She was the girl next door, petite and pretty, with blue eyes and a golden ponytail that swayed gracefully against her gracefully swaying hips. Even her knees were lovely. When she smiled, everyone was happy. When she cried, everyone was sad. Wherever she was, people wanted to be.

He was brutally big, an old-fashioned steam locomotive, and black as molten sin, but he didn’t have an unkind bone in his body. He didn’t have the IQ of burnt toast or the morals of a fence post, and when he danced, steel turned to sunbeams. When he spoke, people listened. When he was silent, people prayed. Wherever he was, people wanted to be.