Get ready for the greatest afternoon/evening of your entire life. Only one rule—we both have to say “yes” to everything (like they do at improv theatres). Don’t worry, strictly plutonic activities planned and no permanent ink of any kind. If you can agree to that one rule, I promise you will have the best time you can remember. I’ll be back ASAP with our mode of transportation. Dress is very casual, but make sure you have swimwear. I’ve got the towels packed, and dinner is sorted.
Cheers,
Leo
P.S. Let yourself have this. You deserve it more than anyone I’ve ever met.
Well, that’s so sweet, isn’t it? Sweet and terrifying in a way that has my stomach flipping and flopping like a tilapia that’s been tossed onto a boat deck. It’s the word “swimsuit.” Oh! I could pretend I forgot it, or I couldn’t read his writing, or tell him I’m on my period. I cringe as I imagine myself saying, “Sorry, but it’s my time of the month” to his gorgeous face. Embarrassing to be sure, but no less so than letting that hunk of manly perfection see me in my mumkini.
Improv rules. Huh. Can I agree to that? I mean,reallyagree to that? I stare out the window, a feeling of restlessness growing inside me. Maybe I should. Saying no to everything fun certainly hasn’t made me happy. “Idodeserve this,” I say out loud. I’ve had a crap weekend so far, and I deserve one fun afternoon before I hunker down and study for the next several weeks straight.
Marching up the stairs, I hurry to my bedroom to put my mumkini on before I can change my mind.
Once I have it on, I glance in the mirror and consider seeing if I could pop over to a local shop to pick up a burkini.
“No, you’re fine. Just do this, Bree. He’s not interested in you romantically anyhow, so what does it matter if he sees you in your swimwear?”
It doesn’t. So just do it.
I pull my navy T-shirt on over top of my swimsuit, then put on my cropped blue and white gingham summer pants that I bought in a moment of ‘I feel pretty.’ I stuff some knickers, my bra, and my swim skirt in my bag, and jog down the steps and out the door.
When I walk out onto the driveway, I see Leo wearing blue shorts and a fitted white T-shirt that leaves nothing to my overactive imagination. A backpack is slung over his shoulder, and after a second, I realize he’s standing next to an old-timey tandem bicycle. He gives me a little bow. “Ah, Ms. Lewis. Right on time. Your carriage awaits.”
“This is the mode of transportation?”
“A bicycle built for two,” Leo says with a big grin. “Fun, no?”
I cover my mouth with one hand and I laugh while I shake my head.
Leo holds up one finger. “Improv rules.”
Taking a deep breath, I say, “Oh God, okay. Why not?”
“Don’t worry. The tires are filled up, and I’ll do most of the pedalling—not because you’re incapable, but because you’re tuckered out.”
“Thanks.” I stare at him, and for one brief moment, I wonder if I’m in a drunken slumber and have dreamt this entire mostly awful-turned-impossibly wonderful day. “Where are we going?”
“That cannot be revealed until we get there.”
“In case we get lost and end up somewhere unintended?” I ask, walking over to the backseat.
“Precisely.” He takes my bag from me, puts it in the basket at the front, then steadies the bicycle while I climb on.
My stomach flutters as the bike tilts left and right while he gets on. And we’re off and the flutters turn to bubbles of laughter. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Ridden a bicycle?”
“Not a tandem one. You?”
“Never, but the moment I saw it, I knew we’d be good at it.” He says over his shoulder as we pick up speed on the hill that leads to the main road.
“Where did you get this?”
“A couple down the street own it—Edna and Phil. I noticed it in their yard, and I asked if I could rent it.”
“The Cruikshanks? In the grey house on the corner?”
“Yup.”
