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“For sure—not the hours of practice we’ve put in together. But one day of yoga.”
She sets both hands on her handlebars, but she stands to the side, her feet are on the ground, ready to walk the thing to the park.
I tap her seat. “Hop on.”
“But the park isn’t for a few blocks.”
“We might as well start practicing now.”
“Right,” she says, determination in her voice.
She straddles the bicycle, setting her bottom in the seat. I don’t have to give any instructions—I’ve given them so many times. She knows them by heart. She walks the bike along the sidewalk, while I walk beside her. She kicks off, her feet falling to the pedals.
Meredith is all trust. She doesn’t even look back at me to see if I’m helping her balance. She believes in me and, more so, the power of yoga.
By the time we reach the park, I’m feeling like she’s steady, more steady than ever before.
“I’m letting go, okay?” The words come out with puffed breaths as I jog beside her.
Meredith says nothing, her feet are spinning and her eyes are focused—ahead, not down. She’s got this.
The tip of the back rim of the leather seat slips through my fingers, though I keep up the jog, staying with her until—until I can’t. She’s too far ahead. She’s riding.
Meredith Porter is riding!
The magic of yoga.
“Levi!” she calls, realizing what she’s doing.
“Turn around,” I yell back. She’s so far ahead, I’ll never catch up on foot.
She takes the cement path that circles her back around. I skip over to the end of the path, watching, hands on my head, as she rides right toward me.
“I’m doing it!” she bellows, her cheeks swelling with a grin.
She is, she’s doing it. She also isn’t slowing down. And she’s headed right for me. “Snap.” We haven’t gone over brakes since that very first day. I am a fairly decent teacher—except when it comes to Meredith, or maybe all adults. I’m not sure, but I’ve taken for granted so many things, assuming that she just knows.
“Brake,” I call to her. “You need to brake.” I lift my hand, clapping my fingers to my palm as if to show her. “Slow down, Mer.”
If that woman gets another stitch on my watch, and by my stupidity, I will personally kick my own butt.
“Mer.”
“Got it,” she says, but she brakes hard. She’s close now. Close enough that I can race toward her, catching her before her body decides to fly over the top of her suddenly stopped handlebars.
Her breath hitches and she holds one hand to her chest, the other is flat on the top of her helmet. Her bike is on the ground, but she’s still upright. I’m holding her beneath her arms, keeping her from flying forward or falling down. She stumbles and her chest bumps mine. Meredith tilts her head up, blonde hairs wisp out from beneath her helmet and across her face. She beams up at me, her grin stretching as wide as it can. Her eyes lock with mine and refuse to let go.
“I did it, Levi! I did it!” Her arms swipe around my neck and she pulls me down to her five-foot-four level, hugging me close. “I did it,” she says through breathless puffs, her mouth right at my ear. She pulls back to peer at me, smiling something fierce.
I’m not sure I’ve seen a grin like that before—ever in my twenty-nine years.
I decide here and now—if this is the reaction completing an item on her list gets, then I am here for it. I will personally make sure that Meredith crosses off every single item on that list.
21
Meredith
Levi’s arms are like pillowing boulders, strong and steady, but soft and comforting. I won’t ever complain about being wrapped in those arms.
