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Number four: Ride a bike.
I pull in another breath, filling my lungs with spring air and enjoying the pressure there. I stand and brush off my cotton dress. “Excuse me?” I say to the couple. “Do either of you know where I can get a bike?”
Ten minutes later, I learn that Janice and her husband, Ralf, of fifty-one years, do not know where I can get a bike, but the lovely couple feed the birds every single Saturday on this very park bench—where they met back in school.
With Ralf’s suggestion, I typebike shopinto my phone’s GPS and follow the eight-minute walking directions to the nearest shop, the Bike-A-Lot. Not bad—eight minutes, if I had a bike, it would only take me two. I smile at the thought.
Riding a bike is going to be much better than trying coffee—no doubt about it. I tuck a strand of my chin-length hair behind one ear and let the sun wash down over my skin.
My Keds pad along the cement sidewalk, and in no time, I stand in front of two glass double doors. I adjust the crossover bag at my chest and push my way inside.
My eyes have just taken in the wide open space at the center of the room and the shiny bicycles along the walls when—“Oh!” An extremely fluffy face suddenly takes up my entire view. My new four-legged friend has his paws on my chest, and while he’s thoroughly licked my chin and jaw, he’s trying very hard to reach my nose and head. “Hello there,” I say. And while startled, I am not afraid. He’s only being friendly.
“Max! Come!”
I giggle. “You are not who I expected,” I tell the yellow pup.
“I’m sorry. He’s too friendly. He—” The man snatches the dog by the shoulders, pulling him off of me.
“Oh!” I chirp. The man from McDonald’s. He’s here! As tall as ever andbroad.
Wow. Do men really have shoulders like this? I’m studying his chest, his shoulders, and the space they take up when he speaks again.
“You? Coffee girl?”
I flick my gaze up to his eyes. And those eyebrows. I can’t help but notice them again. His hair is long and a bit unruly—I like it. I’d like to touch it.
But his eyes, while a pretty amber, are frowning. Can eyes frown? Because I’m pretty sure his are scowling.
I’ll have to ask Uncle Bob. He’ll know. Bob may not leave his house much anymore, but he knows people. It’s his job.
“Yes, and it’s you!” I say through a laugh. Maybe if I laugh, his eyes will smile. The thought has me dropping my gaze to his mouth, willing the corners to turn up. His lips are full and plump. I’d like to touch those too.
I’m not crazy. I don’t normally want to touch a stranger’s hair and lips. But there’s something about him. Something that says—touchme.
Or…maybe not—I think as his lips don’t turn up with my will. No, they dig farther into their brooding frown.
“You don’t have any hot drinks on you, do you?” he says, all while holding his dog back from me.
I knit my brows and dart my gaze from the dog back to him. “Was that a joke?”
He doesn’t answer. I’m not sure he knows.
“I’m Meredith Porter.” I hold out one hand.
His untrusting, brown eyes glance toward my palm, but he doesn’t let go of Max.
“He doesn’t bother me,” I say, patting Max before holding out my hand again, waiting for him to take mine.
Finally, he loosens his hold on Max’s collar and sets his palm in mine. His hands are calloused and large, and their warmth brings a smile to my lips.
“What’s your name?”
“Why are you here?” he says in answer.
“I’m buying a bike today? You too? What a funny day. First McDonald’s and now a bike shop? What a small world.” Maybe he has a list too.
“I’m not buying a bike. I work here.”
