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“No,” he says, quiet, but still smiling. “I should have been paying attention. My brother would be annoyed with me.”
“Levi? Is Levi your brother?”
“Yeah.” His grin somehow brightens even more. “You know Levi?”
I beam back at him—like his sunshine smile is contagious. “I do! He’s teaching me to ride a bike. We’re… friends…sort of. I’m Meredith.”
He chuckles and holds out a hand. “Miles.” We shake, then Miles shoves both his hands into his pants pockets. “That’s a pretty accurate statement for all of Levi’s friends.You know, I think my sister mentioned you.”
“She did?” I don’t know why that pleases me so much, but it does. “Why does Levi only havesort offriends?”
“Because he’s Levi.” He chuckles again and bobs his head down. As friendly as Miles is, I think he’s shy. “And,” he continues, “because he was too busy taking care of everyone in our family to make many friends. I’m glad he’s found a friend in you.”
Would Levi call us friends? I mean, I’m the girl who forced him into helping her, only to take up his entire night with blood and doctors and drool. Does that constitute friendship?
“So, now you’re riding?”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head—which only makes it throb. “I am not riding yet. But hopefully soon.”
“Do you want to practice?”
“You don’t mind?” I like these Bailey boys. They’re like a fresh breath of Cajun shrimp and clean soap. To be clear—Levi’s the Cajun shrimp.
“Nah. I’m just hanging out until Levi gets back from the bank. Pick a bike.”
“Oh! My bike should be here somewhere.” I search around the room, but it must be in the back.
“You grab the bike, I’ll find a helmet,” Miles says.
Then we break—like we’re a team and we’re headed onto the field. I press my lips together and hold back my giddy laugh.Number eighteen: play a team sport.This doesn’t count of course, but it makes me excited for the prospect of number eighteen.
I set my container of cookies on the front counter, then head to the back. There are a whole lot of bikes back here. Different shapes, different sizes, different styles and colors. It’s impressive.
But none quite like mine. Lilac sits away from the others, propped up by her kickstand.
“Found my bike,” I call.
11
Levi
Deposits made. Jenkins called. I’ve got two more bikes to fix before the end of the day, and then I’m helping Mom with Alice. Coco and Jude are attempting a date every chance they get before the baby arrives. And then, after babysitting, this day is over.
Last thing on the list—collapse into bed.
Another one bites the dust.
I hold the white paper bag with Miles’ favorite donut in my left hand while steering my bike with my right. I swoop around the corner and slip off my bike before it’s even come to a stop. I love bike weather. We get snow four of the twelve months in Coeur d’Alene. They are my least favorite of the year, all because it’s pretty difficult to ride my bike to work in the snow. That stationary bike in Mom’s spare room does nothing for me. I get no cyclist high from that contraption.
Miles has a customer. Hopefully, he was able to answer any questions that came up. He can run the register, and he’s knowledgeable enough, but he’s not exactly a cycling expert.
There’s a blonde in a helmet, sitting atop a lavender town bike.
In a dress.
With white tennis shoes.
I know those legs.
