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“Oh.” She taps her chin with one finger. “You can’t take my money, but youcanstill teach me?”
“Um…” my brows furrow. Technically, sure, I can teach anyone to ride a bike. But why would I do that? “I—”
“I could pay you in baked goods.”
“Baked goods? Ah, no.”
“Um, YES!” Alice cries from behind me. “Chocolate chip cookies!” She pumps one very happy fist in the air.
Max trots over to Meredith, remembering her scent—funny, so do I—and saying hello without a sneaky licking attack.
“Do you like chocolate chip cookies?” Meredith says, her blue eyes bright. She holds her hands together at her chest, pressing in on the edges of her denim jacket. The same one she wore yesterday. “I could make you cookies—every time we have a lesson.”
“I’m not a teacher.”
“You’re a bike expert.”
“I manage this shop,” I say. A manager doesn’t make me an expert—however, I also fix the bikes and ride every day, so I’m not exactly a novice either.
“He taught me to ride,” says helpful Alice. “I bet if you added a little milk to the bargain, he’d give in. Uncle Bear loves milk and cookies.”
Yes, yes I do. Just like any other five-year-old.
“Done!” Meredith holds out her hand, ready to shake on something I haven’t agreed to when the bell above the shop door rings.
Saved by the bell—literally.
Until I see who it is, and then, the termcondemned by the bellmight be more accurate.
My sister, tiny in build but big in belly, waddles through the front entrance of the Bike-A-Lot. My best friend and brother-in-law follows after her.
“Hi, Alice!” Coco says, beaming at her stepdaughter.
“Mama!” Alice chimes—this is a new term of endearment. Alice adores Coco, but she sees her actual mother one weekend a month. She has a mother—maybe not an involved one, but she does. Still, Alice asked two weeks ago if Lulabelle, her little sister, would be calling Coco by her name. Jude explained that she would not. She’d call her mom or mommy, just like any other child talking to their parent. Alice then announced that she would not confuse her little sister by calling CocoCoco. She’ll call her own mom—Mom, and Coco—Mama. My sister has secretly been on a high ever since. “Did you get another outer space picture of the Lulabelle?”
Coco slides a gaze to Jude. “Ah, yes—”
“But, Alice, we’ve told you not to call your sister an alien.”
“I didn’t! This time.” Alice moans. “But that picture says something different. That is not my fault.”
Alice reaches for Coco’s hand.
“Aww.” Meredith ooo’s over the sight of my sister’s family. Hers is a foreign voice. It’s clear that there is an observer to the side of us—someone who isn’t normally privy to these kinds of family moments.
“Oh,” Coco says, one hand on her protruding stomach, her eyes locking on Meredith. I would never ever say this—I’d like to live to see my thirties—but I wouldn’t be surprised if two kids are living inside of my sister. “You have a customer. Sorry, Levi.”
“She isn’t a customer.” Alice twirls beneath Coco’s arm. “This is Meredith, she is our new friend, and she would like to pay Uncle Bear cookies for bike lessons. Because they aren’t strangers. He had his arms all around her.”
“Hey!” I bark. “How did you hear—” I clear my throat, my eyes darting to my sister. Alice had been listening to us talk a whole lot longer than I realized. “That isn’t exactly right.”
Meredith lifts one shoulder. “Mostly right.”
“Aw.” The smile that overcomes Coco’s face is frightening. She is way too happy about cookies and bike lessons and misinformation from a seven-year-old. Her eyes slide from me to Meredith and back again. “That’ssosweet.”
“Except that it’s not that sweet, and anyway, I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can,” Coco tells me, one hand in Alice’s, the other on her hip.
