The second the elevator doors open and she sees the adorable pink three-wheeled bike, she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
“What’s this for?” she asks, her voice high.
“Well, the other day when we were talking, you mentioned you’d never ridden a bike before, and I just couldn’t believe it. Everyone should get the chance to ride a bike.” I gesture to the pink cruiser with the tassels. “And this one—with the three wheels—is really stable, so there’s basically no learning curve at all. I thought we could take a ride around the park and maybe have a picnic.”
Her face lights up, and for a second, I think she might cry. “Oh my gosh. You are the sweetest. Yes, that sounds so fun.”
Relief washes through me. “All right. Good. Great.”
I grab the helmet hanging from her handlebars—pink, of course, with little daisies painted on it—and step closer. “Safety first,” I say softly, placing it gently on her head.
She looks up at me as I adjust the straps, her brown eyes warm and bright, and I have to force myself to focus on buckling the chin strap.
I clear my throat and give her helmet a light tap before taking a step back. “There. Perfect.”
“Do I look ridiculous?” she asks.
“You look adorable.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning.
I retrieve the cooler and bag of picnic supplies from the back of the truck—sandwiches, fruit, cookies from the bakery down the street, a bottle of wine—and load them into the wicker basket on her bike.
“Your basket is going to come in handy,” I say.
“It’s so cute,” she says, running her hand over the handlebar tassels. “I love it.”
We head out of the garage on our bikes, Tessa having no trouble at all with the three-wheeler.
I lead the way along the sidewalk, keeping a moderate pace so she can stay right behind me. The park is only a few blocks away. The afternoon sun is warm but not too hot. A light breeze carries the scent of fresh-cut grass.
Once we make it to the park, we ride side by side around the park’s paved path for a while. Every now and then, I glance over at her, and each time, she’s wearing the same wide smile—completely lost in the moment.
Seeing her like this does something to me. It makes me want to give her a thousand more moments like this.
After a while, I spot the perfect place for a picnic beneath a large oak tree, its branches spreading wide to create a canopy of shade.
“Over here,” I call, steering toward it.
She follows, braking carefully as we pull up beside the tree.
“This is perfect,” she says breathlessly, climbing off the bike and looking around.
I pull the picnic supplies from her basket and spread out the blanket I packed, smoothing it across the grass. Tessa sits down cross-legged, still wearing her helmet, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You can take that off now,” I say.
“Oh.” She reaches up and unbuckles it, then pulls it off and sets it carefully beside her. Her hair is staticky and sticking up in places, and she tries to smooth it down.
“Here,” I say, reaching over and gently fixing a piece that’s sticking straight up.
Our eyes meet, and the moment stretches between us. She looks away first, her cheeks flushing pink.
I clear my throat and start unpacking the food, trying to ignore the way my heart hammers in my chest.
Tessa’s eyes widen suddenly, her gaze fixed on something behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see what she’s looking at.
Jack jogs past, about fifty yards away, trying—and mostly failing—to look casual as he positions himself near a cluster of trees with a clear line of sight to us.
