Ohio

Your convertible purrs at the red light, warm California sun kissing your shoulders. Your hair lightly tousles in the breeze, and the green stones of your earrings catch the golden hour light, swaying like precious pendulums from their angular frames.

A deep rumble pulls up beside you, a sleek Italian motorcycle, all black leather and red. The rider lifts his visor, revealing dark eyes that immediately find yours, then drift to the emerald movement at your neck.

"Incredible," he calls over the engine's growl, his accent thick with intrigue. "Those stones... they're like drops of jade rain. Where are they from?"

You turn slightly, letting the angular hoops catch the sun. "Ohio, actually."

His eyebrows raise in surprise, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Ohio produces such beautiful things?" His gaze travels back to your earrings, mesmerized by how they frame your face. "I thought only Italy knew such artistry."

The light turns green, but neither of you moves. "The earrings are called Ohio," you say, revving your engine playfully.

"And where does one find Ohio?" he asks, leaning closer.

"Webster Street," you reply, pulling away with the satisfaction of knowing you've left him completely captivated.