A/N: Your reviews rock! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. I was terribly horrified posting the first chapter online for people to actually read, so it's a huge relief that you've all responded well to it. And it's inspiring to me that you all love the little world I've created for Beth and Daryl as much as I do! So thank you again, and I hope you continue to enjoy it. =)

Anyway, without further ado, I give you chapter 3.

Chapter 3

Daryl had become dispassionate about his Saturday mornings. For the last four months that he'd been back, Saturday mornings had been his escape. He'd gotten out of his da's trash heap, left behind his work, got away from everything in town that reminded him of his past, and he just hunted. It had been nice for awhile, but now reality was beginning to catch up with him, and he didn't like it one bit. His da's place was still pretty trashed. Daryl hadn't been looking forward to cleaning it, so he'd been doing a damn good job of avoiding it. When it came to working at the mechanic shop, he busted his ass. It wasn't like he was lazy or afraid of hard labor. But there was something about that trailer that made his gut clench every time he even thought about rummaging through his da's old shit. He just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Going out hunting to avoid his task, though, was becoming a bit of an issue. No matter how long he stayed out in the woods, no matter how many things he killed, that trailer was still sitting there waiting for him when he got back. He knew trailers couldn't have personalities, but he felt like the damn thing leered at him every time he got within sight of it. It mocked him, angered him, and scared him. It had his da's voice, and his da's terrible penchant for malice.

Saturday hunts were also becoming a headache because of another thing; another, very annoying thing, with a ripped jogging suit, golden blonde hair, and eyes as blue as the open sky. Daryl had never before been the type of guy to keep to a rigid schedule. He worked odd hours, rode Merle's bike when he felt like it, and hunted when he needed some escape. He did most things on a whim, in his own time. Ever since that fateful day three weeks ago when he almost took out that girl, though, things had changed ever so slightly.

Beth, he reminded himself often enough. Her name was Beth.

Now while he was out in the woods, instead of paying attention to the forest around him and the sounds of critters scurrying about, he found his ears straining for the sounds of rustling bramble bushes, or tennis shoes snapping twigs along a path. He also kept his eye out for that red mutt that she claims had come after her. He'd never seen a damn dog in the forest before or since.

He also never heard or saw any sign of her, though, despite the fact that he would find himself in the trees at the same hour every Saturday morning that he'd run into her that one day. He should have been thankful that she wasn't still out there trying to jog in the trees like a lunatic, scaring all of his game away.

That's probably why he was looking out for her, he decided. Surely it was because he didn't want her impeding on his hunting grounds again. He hadn't had the chance to really ream her for being so far out that one day, anyway. She still didn't know it was his path she had followed. If he sees her out there again, he'll make sure she understands.

And then there's the problem of his trek home. He always did a specific loop around his area, and in the past, the loop had brought him within sight of his abandoned little cabin. But now, he felt uncomfortable walking that way, seeing white curtains in the windows of the cabin, and that damned expensive car parked out front.

And yet again, this Saturday morning had been like every other. He'd gone out with too much distraction on his mind and after wandering around the trees for awhile scaring off all of his game, he'd come back empty-handed. In fact, he was pretty sure that the distraction was worse this morning, after having nearly run the crazy girl over with his shopping cart in the middle of the grocery store on Thursday afternoon. Without the threats of wild dogs, bramble bushes, and redneck assholes shooting arrows at her head, she'd seemed to be in a much better mood.

Actually, it went beyond a better mood. If Daryl hadn't known any better, he'd have thought she seemed genuinely happy to see him again. Which made no damn sense, since he practically nearly maimed her every time he got close to her. A normal girl would have turned the other direction and split the minute she saw Daryl Dixon in that grocery store; not smile like an idiot and chat him up. This bramble-wrestling, shelf-hopping girl definitely wasn't normal.

With another ruined Saturday under his belt, Daryl elected to eat in town for breakfast. He headed for the only diner in town that had food he liked- Joe's. He pulled the door open by its wet handle and stomped his feet on the mat in the entrance, trying to get rid of most of the mud caked on his boots. The rain last night and early this morning had turned everything in town to mud, Daryl included, it seemed.

