Annabelle Duncan is an enhanced memory of when I came to California. Here is a sample:

Thank heavens there was no line at the counter. With ticket in hand, she raced down the corridor and up the escalator and to the frustratingly long security line. When she finally got through, she hurried down the long, second floor corridor, reading the numbers above her as she passed under them. When she found the right section, she plopped into a seat near a massive window to await the plane's departure.

Relieved to have made it on time, Annabelle took a moment to catch her breath. As she did so, she became aware of just how cold she was. She unzipped her bag of essentials, rummaged through it and remembered with irritation that she had left her jacket in the cab.

She rubbed her arms. "Shoot," she mumbled. What a way to start a new adventure - without a wrap! It's a good thing I chose LA, she thought.

She had caught the attention of the man sitting across from her. She had been aware of his eyes on her from the moment she had sat down and started going through her bag. He was still staring at her with amusement. She glanced up uncomfortably, intending only to quickly glance his way to see what his deal was, and as she did so, something strange happened. His dark eyes completely captured her attention.

He smiled warmly at her. He was a handsome man, and very big. Whoa. In fact, thick ropes of muscle wound up his forearms, to disappear under his tee shirt sleeves. Whoa again.

His face was framed with thick, curly, coal black, shoulder-length hair. He smiled at her again, nodding slightly. But Annabelle gave him only a cursory nod and no smile. She was not interested in men. Not now. Not even handsome strangers who were roped with muscle.