Cerulean Cape Riverboat, wheelbarrow, wildflower and barley

Better luck. The girl blinked, cocking her head as she regarded her strange new acquaintance. Was it lucky to fall in love? Love never made any promises; love never shielded a heart from shattering to a thousand pieces, scattering to the wind. She couldn't think of love as lucky, not by itself.

He's not a good man, she corrected automatically, blinking again at the woman. And I don't know where he is. So... not that lucky.

Why do you want one? She asked next, curious in spite of herself. A man. A good one.