Fin turned at the words to find Mr. Goldhirsh on a bike heading for him. He mounted the curb and came to a stop in front of Tea Total, dismounting to lean his bike on the window.
“What the actual fuck is he doing?” Fin whispered to Joe.
“He hurt his leg. The doctor said he needed to take it easy.”
“Well, I have a spare femur if he needs one.”
Joe snorted.
“So this is him taking it easy?” Fin moved back, and other cyclists passed, stopping beside Mr. Goldhirsh.
“Hey there, Mr. Goldhirsh. Nice spandex,” Fin greeted the man. He wore a shirt with the words Ryker Wheelies on the front. Black, with green writing. He had a blue helmet, and on top was a flashing red light. Around his face was a red bandana, and he looked like a really cheerful bank robber. “Traded in your running shoes?”
“Change is a good thing, boy.”
Frederick Goldhirsh was the most fanatically fit person Fin knew. Older by many years, he never stopped and let the grass grow under his feet. The man had more energy than the average five-year-old. Married to Joe’s aunt Jess, he was a well-respected member of the Ryker Falls community.
“These are my cycling buddies,” Mr. Goldhirsh said.
“Already you have cycling buddies?”
“What can I say, people like me.” Mr. Goldhirsh flashed his white teeth. “This is B-Rocca, H-man, Mikey, AP, and Dazza.”
“He’s serious with those names?” Fin said out of the side of his mouth.
“Yup. They all came for dinner at the ranch last night after their cycle. Great bunch of guys, if a little obsessed about things like group sets and FTP.”
“I almost don’t want to know.”
“FTP stands for functional threshold power, apparently,” Joe added.
“Of course it does.” Fin shook his head.
They were in their fifties and up from what he could make out and looked as fit as Mr. Goldhirsh but came in different shapes. Fin shook hands as he was introduced. They had the same look in their eyes as Mr. Goldhirsh, that spark healthy people tended to carry about with them.
“My tire pressure is not right. You guys go and order, I’ll be there soon,” someone said. Fin thought it was B-Rocca but couldn’t be sure.
“Need any help?” Fin asked.
“They’re pretty protective of their bikes, Fin. You go on inside now and get out of the cold,” Mr. Goldhirsh said like it was Fin who was heading toward seventy. “They don’t let just anyone tinker with their toys.”
“Did that sound kinky to you?” he asked Joe.
“More than.”
Pushing open the door to Tea Total, Fin took a deep breath and inhaled coffee and baking. Warmth settled around him like his favorite blanket.
The place was owned by the Robbins sisters, Miss Marla and Miss Sara. They’d taught most of the kids in this town at school and could still put them in their place when required. In business with them was their niece, Mandy. The place had been extended recently to include another room for selling books and more tables. There was a kids’ corner, and Mandy or whoever was handy read them books every few days.
“Oh my, look at that sight.” Fin smiled as Miss Marla tottered forward in heels. They were rarely without them unless exercising or there was ice on the streets, and even then they could manage it. The sisters had gray hair and dressed each day like the queen was paying a call. In fact, he’d never seen them look anything but classy.
“She’s not talking about us. It’s the cycling men. Clearly, she has a thing for spandex,” Joe said. He then pushed the stroller to the side and lifted his son out.
“I’m not sure if I’m insulted or pleased.” Fin took the boy from his daddy. Miss Marla hurried to seat the cyclists, and Fin tried not to be put out that he wasn’t getting that attention. “Clearly we’re losing our edge.”
“Hey, Fin, you doing okay? I heard about what you found up on the mountain.”
Mandy Robbins was behind the coffee machine. Her brown hair pulled back in a tail, she wore a dress in deep emerald green. Her brown eyes were smiling. She did that a lot these days, and he had to say it suited her. Once, she’d been shy and timid, scared of her own shadow, but no more.