As he headed for a booth in the back corner, he caught the waitress' disgusted expression as she paused to watch him enter her establishment. Ignoring the dirty looks as he usually did, and as he had since he was a kid, Daryl planted himself in the booth, with his back against the wall. He wasn't one to people watch or enjoy the in-town scenery of the diner; he just wasn't fond of having his back exposed. Growing up with a brother like Merle and a dad like Lonnie, Daryl'd been jumped enough times to ingrain that particular tendency into him. Now that he was 28 years old and mean, the likelihood of being approached by someone harboring ill-will was very slim. However, as Merle always said, once a Dixon, always a Dixon. In this town, he couldn't be too careful.

The waitress finally came over, barely concealing her contempt for him, her brown eyes narrowed and lips pressed together. She definitely knew of him, alright. Merle was known for being a racist fuck, but Daryl had never really bought into that way of thinking. After all, his da' had been one of the worst human beings Daryl'd ever known, and his da' had been white. Regardless of how Daryl actually felt, though, he was related to Merle, and apparently no one in town was likely to let him forget it.

Her dark eyes bore into him as she stood poised with her pencil and order pad, not even bothering to fake him any courtesies. Beyond her elbow, Daryl could see her brother peeking out from the window of the kitchen, apparently making sure Daryl didn't cause her any trouble.

"Guess I'll have the breakfast platter. Eggs o'er easy. Think ya can manage that?" Daryl asked her with an edge to his voice. If they wanted to treat him like he was rabid, he'd damn sure be happy to act the part. As far as he was concerned, she could shove her attitude right up her ass.

Her lips tightened and she practically snatched the menu out of his hand before storming off to put his order in. She hadn't even bothered to ask him what he wanted to drink.

Daryl looked down at the table and realized droplets of water were falling from the tips of his hair. He unwrapped his silverware and used the cloth napkin to wipe off the table before putting it to his head and toweling his hair like he does after a shower.

He nearly laughed at the looks a couple of people shot his way when they noticed what he was doing. He leaned over to towel off the back of his head next. He was rubbing away when he was abruptly hit by the smell of nail polish and coconut. The combination was strange enough that he briefly wondered if he was having a stroke of some sort.

Then, an impish little laugh froze him in place. Slowly, he pulled the napkin off of his head and straightened up in the booth, where he found himself eye to eye with the blonde from the woods. He couldn't catch a damn break.

"Gosh, Daryl. You take cleaning up before breakfast to a whole new level, don't you?"

"I was wet," Daryl supplied lamely. For whatever reason, she made him feel very self-conscious.

"Everybody's wet," she replied, looking down at herself to prove her point. She certainly was wet, Daryl noticed. She was soaked, in fact, to the point that it made him downright uncomfortable. Her loose hair was plastered to her face and neck, parts of it even crossing over her throat and curling over the wrong shoulder. The grey shirt she had on was cotton and so thin in places that he could tell that the bra she had on was under it was bright green. The shirt itself clung to her like a second skin, contouring the swells of her breasts and even the dip of her belly button. He realized quickly that he'd been staring, and he couldn't recall for how long. He turned and looked out the window, realizing for the first time that the rain was coming down in sheets. He could feel his ears burning and hoped she couldn't tell that they were turning red.

Before he could think of anything to say or do, she took a seat in the chair across from him and plucked the extra menu out from behind the syrup. "Have you ordered anything yet?" she asked, perusing the menu.

"Yes," he snapped, feeling flustered at her proximity. Her nails were a dark, shiny purple, which accounted for the fresh nail polish smell. Every breath he inhaled now was her.

Why the fuck did she have to smell like coconut?

His rudeness brought a smile to her face, but she kept her eyes on her menu, flipping it over to browse the other side. He looked away from her again, and noticed that some of the regulars at the diner were staring. The confused expressions only irritated him further. He knew she had no business sitting at his table and eating breakfast with him like they were good friends, or more. Apparently, everyone else knew it, too. Why was she the only one who didn't seem to notice that she didn't belong?

