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I clear my throat and lock my gaze on her. I am not afraid of tears. They are just a physical sign that someone needs love. And maybe having a random woman ask you about cookies isn’t love, but I mean it lovingly and I’m hoping she’ll feel it that way. “Yes,you.”
She pulls one earbud from her right ear—the one I couldn’t see. She pads her cheek with the back of her hand, wiping away the moisture there. “I don’t know what I can—”
“Do you like cookies?”
Her eyes do a turn about the park. “Um, sure.”
“Have you made them?” I ask.
“I’ve helped my mom.”
“Great! That’s more than I’ve done.” Maybe I should have put baking on my list. But my twenty-three items are filled and I’m twenty-three years old. I don’t want a list of twenty-four. At least not until next year. So, baking. It's going to be a bonus experience as I figure out how to get my number four completed.
When it’s clear she isn’t going to move, I stand and walk over to her bench, plopping down next to her. “I’m Meredith.” I hold out a hand.
“Ah, Nikki.” She sets her hand in mine and we shake. Nikki’s cheeks shine with leftover tears.
I keep talking, like I don’t notice her tears, mostly because I think that I might embarrass her otherwise. “I’m making cookies for a man so he’ll teach me to ride a bike. But look,” I say as I hold my phone out for her to see, “this one saysbest,this one saysultimate,this one saysfavorite. Which one do I use?”
She lifts her brows, peeking at my screen. “Is there one that says easy?”
“Ooo, smart.” I type ineasy chocolate chip cookies. A dozen more options pop up. “Now, which of these?Easiest? Easiest gooey? Easy homemade?”
She taps on my screen. On the one that says,easy homemade cookies.
I read over the instructions. They seem simple enough. “Yeah. This one looks good. Thanks.”
“You don’t know how to ride a bike?” Nikki asks. And I think my quirk has distracted her from whatever’s making her sad.
“No. I never learned.” I cross my legs. “Do you?”
“I’m thirteen.” She scoops her hair behind one ear and squints up at me.
“I guess that means—yes, you do.”
“Then why do you have a bike?” She points toward my bike, propped next to the other bench.
“I bought her! I thought I could teach myself to ride. But I’m struggling.”
“YouTube?”
“Not even YouTube can help me.” I sigh, but I’m not unhappy or discouraged. I have someone to help me now. I will learn. I don’t doubt it.
“Whoa. Not even YouTube? I don’t know what I’d do without YouTube. That’s the only thing helping me pass math this semester.”
I laugh—though I don’t think she’s joking. “Do you want to take my bike for a ride?”
“Really? But you don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re Nikki and you have exceptional instincts when it comes to recipes. Don’t steal my bike, okay?”
Nikki smiles, the gesture reaching her eyes. Like a switch, she turns into one of the most beautiful girls I’ve seen—long honey-brown hair, pretty, high cheekbones.
My brows pinch together and I can’t help but beam back at her. “You’re beautiful.”
She scoffs. “I’m not.”
“You are,” I tell her.
