KAIYA'S POV:

We were only a few miles outside of the city when Daryl's truck broke down.

I looked out of the window and just happened to look backwards in the general (not specific!) area of Daryl's light blue pickup. It just stopped. No warning or anything. But as soon as it was down, smoke began billowing out of the hood.

He was in the very back of the caravan, so no one would have noticed if I hadn't stood and said, "Dale, you might want to stop."

He looked at me questioningly but pulled over on the side of the road, stopping the rest of the vehicles between us and Daryl.

I started to get out of the RV, but as I passed Dale, I looked over and said, "Daryl's truck broke down." I didn't wait for a response as I hopped down to the paved road beneath us.

I wasn't sure why I was going over to him; I was totally livid at him. But eventually I convinced myself it was for the good of the group. I'd been working on cars with my dad since I was 10. I could help and we would be back on the road sooner. I faltered in my steps and then started walking again as others began pouring out of the cars to stretch their cramped bodies.

I walked over to Daryl who was leaning over the hood of his truck, head bent, hands both rested on the top of the grille.

"She done?" I asked, crossing my arms and shifting all my weight onto one leg.

He turned, a surprised expression on his face. He looked me over and then nodded.

I stepped closer, frowning at him and then pushed past him so I could see under the hood. I tinkered with a few things, but none of them did anything. I pulled my hands back. "Yep. That's it. She's not gonna run again," I said, wiping my grease smeared hands on my jeans.

He looked at me, surprised again. "Ya know cars?"

I nodded, cocking a brow. "Worked on them with my dad a lot ever since I was little." He still looked surprised, so I scoffed and mumbled angrily, "If you aint the most sexist hillbilly I ever met." I scowled when I realized how redneck my comment sounded (I really had been hanging out with Daryl too much) and continued to walk away.

But I stopped when I heard some metal screeching. I turned around and saw Daryl standing up in the bed of his truck next to that tarp-covered lump he wouldn't let anyone touch. He started pulling the gray tarp off of it, but I still couldn't see because of the cab.

I walked around the side of the truck, my arms still crossed. He glanced down at me, but I chose to ignore him. The more he pulled the tarp off, the more black shiny metal was beginning to show.

"Motorcycle?" I asked of no one in particular.

He nodded, not looking up. "Was Merle's."

I felt a little sad for him, and for Merle, but I didn't let that get in the way of me being mad at him. He began to pull the bike off the bed of the truck.

I will not admit to anyone that I spent the entire time he was pulling it off watching his muscles bulge beneath the tan skin of his arms. I think he noticed. Actually I'm one hundred percent sure he did, because he smirked as he walked the bike past me and said, "You dropped something."

I looked around. "Huh?"

He stopped right in front of me. "Your jaw."

I blushed, suddenly angry at him all over again. I was mad at him, but insanely attracted to him, and he didn't even want me.

I tried to ignore that and focus on the bike so I didn't have to look at his smug face. "I've never ridden a bike before," I muttered, still staring at it, and not really meaning to let that little piece of info slip.

He looked down at the bike. I took his distraction as a chance to look up at his face. It seemed a little redder than it had been a few moments ago. He seemed almost a little bit shy. "Ya- uh… Ya wanna ride?" He didn't look up until the sentence was out. His eyes were squinting, thought there was no sun behind me. He seemed to be preparing himself to get shut down.

I thought about it. The world was over, so my mom couldn't kill me for riding it anymore. And what else did I have to lose?

"Sure," I said, watching as everyone else began filing back into the cars. "But I'm still pissed at you."

He grinned, though it seemed he was honestly affected by my anger. He pulled the bike forward a little and as we passed by the RV, I noticed Glenn looking out the window at me, a little frightened looking.

I smiled up at him and reached into the collar of my shirt, lifting up the yarn and fruit loop necklace.

He smiled a tiny bit, but he was still very hesitant when he nodded.

I grinned and continued walking forward with Daryl. We would be heading off the caravan now. Daryl pulled on a black leather vest. My hair was still up, but it was still very long even up. So I twisted it around the ponytail and tied it like that.

He got on first, handing me his crossbow. "Put it on."

I shrugged and pulled the strap over my head like I had seen Daryl do so many times. I twisted so it rested on my back and then lifted one of my short legs over the side of the motorcycle. It was kind of hard getting onto the bike, me being so short, but Daryl found it pretty amusing. I could hear him chuckle quietly.

"Shut up," I grumbled, wrapping my arms around his waist and clutching at the cloth over his abdomen.

He went silent and kicked the bike into gear. I leaned my head on his back, breathing in the smell of him. Woods, motor oil, and Daryl. And the leather smell of that vest.

"Hold on tight," he called over the roar of the motorcycle.

I squeezed my arms tighter, leaning the side of my head on his back.

Then we sped off down the road.