The waitress spotted Beth sitting there and made a beeline for her. "Beth?"

Daryl tightened his hand on the napkin, preparing for the inevitable. Beth looked over and smiled genuinely at the other woman. "Hey Sasha! You've got quite a brunch crowd going right now, don't you?"

Sasha nodded, eyes flicking briefly on Daryl, then back, like she was unsure how to proceed. Go ahead, Daryl silently urged. Ask her.

"Sweetie," the waitress said softly, "What're you doin' here?"

"What, like I need a reason to come see you?" Beth teased, not catching onto the tension. "It's Saturday, Sash. I'm always here."

"Yeah, but I meant…" she trailed off into silence.

"Oh," Beth said, seeming to get it finally. But then she turned to Daryl and smiled as she explained, "I'm usually in here a couple of hours earlier than this on Saturdays." She looked back to the waitress as she continued, "This morning, though, my car was completely trapped in my driveway. All of the rain turned my drive into a swamp, and there was a LOT of mud. I got in to see if she could dig herself out, but the tires just spun and spun. So I just walked to town instead, and got caught in the downpour as I was right on your street. I hadn't thought to buy a raincoat or an umbrella yet. I'll probably have to do what Daryl did and use napkins as towels, I'm so soaked!" She chuckled at her own joke, but the waitress only cracked a strained smile.

Daryl felt his temper flare, but before he could make the waitress sorrier she'd said anything at all, the bell by the kitchen chimed and she seemed to snap out of her concern for the moment. She spun around and went to gather orders and continue serving her customers.

Beth's face dropped as she turned back to him. "That was pretty weird," she said. "Sasha seems off today."

"She ain't off," Daryl said. "You just din't get the meanin' of her question."

Beth's eyebrows hiked down in a contemplative frown, so he tapped his finger on the table in front of her. "She means, why are you here?"

"You looked like you could use company," she answered, her tone so sweet and innocent that it was apparent she still didn't really get what the big deal was.

"I ain't the kind of guy that e'er looks like he needs company."

Before she could respond, the waitress came back with a tray. She set Daryl's food in front of him without bothering to make eye-contact, and then sat a plate in front of Beth that had something wrapped in a green tortilla, despite the fact that she never actually ordered anything.

"Thanks, Sash!" Beth gushed at the food in front of her.

"Your Saturday special; Ty was ready for ya," the waitress said, smiling at her briefly. "I forgot to see what you wanted to drink. What'll you have?"

"A water is fine with me," Beth responded, looking at Daryl for his order. The waitress glanced at him, so he responded, "iced tea."

When they were alone again, Beth began cutting up her food. "I didn't know you liked iced tea."

"Yeah, so?" He speared some egg with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Just didn't picture you for an iced tea drinker is all."

"I din't picture you t'be drivin' such a snotty little car, neither," Daryl said icily. He really wanted her to stop being nice to him and just act like everyone else does around him.

Instead, she smiled at him like he'd revealed a secret to her, and asked, "Oh really? And what did you picture me driving, anyhow?"

He paused with a sausage halfway to his mouth when he realized what she was getting at; like he thought about her at all. If only she knew she'd been the disturbance of most of his Saturday hunts lately. "I don' picture you in anythin'," he responded, hoping to drop the conversation altogether.

"Oh," she said, looking down at her plate. Her cheeks were turning red, and that's when he realized his last sentence came out wrong, too. Damn, but that girl twists him up.

"Not like that," he said between clenched teeth. "I jus' meant, I don' think of you drivin' around an' shit. In fact, I'd rather not think 'bout you drivin' at all. You're probably a danger to other people on tha road. Can't even walk through a grocery store without gettin' in an accident."

He stabbed his food with more force than necessary, unsure as to why he was blathering on like an idiot and kind of making jokes at her. He glanced at her from under his hair and sure enough, she was grinning at him like she had Thursday afternoon at the store.

"So what do you drive?" she asked politely. "You know, when you're not behind the wheel of America's most dangerous shopping cart?"

He felt himself smirking. She was mouthy for such a cute little thing. "I have a truck. Sometimes I drive my brother's bike, too."

