lucky. I've been walking for nearly ten minutes and I have yet to trip. I wonder if I could make this a daily or accomplishment or if it's too much too—damn.

I stumbled forward, catching my heel on a crack in the walk. My purse and coffee went flying from my grasp and I desperately scrambled to catch my things before the crowd swept me away. Just as I thought I would lose sight of my purse, a pale hand shot forward and snatched it up.

What the hell? Seriously, like this day couldn't get any worse, sure let's have some douche take my purse. Fuck that, I don't think so. Not today buddy. I fixed my face in a glare and looked up, prepared to tell off the loser trying to steal my shit and completely froze.

Holy shit.

Looking back at me was the single most gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes on. The dark brown hair had subtle copper highlights that shone in the bit of light filtering through the crowd, and it lay in such complete disarray but still managed to look undeniably sexy and I had the strangest urge to run my fingers through it. I wonder if it's a soft as it looks. Probably softer…Bits of it hung down over his forehead, partially blocking his eyes from view, so I continued by blatant ogling. His perfectly angular cheekbones and jaw formed around his full firm pouty lips.

Oh god I bet those would feel amazing on mine. I bet he's a good kisser…no! Snap out of it! No inappropriate thoughts about anyone, especially strange men in the train station. Focus. Pay attention. And I was just about to when he reached up and swiped his hair from his face, allowing me access to his previously hidden eyes. Oh god his eyes.

Alluring. Dazzling. Smoldering. Beautiful. Such a bright and vivid emerald sparkled from behind his long lashes. I vaguely registered that his eyes seemed to be as transfixed as mine, but I quickly got lost in his gaze again and all rationality or thoughts of reality were pushed away. How on earth someone so ridiculously perfect could exist was behind my comprehension. But that didn't stop me from standing there attempting to puzzle out how I came across this perfect specimen of man.

Maybe I'm dreaming. Although I'm not entirely sure I'm creative enough to come up with this kind of perfect. But I suppose it's possible. But I remember waking up and getting ready and I cut myself shaving and I doubt I would have dreamt about all the blood and the getting sick that followed. Unless I fell asleep at work, but I haven't gotten there yet. Wait, what time is it? Crap crap crap I'm so late!

At that thought I was suddenly roused from my daze and realized I had been staring, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, at the gorgeous stranger for longer than what I assume is appropriate. Just as I was about to rectify my social awkwardness I got lost again as I was able to take in all of him. He was tall and slim, with the hint of muscle showing through his tight t-shirt and low-sling jeans. I continued to gawk until he cleared his throat.

Jesus he probably thinks I'm a nutcase. Just grab your purse and run. Oh and try to say thanks. Maybe invite him for a cup of coffee, which could be especially convenient seeing as how yours is now covering the ground. Damn, I had to stand in line for almost fifteen minutes to get that coffee and I went all out and splurged on the venti and the extra shot and I hadn't even taken a sip yet. At least it's on the ground and not covering the front of my sweater. That would be just what I need. Fuck he's still looking at me. Where was I? Oh yeah, thanks. Coffee. Phone number? Nevermind, forget that, you'll just end up stuttering or drooling or accidentally singing that ridiculous Katy Perry song that's been stuck in your head all morning. It's not my fault it's so damn catchy though. And Alice loves that shit. She plays that song over and over so it's totally not my fault and something that has to be expected. Maybe I should work on broadening her musical tastes again. Although last time that ended with her declaring The Jonas Brothers as gods and me trying to rip my hair out while she asked me why I insist on listening to all that "weird crap"… Shit, where was I? Right. Gorgeous stranger has my bag. I'm a drooling mess. Back to Plan A. Just grab the purse and run.

I looked back into his eyes, smiled a little and reached for my bag that he had apparently been trying to hand me all throughout my ogling and internal ranting.

"Here you go miss. I hope nothing got damaged but it appeared to be relatively unharmed," he said in the most beautiful, musical voice I has ever heard. It sounded like a velvet melody and I wanted to hear it again and again.

Well if you want to hear him speak try engaging in the conversation instead of continuing with the creepy staring. Because honestly I'm surprised he hasn't just thrown the damn thing at you and run away yet. Just say something. Anything. Come on, you can do it. You are an intelligent, successful, and articulate woman. You will speak and you will do it now.

Feeling slightly encouraged by my internal pep talk I opened my mouth to say thank you but due to my offline filter it came out a little odd.

