Thursday came around faster than she wanted. She had left him about five voicemail messages because she was freaking out. She had done some googling after all. And my oh my. He was so out of her league. She knew that before, but Dr Google showed her just how many leagues out of her league he was. She saw him perform and the enormity of his talent and skill blew her mind. Made him even more perfect. Even more out of this world.

Of course she freaked out and called. He was a very busy man, she knew that. She left voicemails. And sent messages. Coming up with all sorts of rubbish excuses to cancel. He ignored every single one of them.

However, after the fifth voicemail - where she rambled on about how bad for his image this would be and she didn't want to destroy years and years of his hard work - he sent her a text.

It's not working, darlin'. We're going on that date and if I have to drag you out of that studio of yours, I'll do it.

Bloody hell.

He really saw right through her. She did want to go, but at the same time not. She was scared, he had been absolutely right. And at the same time she yearned for him because all she wanted to do for the rest of her life was look into his eyes and she'd die the happiest woman. But then again... She was just a mere potter. He was an amazing musician. Awesome. Greater than life.

She sighed, defeated, and took a long shower.

He said he'd pick her up on his motorbike, so she was wrecking her brain as to what to wear. In the end she went for jeans, a yellow summery top with decorative buttons and a dark brown leather jacket. She figured that would provide her with some form of protective clothing for the bike ride and keep her warm, as the nights could get chilly.

It wasn't often that she left her idyllic home up in the mountains and went into LA, so she was getting increasingly nervous about that.

At 4.28pm she heard his motorbike pull into her driveway. She locked the door and made sure the key was safely zipped up in her pocket, along with her phone and money.

He had no chance to get off the bike as she was with him in a few quick steps. He took his helmet off and gave her that smile that made her weak in the knees.

"Hello, darlin'." His eyes skimmed over her and he held out his hand for her.

"Hi Shannon."

She took it and he pulled her close, placing a kiss on her cheek.

And just like that, her nervousness melted away.

Her eyes fluttered close for a brief moment, when his scent engulfed her. Whatever he was wearing - aftershave, body spray, deodorant, shower gel - it smelled intoxicating.

"You look great."

His silent words spoken so close to her ear sent a shiver down her spine.

She pulled away. "Thank you, you look very handsome."

He did, in his jeans, his biker boots, the zipped up black leather jacket, the neatly trimmed beard and the dishevelled hair.

He held out a helmet for her. "There's a microphone in there, so we can talk."

She pulled it down over her head, he helped her fix the strap and then held out his hand for her to sit behind him. She swung her leg over and put her feet on the footrests.

He put his helmet on and turned his head to her. "Ready to rock'n'roll?"

"Ready," she said, a little apprehensively.

He started the engine, it roared to life and she could feel the vibration all through her body.

"Hold on tight, darlin'," he said, before he put his visor down. She followed suit and quickly wrapped her arms around him.

Her glasses fogged up under the visor, but as soon as he sped off down Mt Lukens Truck Trail and then joined the Angeles Crest Highway towards LA, leaving the Los Angeles National Forest behind them, the fog on her glasses cleared up.

Inside her head, however, the fog seemed to stay. She felt in a dream-like state.

He was a confident rider, just like he seemed to be a confident, competent man in everything he did.

Unsurprisingly.

It had been many years since she had last sat on a motorbike and that was with her dad, when he was still alive. But it all came back to her in an instant. Looking ahead, leaning in and looking out of the curves, cleanly, calmly, becoming one with the bike and the road.

"Have you ever ridden on a bike before?" he asked over the microphone.

"Yes, with my dad."

"I can tell," he said, "you rode the last five curves all by yourself. You've got good balance."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

He laughed. "Don't worry, I wouldn't have handed over control if I didn't want to. Did you ever ride on your own?"

They were descending into the valley, houses upon houses rushing past them now.

"No. I was too scared I would kill myself. I'm a bit of a speed whore."

She could hear his laughter over the headset and felt it rumble against her chest and her hands.

"In that case, hold on," he said and she gripped him harder as he flicked his right wrist, speeding up, zooming in and out of traffic. She hoped he wouldn't get a ticket because of her.

And then she let go of her worries and just enjoyed the wind on her skin, the feel of the man in front of her. Freedom. Perfection.

She hummed in appreciation. His left hand left the handle bar and found hers on his waist.

"Perfect," he whispered, but she may have imagined that. Riding on a motorbike was loud, after all.

They reached the city and made their way to a humble but stylish looking shop front. He stopped the bike and she got off. He ran a hand through his hair and offered her the other one, after they'd placed the helmets on the bike.

"Wow," she said, stepping inside.

It was an awesome coffee shop. It had charisma and style and the delicious aroma of coffee made her mouth water.

"What do you think?" he said, looking around with a proud smile on his face.

"I love it! It's amazing. I love the style, it's very you. Unique and cool, warm and welcoming and... one of a kind." She squeezed his hand and he smiled down at her.

He showed her the storage room, the kitchen, the office, explained where things were, how many employees he had, what his idea for the shop was.

She loved the sparkle in his eyes when he talked. His enthusiasm made her smile.

"Come over here," he said, pulling her along behind the counter.

There she saw, neatly stacked, all her mugs, cups and plates that she'd made. She turned and saw customers drink out of her mugs, eat off her plates.

"And look here," he said, pointing to a sign on the wall.

It was her sign, only he had blown it up and added to it. There was a picture of her, with her clay splattered clothes, dishevelled hair, turning a mug over in her hands, examining it, a smile on her lips. She knew when he had taken that picture, but had never been aware of him doing so.

"I hope you don't mind that I pimped it up a bit," he said.

She swallowed a lump, not trusting her voice and shook her head no. Her eyes fell onto a stack of her business cards by the cashier.

"Every customer gets your business card with their purchase," he explained.

She could feel his gaze on her. Tears were burning in her eyes and finally spilled over.

"Hey," he murmured, pulling her into his chest, where she hid her head. "Are these happy tears?"

She nodded, but kept her head buried in his chest, her hands clinging to his jacket.

He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head to her ear.

"You should be proud. We've had lots of enquiries about your mugs. Your art is appreciated by a lot more people now."

This only made her tears flow faster.

He was just too good to her. No one had ever called or considered her work art. Not even herself. And until he said it, she had never realised how much she had longed for that recognition.

They stood there for a long moment. His steady heartbeat calming her down. Eventually, she pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

"Sorry I made your shirt wet," she mumbled, drying her glasses on her top before putting them back on. "And sorry for crying on our date..."

"Don't worry about it," he said gently, his hand cupping her face, his eyes searching hers. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm just... stupid, really. No one's ever done this much for me. It's... overwhelming. Thank you. For using my pots. For supporting me."

His eyes were warm and soft. "Anything for you."

He brushed a stay tear off her cheek. "Let's go have dinner. I know this place."

He winked at her and pulled her out of the shop.

She stopped him just as they stepped out of the door, turning to look up at him. "Thank you so much for showing me. It's an amazing shop. You should be so proud of yourself."

His smile stretched over his face and he hummed happily. "Thanks, darlin'."