“Even if you didn't, my mom has all that too.” Aidan sits back, his eyes on me. I get the feeling he's waiting for me to continue to challenge him.
Pointing outside again, I say, “I’m not riding on that road. There are people in Porsches who drive way too fast.”
Aidan laughs and shakes his head. “I found a bike trail on Google Maps. Are you done arguing yet?”
Shawn gets up from the table. “I don't know if she'll ever be done arguing.” He winks at me and walks from the room, Aidan's dad following him out.
Grabbing the remaining apple from the cutting board, I push back from the table and rise. “Let me grab my jacket. And all my other winter gear.” I make a face as I say it.
“Meet me out front in five minutes. I'll fill water bottles for us.”
I head upstairs, unsure why Aidan wants to exercise in the cold.
I make it out front ten minutes later, bundled up in all my cold-weather clothes.
“You’re late,” Aidan says, opening up the passenger door of his dad's Range Rover.
“Did you know people dressed as marshmallows are more likely to fall down the stairs?” Carefully I climb inside the car and place my hands on my knees, turning to look at Aidan. He stands with one hand propped on the door frame, his mouth open.
“You fell down the stairs?”
“No. I caught myself.”
Relief washes over his face. Wagging his finger at me, he says, “No falling off the bike.” The door shuts before I can answer him.
“I can't promise that,” I say to the empty car. I don't think I've ridden a bike since high school.
Aidan gets in and starts the car. He starts driving, and I turn around to look for the bikes.
“They're attached to the back. There's a bike mount.”
“I didn't realize your dad is a biker.” I pause, catching my bottom lip between my teeth as I try and find the right word. “Cyclist? Is it called a cyclist? Bikers wear leather chaps. I think.”
Aidan makes a right turn out of the driveway and onto the main road. “He and Shawn ride bikes. And, yes, they would be called cyclists.”
“Got it,” I nod, tucking my hands between my knees.
“My mom said she started your manuscript last night.”
My heart does a flip-flop. I haven't seen Diana since she said goodnight to us last night before heading up to bed. She wasn't at breakfast this morning.
“How does that make you feel?” Aidan glances at me, then back to the road.
“Terrified.”
“Why? Your work is great.”
“According to one person.”
“My opinion doesn't count?” Aidan grabs his chest with his right hand. “I'm hurt.”
“You know what I mean.” I picture Diana in her favorite armchair, curled up and flipping the pages of my manuscript. “What if she hates it?” The thought makes me want to wretch right here in this fancy SUV.
“She might.”
“Aidan!”
He rolls his eyes. “She won't. But you have to have thick skin. Some people will love it. Some people will hate it. It's the nature of the beast.”
