“I know, but…” My voice trails off. That manuscript, it's my baby. My pride and joy. It's where I've poured my heartache and my euphoria. “Can I include some kind of disclaimer in place of a dedication?” I'm only half kidding.
Aidan chuckles. “Let's pretend you can. What would it say?”
“Please be kind. A real human with feelings wrote this.”
Aidan makes a left turn with one hand. The other runs over the stubble on his chin. “I was thinking of something more direct.”
“Like?”
“Don't be an asshole.”
“Asshole behavior is subjective.”
“True. I guess we're going with your disclaimer then.”
Aidan pulls into a small parking lot where three other cars are parked.
“You ready for this?” He offers me a fist across the center console.
“No,” I respond, bumping his fist with my own anyway.
We get out and Aidan unhooks the bikes from the rack.
“Get on.” He pushes one bike toward me. “I need to make sure the seat isn't too high before you start to ride it.”
I do as he says, then climb off so he can make adjustments. When he's finished, he places the tools in the back of the car and pushes a button on the trunk. Aidan ducks out of the way and it closes on its own.
“Here.” He hands me a helmet. I take it, making a face.
“Safety first, Natalie.” Aidan makes a show of placing his own helmet on his head and buckling it below his chin.
I do the same, mumbling, “Don't use your teacher voice on me.” I know wearing a helmet is the right thing to do, but an immature, superficial part of me thinks I look goofy.
Swinging a leg over his own bike, he climbs on and places one foot on the ground beside him. He gazes at me expectantly, so I follow suit, using my left foot to push up the kickstand. I wobble at first, but a moment later my muscle memory takes over.
Aidan has already taken off, but I'm slow to catch up. After a minute of pedaling I feel more confident, and quickly I’m up to speed with Aidan. Whoever maintains this path does a good job. It’s mostly free of rocks and leaves. The cold air whips my face.
For the most part, Aidan leads the way. I don't mind. He seems to know where he's going, and I have no idea.
After a while, Aidan pulls off to the side. He reaches between his legs and pulls out a bottle of water from his bottle mount. He nods to my bike, and I follow his eyes. Below me, snuggly fitted in a holder, is a bottle of water.
“Thank you for putting that there,” I tell him, grabbing for the water and taking a big drink. I’m more than a little exerted. Walking around New York City isn't the cardiovascular event I thought it was. Then again, it doesn't help that I am catching cabs and Ubers more than I probably should.
“Want to go a little more?” Aidan asks. The wind picks up and sends my hair swirling around my face.
“Sure,” I say, attempting to spit hair out of my mouth.
Aidan leans over and pushes my hair back from my face. His hand lingers just a fraction of a beat too long.
“Are you mad at me?”
His question confuses me. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I didn’t tell you about my parents.”
“Not at all. It wasn’t your secret to tell.”
He gazes at me but says nothing. Suddenly he jumps on his bike and takes off.