"I-I dropped my bag."

Oh god. Nevermind, don't talk. Not if that's the kind of crap that's going to come out of your mouth. You were supposed to say thank you. "I dropped my bag." Does that even kind of resemble thanks? Yes you dropped your bag genius that would explain why he has been trying to hand it back to you for the last two minutes. Great he is probably over there trying to figure out what kind of mental illness I have that causes both random phases of muteness and stupidity. Just get out now. Leave, turn around and leave. Don't try talking. Smile if you must. But leave.

My plan was formed and I had every intention of following through when it happened.

He smiled.

Not just a regular I'm-only-trying-be-polite smile or a why-are-you-still-talking-to-me-I-have-places-to-go smile or even the one I was expecting, the jesus-I'm-way-too-close-to-the-crazy-person smile. No. A heart-stopping, breath-taking, one-of-a-kind genuine smile. His whole face was lit up and he became impossibly handsomer in that moment. His green eyes sparkled with life and I could see the amusement dancing in them. I literally almost met the pavement as my knees threatened to give out on me, but miraculously I managed to hold myself up and retain what little dignity I had left.

What is wrong with me? I don't ever get like this. I mean sure, I can tell you if a guy is attractive and I can appreciate a good-looking man when I see one, but I don't get gushy. And I certainly do not get weak knees. This is ludicrous. 'You are a grown woman. You are strong and independent and successful and you do not act like this.' God what is with all the pep talks today? I haven't had these many bouts of recurring self-consciousness in years. What is this guy doing to me? Ok I just need to snap out of this crazy trance and to do that I think I might need to actually look away.

As much as it pained me I listened to my internal self, dragged my eyes away from him and concentrated on the cement wall behind him. I already felt closer to normal.

"S-Sorry. I meant to say t-thank you," I half-mumbled, half-stuttered. Get a hold of yourself! Speak up and quit that stuttering crap! I cleared my throat and began again in a slightly louder and what I hoped was more confident voice. "Not many people would have picked up the bag, let alone gone out of there way to collect my things and return them to me. I really appreciate it. Thanks again." Yes! I'm not a moron! I speak! Look at me! I speak! I am awesome!

"It was no problem at all. I didn't want to see you hurt yourself and I know you're not used to wearing shoes like that so I didn't want to risk you scrambling after it, especially with the way this crowd usually is on Monday mornings," he said with a chuckle, a deep, rich sound that I wanted to hear again. I wonder…if he is that beautiful smiling, I bet when he laughs his whole face is…NO! Maintain contact with the wall. It's working. Do not look him in the eyes. Remember the whole 'I dropped my bag' incident?

Oh yeah. Okay so no looking at him. Look at the wall. Pretty wall.

"Yeah I know what you mean. Facing this crowd is by far the worst part of my day and these shoes are not helping…"I trailed off mid-sentence as a thought entered my head. I guess I had sort of a delayed reaction and my mind took a while to catch up to what he had said. Wait what? Holy crap. Should I be creeped out or flattered? Well how about I ask him and we go from there? But try to be a little delicate, maybe use some subtlety to figure this out. Don't want to risk him being a crazed stalker who is not pleased with being found out. Gentle. Subtle. Sound good? Ok.

"How do you know what kind of shoes I normally wear? Are you stalking me?"

No. Do you know what subtle means? Really, who just flat out asks crap like that? Obviously he hasn't been stalking you and even if he had, do you really think he is just going to come right out and say 'Yes yes I have actually. Isn't that super cool?' You are an idiot. Why do you bother talking to yourself if you're not going to listen? Just for fun? Give the voices in your head something to do? Stupid. You better hope he didn't mean anything by it and he's not about to abduct you and make you have tickle fights while you both wear high heels. God how demented. Pay attention I think he's about to start talking.

It was hard to tell with not looking at him directly, but I could have sworn I saw the lightest tint of pink form on his cheeks with my question. Is he blushing? Only one way to know for sure… So I turned. Wow still gorgeous. And definitely blushing. God that's adorable. I wonder what else makes him blush…? Stop that thinking this instant. Pervert.

He shuffled his feet in what appeared to be a nervous gesture, then ran his hand through his hair, slightly ruffling his already messy mane. He seemed to be debating something to himself before glancing up at me with a hesitant expression on his face. He quickly looked away again and seemed to be thinking hard. Then I heard a sigh and watched while he stopped fidgeting and straightened his shoulders looking me directly in the eye and took a step forward.

