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“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice small. I hate sounding small, being wrong, being at fault.
“It’s okay.” Meredith tilts her chin, peering up at me, kindness and forgiveness in her eyes. But then, I don’t know her eyes very well. Maybe that’s how they always look.
I clench my jaw. “It’s not. I should have taken better care. You should have been in a helmet, and I should have been holding the bike.”
“Uncle Bob saysif you’re living, you’ll have the marks to prove it.”
“That’s lame.”
“It’s not. I don’t mind a scar to show that I tried. I’m not afraid.”
“So you’ve mentioned.”
My eyes drop to her mouth. And then I remind myself that I’m here for a bike lesson, not to gawk at a girl six years younger than me.
I set the helmet on top of her head, tapping the top. “Let’s attempt no scars today? Okay?”
She nods. “I’d be okay with that.”
An hour later, Meredith is still working on balance. I’m not sure why my brain thought adult equaled easy. It took Alice several days to catch on, and apparently, Meredith would be no different.
She takes off her helmet, done for the night.
“So, is that list on you?” I ask, curiosity still itching inside me. She said she’d show me. And for some odd reason, it’s not something I want to let go of. I want to see it, to know why she made it in the first place.
In a way, I have a list of my own. A mental one. Things that I’d like to do—or would have done, had I not been holding down the fort.
College. Teach—like mom. But after stitches and a hole in Meredith’s head, maybe it’s better I never perused that one.
Travel. Anywhere and everywhere.
That’s it. But Meredith has twenty-three things on her list. Things she hasn’t done. Things that must be important to her.
“My list is always on me.” She smiles like she might be taunting me. “I thought maybe you forgot about it.”
“Nope. I remember everything.”
“Then you’ll remember that I said once I’mriding,I’ll show it to you. I’m not riding yet. But I did balance and move forward with my feet out like Superman for about four seconds.” She gives me a thumbs up, pleased with her progress.
“That doesn’t count?”
“Nope.”
“Then I have to tell you, you didn’t look like Superman. More like Donald Duck.”
Meredith laughs.
And I’m glad she knows I’m joking.
“Levi, would you want to go to dinner with me?”
“Dinner? I don’t usually eat out. I have chicken marinating.” Besides, I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Then suddenly, my mouth is opening… Maybe it’s her downcast expression, but it’s as if I’m listening to the words as they leave my throat rather than actually speaking them. “You’re welcome to come eat chicken at my place.”
Her sky-blue eyes sparkle—turning my stomach into a hand mixer. “I’d like that.”
We step outside, all while I’m asking myself what I’ve gotten myself into. This isn’t a date. This isn’t even a hang-out. This is a man and a woman—who need to eat—and I have chicken.
There. That didn’t sound too cavemanish—right?