"I didn't know you had a brother. What's his name?"

"Merle," he said, eying her to see what her reaction was.

"Merle," she repeated, wrinkling her nose delicately. "That's a strange name."

So she hadn't heard of his brother. Interesting. Usually when someone said shit about a Dixon, it was Merle that was mentioned the most. Merle was like his da', tough as nails and mean as hell. He found himself asking, "How long've you lived here for, anyway?"

"About a month," she replied. She smiled at him before taking another bite of her weird food. She seemed to like it when he asked her questions.

Daryl grunted. He found that he had a thousand other things to ask her, just sitting on the tip of his tongue. Did she have any siblings? Where was she from? Why hadn't he ever seen another car parked outside her cabin? Didn't she have a boyfriend or a husband or something? And why that car? That damned expensive-ass car, sitting useless in her driveway because it was outdone by a little Georgia mud.

"You need gravel," he said.

"Gravel?"

"Yeah, gravel. It'll help keep that stupid car o'yours from stickin' to the damned driveway e'ery time it rains a bit."

Beth nodded. "That's a good idea, Daryl. Thanks. There's so much work to do on the cabin; I made a list, but it's a bit overwhelming. I hadn't even considered gravel, though."

"Well your boyfriend shoulda considered it. Damn stupid of him, if ya ask me."

Beth removed the napkin she'd been wiping her mouth with, and Daryl saw one of those damned mischievous grins plastered on her face. "What makes you think I've got a boyfriend?"

"A stupid boyfriend," Daryl corrected her. Finished with his breakfast, he piled his silverware and napkin onto his empty plate. The waitress must've been watching them like a hawk and he hadn't even noticed; she was right there to replace his plate with two checks before he even saw her coming. Even though she had the iced tea pitcher in her hand, she didn't offer Daryl a refill on his empty glass. She smiled briefly at Beth, as though making sure everything was alright, and then left again.

"Well, I don't," Beth said. Daryl frowned at her, not sure where she was coming from. "Have a boyfriend," she clarified. "Stupid or otherwise."

He ignored the weird feeling in his gut. "You can't repair that damn cabin all by y'rself. That's too much work." He felt annoyed at her again. That cabin was out in the middle of the woods, miles from anyone, and very old. What the hell was she thinking, moving all the way out there by herself?

"Are you good at fixing things?" She asked, her implication hanging in the air.

Daryl decided the conversation had gotten into too dangerous of territory for him. She already knew too much about him as it was, and she was still oblivious to the fact that he was one of the blackest sheep the town's ever seen. He shouldn't even have stayed and eaten with her, and he damn sure shouldn't be at her cabin helping her fix things. This broad was way too trusting; it was a wonder she had made it this long.

"No, I'm not," he said, standing and digging a $20 out of his wallet. He looked at his check and saw that his total was only $8.64, but he couldn't bring himself to sit around any longer and wait for the waitress to return. Besides, Beth's food couldn't have been more than his, either; a twenty more than covered breakfast. He dropped the bill on the table, mumbled about having things to do, and left.

Once he was outside of the diner, he felt his muscles relax. It was still raining moderately, but he'd much rather be out there than back in the diner staring into Beth's trusting blue eyes. Naïve girl.

Then, he heard the bells on the door twinkle as it opened behind him. "Daryl, wait."

He put his hand to his pocket to see if he left his wallet, but by the time he turned to see what she wanted, she was standing next to him getting rained on again.

"What?" he said, irritated that she'd chase him outdoors when she had just started being mostly dry.

"Thank you for breakfast," she said sweetly, bracing her hands on his shoulders and perching on tip toes to give him a brief peck on the cheek.

She quickly turned and retreated back into the diner, leaving him standing in the middle of the side walk with a cheek that was practically burning from her lips.

"Lunatic," he muttered. He walked down the alley between the buildings, where Merle's bike was parked out behind the diner. A gentleman would've offered her a ride home. But Daryl Dixon wasn't a gentleman, he was an asshole.

She might not see it, yet, but she would. That's just the way things were.