'What am I doing?' Sherry asked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She'd been asking herself the same question all day.

    Had she done the right thing in agreeing to meet Jeff? Marci thought so, egging her on to send the sexy 'Harley-honey' photo instead of the snapshot with the baby taken at the last family reunion. She'd been draped across the cycle saddle wearing a leather bustier and frayed Daisy Dukes.

    Though she couldn't remember what she'd been thinking while the photographer snapped the shots, her eyes and lips echoed what they'd been doing only minutes before the picture was taken. Over a year since then, and the memory still upset her and excited her in equal measure. It hadn't been a good relationship, but there had been some really good moments.

    'Think about something else,' she scolded, and turned to the present dilemma. She mentally ticked items off her 'be-safe' list.

    Arrive separately at a neutral location: The Quiky-Mart would be brightly lit and have plenty of other witnesses - er - customers if her e-quaintance turned out to be less than the gentleman he seemed.

    Let people know where you'd be and with whom: Marcy knew, but wouldn't tell unless...

    Unless! "What am I doing?" she said aloud, startling at the sound of her own voice. Good Lord! Ahead, the road dipped and turned, but the convenience store glowed amber, red, and white a few miles away, sitting like a beacon and drawing her car forward like some sort of super magnet.

    Her stomach quivered. Sherry looked more closely at her nervousness and realized that some of her disquiet was worry. Would he like her? Would he think her as pretty in the flesh as in the biker-babe photo? And what would he think of a woman who would meet a guy in the middle of nowhere without a plan of what to do next?

    Was this slutty and fast, or just dating in the new millennium? Ah shit.

    At the top of the next rise, a mile or less away, taillights flashed as cars were sucked into the pot-holed parking lot.

    Would he be as good a conversationalist as he'd been a correspondent? Would he look like his photos? If he was as nice as he seemed, why wasn't he married? He'd told her why and, at the time, she'd believed him but now doubt crept in.

    Would he show at all?

    Sherry slowed at the next crossroads, ready to bolt back the way she'd come.

    What if he showed up and she didn't?

    Was this a date or destiny? Only one way to know for sure.

    She kept driving.