The move has been hard on me. With college behind me now, I set out to the Midwest. Illinois, actually. A small town called Canton. It’s not exactly my dream town, but it’ll do. Besides, I am ready for a change from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. I can’t take that lifestyle anymore. Parties, drinking, always being up at the crack of dawn — that kind of life gets to you after a while.

I’m getting older. It’s time to find out who I really am. Of course, my friends are all completely shattered over the fact that I’m leaving them. “You’ll hate it out there,” they told me. “Canton, Illinois is the worst place on the planet. I’m pretty sure there’s like no people under 50 years old.”

I figure it’ll be a nice change of pace. Besides, Chicago is just a short drive away.

I set out to become a teacher. Despite my friends’ constant groans, this is what I’ve always wanted to do with my life. I want to help kids grow through their circumstances. America doesn’t have the best education system, but the country deserves the best teachers and I’m willing to try and be that.

When I set my suitcases down and the movers have unloaded all of my boxes into my house, I sit in the study and look out the window. It’s snowing outside and it’s beautiful. I go and make a cup of coffee and sip the hot contents. There’s nature out here. Real nature. Trees, bushes, and even the occasional animal runs by.

In New York, we had all of that too, only it was covered up by skyscrapers, and the concrete jungle that is the Big Apple. Here, I can breathe freely. I can finally rest knowing that I’m part of a community.

When I finish my coffee, I click the light on in the kitchen and notice it’s broken. In fact, I test all the lights in the house and none of them turn on. “Dammit,” I mutter. I grab a new set of bulbs and try them. Still, nothing is working. I add that to my list of things to do this week and walk outside into the cold.

I head “downtown” for the Winter Parade and Festival. I don’t know a soul out here and I figure it might be a good place to meet new people, maybe even people my age.

I grab my bike and go, feeling the cold winter air against my face. The snow is light and just forming around the sides of the street, but there’s a visible path toward downtown, which is only about ten minutes away from my home. The downtown here is quite a bit smaller than the one I’m used to, but it’s got a nice quaint feeling to it. That, coupled with the festivities of the season, I feel like a child again, carefree and happy.

I glance to my right and see a squirrel scurry up a tree. To my left, other cyclists ride by. In front of me, the marching band slowly walks by, with their bellowing trumpets and crashing cymbals. Everything is so beautiful here, I just feel so—

I hit an ice patch and skid, veering until I crash into a big man, and then a pile of snow, bike sliding from underneath my feet. “Shit!” I yell, plunging headfirst. I completely black out.

I open my eyes to a sea of people forming around me. If this happened in New York, things would be different. People would just walk by me, ignoring my pain.

“You alright? You crashed right into me,” someone says. It’s that man I slid into, but it’s not like I meant to. I glance over my shoulder and see him, tall and strong, standing over me.

“Shit,” I say again, covering my mouth. “I’m okay, I think. Sorry about that.”

He’s got tattoos and a military-type haircut. “It’s okay. Just try and watch where you’re going. It’s not really the time of year to ride your bike around,” he says, holding his hand out.

“Okay,” I sigh, disregarding his hand. I help myself up, feeling annoyed he would even say that to me. “Sorry for ruining your day I guess.” I rub my head and get back onto my bike

“Hey, wait,” he says, as I pedal away. “You shouldn’t get up so fast. You could have a concussion!”

“Leave me alone,” I find myself saying. I could have said worse. If this happened in the city, I would have flipped him off. However, I know customs are a little different here. People act a little politer. Well, sort of. That guy was kind of a dick.

Muscular, tall, broad-shouldered, and a total prick. Great. Somehow, I know I’m going to run into him again. This town is way too small not to.

I park my bike in the center of the festival, locking it up tight. I head for the nearest kettle corn stand. That was always my favorite as a kid. “Hey,” I hear his voice again. Dammit. Just leave me alone.

I turn around near the stand. “What?” I ask him. “Look, I’m sorry for bumping into you. It was an accident, okay?” I stand there, breathing quickly. I don’t know anyone out here yet and so far, the interactions with the townsfolk aren’t going too well.

“I just came over here to—” he starts talking, but I interrupt him. I don’t care what he has to say. I didn’t invite him over for a full-blown conversation.

“Can’t you just let it go?” I ask him. “I told you, it was an accident.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says. “Okay? I didn’t mean to rub you the wrong way. I was startled myself. I just wanted to know if you’re really okay. You hit your head pretty hard.”

“Oh,” I stop myself, taking in a deep breath. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.” I finally get a good look at the guy and even though he’s the type of guy I would assume would be a total dickhead, he’s actually got very kind eyes.

“Okay, good. I’m sorry again, ma’am, but I had to make sure before I head back into town to do some repairs. You’re all good? You sure?” he asks.

I notice him glance at my tits quickly and I blush. He looks away fast, trying not to be rude. Still, I saw it. “No, I’m okay,” I tell him again. “Thanks, and, um, I’m sorry again.”

“I’m sorry too,” he says, looking away awkwardly.

“We’re both sorry then,” I smile, looking down.

“Okay, well, uh. Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says.

“Hey, you do repairs?” I ask him, remembering the broken light switches.

“Yeah, I own a repair company,” he says. “You need something fixed?”

“Yeah, actually. I have some light switches that won’t turn on any lights,” I tell him.

“Did you try new bulbs?” he asks, smiling.

“Yes,” I haughtily reply. “Do you want my business, or what? You have a card?”

He reaches into his wallet and I can’t help but notice his undershirt, clutching to his abs and chest. His biceps are practically ripping at the seams. I gulp down and quickly make eye contact with him, hoping to God he didn’t see me just do that. When he smiles and hands me his card, I know that he saw me. Ugh.

I quickly make up an excuse. “Did those hurt?” I ask him, motioning at his tattoos.

“Nah,” he laughs. “Not worse than getting shot.”

I take his card and pocket it. “What? You’ve gotten shot before?” I ask him.

“Long story,” he laughs. “Anyway, I gotta run. Call me if you want those lights fixed.”

He walks away and I’m left staring at the man’s ass, moving up and down in those jeans. I pull out his card again and look at his name. Addison Williams. Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to hire that hunk of a man to fix my house? The answer is an obvious: Yes, ma’am.