He shrugged, self-conscious. “Don’t get your expectations up. I just thought… I don’t know, I’m already making you go on a ride with me. I didn’t want you to go hungry.”
The puddle on the ground? Yeah, that was where I just melted.
Out loud I managed a cool, “O-okay. That sounds good.”
* * *
Two hours later,I collapsed on the blanket he’d laid out at a serene spot near the lake he’d mentioned. It was every perfect thing he’d promised it would be. This was maybe the most tranquil place I had ever been in my life. I didn’t even know it existed this close to Durham. Or on planet earth in general.
We’d been riding for a long time. Vann was a total expert on a bicycle, while I trailed behind him and tried not to crash into a tree.
I had wrongly assumed that because I could survive spin class, I could ride a bike. Through a forest. Also, there was that saying, “Like riding a bike,” which implied that once you learned how to ride a bike, you never forgot.
What a bunch of bullshit!
First of all, I didn’t ever remember bike riding being this hard. Ever. Especially not when I was a kid. And I used to ride my bike everywhere. Like all over. I was a total pro between the ages of six and thirteen.
Fast forward fifteen years and I learned the hard way how advanced brakes had gotten. Also, how sharp pedals were.
And not to be crass, but this seat wasn’t nearly as nice as the design I’d rocked in elementary. My vintage childhood banana-seat beauty was an entirely different species than what Vann had me on today.
It was like the difference between a shark and a minnow.
And I was learning the hard way how to ride a shark.
But we’d had fun. He’d pulled over a few times to show me some pretty spots in the dense forest or help me figure out things on my bike. Like the gear shifts. And how not to kill myself every time I tapped on the handlebar brakes.
And that didn’t even touch how hard of a workout this was. I was just over here huffing and puffing while he casually pulled out our lunch and spread it over the blanket.
I discreetly checked out his head and body, looking for any signs of sweat. There weren’t any. This man was officially an alien.
Oh, good Lord, I didn’t even want to know what I looked like to him. My hair had been matted down by the helmet I’d abandoned as soon as we’d stopped riding. My makeup was testing the limits of waterproof and physics and the general rules of the universe. And I was very concerned I smelled bad.
I knew what I looked like after spin class. It was amazing he hadn’t assumed I was a grizzly bear come to take his lunch.
Or did that only happen in Yogi Bear cartoons?
“This place is breathtaking,” I panted, pretending not to pant and that I wasn’t out of breath at all.
He nodded, but his attention stayed fixed on what his hands were doing. “I found it a few years ago. I come back often.”
“By yourself?” Fishing much, Dillon? I resisted the urge to slap my hand over my eyes.
He laughed at my lame attempt to get former dating information out of him. “Mostly. I find I do my best thinking here.” He nodded toward where we’d parked our bikes. “And on one of those.”
“How’d you get into cycling? Or was it something you’ve always done?”
He handed me a plate that was so healthy and organized I couldn’t help but smile.
“Don’t judge me,” he added quickly.
“For what?”
He heard the strained tone of my voice and laughed. “You chefs have a serious chip on your shoulder when it comes to eating healthy.”
“Not true!”
“Kale chips are delicious. I promise.”
