Chapter Seven
T o Sawyer’s intense embarrassment, Anna had stopped her bike at the top of a hill just east of town on Riverview Road, while she waited for him to catch up. His thighs burned, his calves ached, and he was sweating bullets. His hairline was so damp, the safety helmet slid down on his brow. He probably should’ve tightened it as Anna had suggested when they met up down by the Warner mansion.
She’d also suggested lowering his seat another inch as she’d circled him, examining his form on the new bike and then having him ride a block while she watched. They had done that, but she hadn’t warned him about how sore his butt was going to get. How sore and tired everything from his waist down was going to become after less than an hour of riding. At this point, he was grateful she had pooh-poohed his suggestion that they ride to the vet clinic. They’d stuck to the streets in town, riding uphill and down at a steady pace. No way he could’ve made it the few miles out to Price’s.
At last, he got up to where she stood next to a brick sign announcing they’d arrived at River Run . Panting, he braked, pulled off his helmet, and hopped off his bike. “W-where are we?”
“We’re at River Run—it used to be a trailer park until a couple of years ago. A tornado took it out. Now it’s all new manufactured houses. My friend Beck’s mom and stepdad bought the place and completely redid it.”
“It’s n-nice.” He swallowed, trying to control his breathing, but his heart was about to pound out of his chest, and the thought of sitting on that bike seat again made him cringe. What a humbling experience the morning had been. He thought he was in great shape—hell, he helped John deliver a calf yesterday—his arm shoulder-deep in the cow before he landed on his butt with the calf on his lap—and never felt a twinge afterward. He’d been running from Mac’s house down to the River Walk damn near every morning before he went to the clinic—he was in shape. At least he thought he was.
Almost as if she could hear what he was thinking, Anna gave him an encouraging smile. “Riding a bike uses different muscles. It takes some getting used to.”
“How…how far have we r-ridden?” He was still breathing hard enough that words were difficult.
“Not quite two miles, but it’s been a lot of inclines.” She peered at him. “Do you have a towel or something in that pouch?”
He shook his head. The pouch attached to the back of his seat contained a power bar, his wallet and keys, and an extra bottle of water. Holding his helmet under his arm, he reached for the water bottle attached to the down tube of his new bike, opened it and started to chug, but she stopped him.
“Slow. Only a couple sips at first. And deep breaths through your nose and out your mouth in a sigh.”
He complied despite the urge to down the entire bottle. At last his breathing slowed. “I’m a runner for Pete’s sake. This shouldn’t be so hard.”
“Like I said, different muscles.” She pulled a small yellow hand towel out of her own seat pouch and passed it to him. “Here, wipe your face off and give me your helmet. Mitch and Derek never make helmets tight enough. I think they’re afraid they’ll squish your head or something.”
He handed over the helmet, clipped his half-empty water bottle back into its holder, and pressed the towel to his heated face. “I’m going to confess, this is kinda humiliating. Riding down the hill from Mac’s was cake, and I was hoping to impress you with my bike-riding panache.”
She giggled. “Panache?”
“It’s a word. Flair. Style. You know.”
“I know the word. Just never expected it to come out of your mouth this morning.”
“I have style,” he grumbled and inhaled the scent of Anna on the towel—something crisp and fresh like April morning air—but there was also a flower. Lilacs? Yes! It smelled like the lilac bushes outside his grandmother’s house up by the dunes of Lake Michigan, triggering a vivid memory of late-May days after school was out when his parents dropped him and his brother and sister off for a month while they traveled. He and Huck and Phoebe had climbed the dunes, frolicked along the shore of the icy lake, and sipped lemonade on Nan’s screened porch.
“I’m sure you do, but biking is harder than we remember it from when we were kids. How old are you?”
“Thirty-six. How old are you?”
She blushed, actually blushed as she fussed with the helmet. “Thirty-eight. Give me that towel. You’ve sweated up the inside of this thing.”
He tossed her the towel and watched as she wiped out the rim and worked the straps. His breathing had finally come back to normal. “An older woman. Wow. I’ve never dated an older woman before.”
Her hands stilled and she peered at him over the top of her sunglasses. “This isn’t a date.”
“Really?” Sawyer begged to differ, but he was pretty sure pushing her would mean he’d be finishing the bike ride alone. Best keep it light. “’Cause I was going to buy you breakfast at Paula’s when we got done. But if this isn’t a date, you can pay for your own breakfast.”
She thrust the helmet at him. “Try this.”
He clipped on the helmet, which was snugger. “That’s better, thank you.” Silence stretched between them for a few moments while she took a sip of water, carefully rolled the towel, and tucked it back in her bag.
She eyed him critically as he squirmed a little and glared at the bike seat, reluctant to get back on. “You shouldn’t wear jeans to ride. Buy some bike shorts—you can find them with padding. And maybe go by Back Alley and have Derek put a cushion on your seat.” She pointed to her own bike seat, which he saw was covered with a thick pad attached with what looked like narrow bungee cords. She was dressed in snug stretchy leggings and a matching long-sleeved shirt and jacket—an outfit that showed off her slim muscular figure.
“I’m okay.” He wasn’t about to confess how much he hurt. The seam of his jeans had made the ride particularly uncomfortable and his hoodie and Henley were way too much weight for the warming-up April morning. He unzipped the sweatshirt, yanked it off, and tied it around his waist.
