June eyes me with skepticism.
“It’s true. Just ask her.”
“Does she know we had ice cream last night?”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t know what flavors. I’m not one to kiss and tell.”
Again, June can’t hide her grin, but I can tell she’s trying to while staring at her protein bar before taking another bite. Making her smile is quickly becoming my new obsession. My past is filled with memories of people scolding me with my three least favorite words: that’s not funny.
I can smell the blueberries from here as June scans the park, looking anywhere but at me. My attention remains glued to her.
“Stop staring at me,” she says.
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re so beautiful, it’s a little unfair to everyone else.”
I think she’s blushing, but it’s hard to tell in this heat. “Stop,” she whispers, risking a glance at me.
“Not even a woodcock doing its mating dance could distract me from looking at you. A beaver is another story.” I shrug. “But the American woodcock is no match for you. So you’ll just have to deal with my staring.”
June makes a sad attempt at rolling her eyes before looking at me. She wrinkles her nose. Is she trying to look tough or serious? That’s not the way to do it. It only makes her look more irresistible.
“I meant what I said last night. No second date,” she says.
“I know. But do you still mean it today?”
She studies me in silence.
I look like an idiot. Hell, I am an idiot. But I’m also hopeful because I see the indecision on her face. Her brain is telling her one thing, but another part of her body is telling her the opposite.
“Fine,” she says begrudgingly.
I grow an inch taller, chest inflated with confidence. As the others return to ruin the moment, slowly putting their helmets on, I worm my bike to the front of the pack, right behind June.
“Teacher’s pet?” she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
She has no idea what a terrible student I was, but I’m eager to learn whatever she’s teaching.
After the tour, the family of four thank June and hand her a cash tip. I can’t tell for sure, but it looks like fifty bucks. Callie hangs her helmet on the handlebar of her bike and retrieves a crisp hundred-dollar bill from her wallet.
When June turns, Callie hands her the money and offers a kind smile. “Thank you for the lovely tour. You’re a delight.”
I’m sure that hundred bucks covers a tip from me as well, but I’m not the one handing it to her, so it doesn’t feel like it’s from me. God, I hate this feeling. There’s a crumpled-up five-dollar bill in my wallet, but it’s in Callie’s belt pack since these stupid biking shorts don’t have pockets. But what am I supposed to do? Ask for my wallet in front of June? Then pull out a measly five bucks?
“Wow, that’s very generous of you,” June says to Callie. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re most welcome. Flynn, I’m going to use the restroom before we leave.” She points toward the sign to the right of the counter.
June’s attention settles on me as she pulls the tie from her braid and combs her fingers through her hair. It’s pure torture.
“I don’t have my wallet on me. I’ll tip you on our date if it goes well.”
Her nose crinkles. “Okay, because that won’t feel weird.” She laughs.
“Now that I think about it; I don’t really want to date you. Feels like a lot of pressure.”