"I've been watching you."

Oh god. Crap. Who knew this would be the one thing my ridiculous mind was right about? And why is there a part of me that doesn't really care what this guy wants to do to me because all I can think about is how he got closer to me and now I can smell him and he smells like honey and sunshine and something else fantastic? Or how about how badly I want to run my hands through that hair and down his chest and press my lips against every part of him and…seriously? I mean seriously? He just admits to stalking you and all you can think about is kissing him. This reaches new levels of pathetic. You need to be scared. You need to turn and run. I mean run. Kick the shoes off if you have to but fucking run!

And I was going to. I could feel my face change from what I'm sure what a somewhat patient look of anticipation to one of alarm and fear. However, he must have immediately sensed the change and taken that second to catch on to how his words had just come out because the next thing I knew he began a rant to rival one of my own.

"Wait, I'm sorry! Please, I just realized what that sounded like and it came out totally wrong. I'm not a crazy stalker or a creeper or a serial killer or anything weird. Ok, maybe it's a little weird, but I would never do—I mean, well what I mean is that you come through here every morning and I watch you—no that's still wrong, I mean I watch you but only because you're beautiful and I learn so much just by seeing you. I mean, you move out of the way of everyone like you're afraid of coming into contact at all. You always give up your seat and you picked up that little girl's bear and you seem to instinctively brace yourself every time you step on the grate like you expect to fall through and a dozen other things and over the last few weeks it's become the highlight of my day just to catch a glimpse of you and I just wanted to talk to you but you're always in a hurry and I didn't want to be a bother. I know that sounds really strange and I won't be offended if you just run away. Really it's ok." He said the last part softly and cast his eyes down to the ground.

Moments passed where I tried to comprehend what he was saying to me. Ok, so he's not crazy. Or at least not to the extent his first statement would have had me believe. And if I thought the blushing was adorable, it's nothing compared to his cute little nervous stuttering. I wish my stuttering was as cute… So he sees me here every morning? And he must have been watching me for a while since that whole thing with the little girl dropping her bear was at least a month ago. And how did he pick all that up? Ok and let's concentrate on the big one here. He said I'm beautiful. Me. Plain old me. How in the world could a Greek god possibly find someone as boring and unattractive as me beautiful? I mean, I know I'm not ugly but as far as looks go I'm as plain as can be. Is he serious? Maybe I should rethink this whole 'he's not crazy' idea. Hmm…

I was dragged from my musings when I heard him let out another sigh and slump his shoulders. He looked up from where his eyes had shifted and appeared startled by my retained presence. His expression was difficult to read as many emotions passed quickly. Shock, anxiety, surprise, relief, embarrassment. However, when he saw me still standing there I couldn't help but think I saw a flicker of hope in his eyes.

No stop it. This is crazy. People don't just meet their kind-of-stalkers in the train station and agree to see them again. So don't even think about it. Keep those thoughts to yourself. You will not see him again. You will leave now and continue on with your day like everything is completely normal. You will get on the train and go to work and—SHIT! Work! I'm so fucking late!

"I'm sorry. I really have to go, I'm running horribly late and I'm going to miss my train. Thank again!" I yelled the last bit, saying it all in a rush and almost too quickly to comprehend. I took off in the direction of my train, but not before glancing back and becoming overwhelmed with a strange feeling as I processed the hurt and confused look on his face. He slowly turned around and seemed so…disappointed? Why do I even care? I don't know him and he practically just admitted to stalking me. So why do I feel like this? What the hell is going on?

The train doors shut and I took my seat. It was another whole second before I realized what is was. Guilt. How can you feel guilty about hurting your stalker? I mean I know technically he wasn't stalking you, as long as he had a legitimate reason to be at the train station, other than to see me. But he just looked so sad. Why should that make him sad? I'm nothing special. It would better for him to realize that now so he can quit wasting his time and move on to someone worth his affection and attention. But still. He looked sad. No one that perfect and pure should ever have to feel pain. And I was the one that caused it. If only there was some way I could apologize.

Of course! He said he sees me everyday at the station. Tomorrow I can find him. I'll leave early, or I'll tell my editor that I'll be in late and I'll find him at the station and apologize for my rude departure.

With that thought I felt much better, the guilt already easing up on me. I settled into my seat and tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the butterflies that suddenly appeared in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again the next day.