“Whatever you say.” She shrugged, then raked her gaze over him. “Sitting on that thing is going to make your seat slippery.”
His gut churned. This ride wasn’t turning out at all like he’d imagined. He’d pictured a gentle ride along the River Walk, the two of them chatting and laughing as they pedaled along. Maybe coffee at Paula’s afterward, they might have breakfast, and he’d get to know her even better. Instead, they’d barely spoken as she’d led him up hill and down, across the town streets from the River Walk to the top of Main up here to River Run. He was hot and tired and frustrated and longing for a cup of coffee. Despite how much she enticed him, at the moment, she wasn’t his favorite person.
He took a deep breath. Maybe if they got off the bicycles… “How about we bike to Paula’s?” He raised both hands, palms facing outward. “You can buy your own breakfast and critique my rusty biking abilities all you like. I just need coffee.”
Her brows furrowed and she pursed her lips—those damn luscious lips. “Okay.” She got on her bike. “And ya know, because I kinda feel sorry for you, I’ll buy your breakfast.” She stepped on the pedal and took off.
*
It was a crappy thing to do, she’d admit it—leaving him there by River Run’s entrance and flying down the hill toward town. She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t show up at Paula’s at all. She’d kept her distance from him the whole bike ride, simply leading the way on what she thought was an easy tour around the streets of town. She hadn’t even taken time to notice that he was struggling until they’d gotten to River Run, and he looked like a man who’d been fleeing for his life instead of a guy on a simple Sunday morning bike ride.
He was in great shape. After all, he was a runner, but biking was a whole different sport. She should’ve been more aware. He’d confessed he hadn’t been on a bike since he was a teenager, and now she knew that was twenty-odd years ago. But he’d gotten to her with the date comment. She put her bike in the rack outside Paula’s and secured it with the cable lock she kept in her saddle bag.
Leaning on the rack, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited. He ought to be there in a couple of minutes—the ride was downhill all the way. She glanced at her smartwatch, and after another minute or two, tapped her fingers on her forearm nervously. A couple of dressed-up people, no doubt on their way to church, passed on the sidewalk with a smile and greeting. First service at St. Agnes was probably starting and the Methodist church down on the corner had a small group on the steps. The bells at St. Simon’s on the hill tolled, calling worshippers to nine o’clock mass, but Sawyer still hadn’t appeared.
After ten minutes, she pulled her phone out of her jacket’s zipper pocket and checked for a text or a missed call. Her phone was on silent, maybe she hadn’t noticed the buzz of the vibration against her ribs. Nothing . Should she call him? She huffed an exasperated breath. That wasn’t going to happen because she didn’t know his number. They hadn’t exchanged that information yet. And the number she’d given the clinic was a fake, so even if he had gone into the practice’s records to find it, he wouldn’t be calling her. Heaven only knew who he’d get with the number she’d recited.
Maybe he was just riding leisurely—trying not to get all hot and sweaty again. Her stomach clenched. But what if he’d fallen or gotten hit by a car? Dammit. Five more minutes and she was going after him. Follow the route he should’ve taken. She paced on the sidewalk, waved at Clyde and Gloria, who called good morning from across the street as they walked to the Methodist church.
Sawyer had been frustrated, that was clear enough in his expression when she mentioned that he shouldn’t ride in jeans. She’d been critical, but hadn’t she also been sympathetic? And he was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. Shouldn’t he realize that biking used different muscles than running or walking? Not a human doctor, but physiology was physiology, right? He should’ve known.
But you weren’t easy on him for a first ride , a little voice inside her nudged. Had she been showing off? Riding in front of him, leading him over the hilly streets and steep inclines of River’s Edge without a thought to his comfort? She shut her eyes tight as a wave of shame washed over her. It’s true . She’d been childish and unkind. This ride wasn’t a competition with her brothers, whom she loved besting at any opportunity. This was a newcomer’s first real bike ride in years. What had made her want to show him what a great biker she was? After all, he’d humbly asked her to go with him as he relearned the skills necessary, and he’d been nothing but kind and funny and sweet.
Opening her eyes, she spun on her heel, preparing to unlock her bike and head back up toward River Run. But there he was, riding up from the River Walk. Relief flooded through her and then unreasonable anger because he really didn’t owe her anything at all. Not an explanation or even showing up for that matter. After all, this wasn’t a date. She bit back the sharp where the hell have you been? that rose to her lips.
Instead, she forced a smile. “I thought you got lost.”
He hopped off his bike with no more vigor than he’d shown half an hour ago. “Sorry. The trip down the hill was so easy, I decided to go down to the River Walk and see how hard it was to ride back up here.”
“And how hard was it?”
“Still hard,” he admitted with a chagrined expression. “Gonna to have to keep practicing, I guess.”
He looked so tired and over it all that Anna couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. “Here, lock up your bike and I’ll buy you some breakfast.”
“I don’t have a bike lock.” He shoved the front tire in the bike rack next to hers. “Do I need one here?”
“Of course you do. This isn’t some kind of Utopia. There are crummy people everywhere, even in River’s Edge.” Anna bent down to open her own lock and thread the cable through his tire as well. “I’m surprised Derek didn’t add that to your stuff.”
He hung his helmet on his handlebars as she had hers, swiped his sleeve over his forehead then raked his fingers through his damp hair. “Okay, I’ll get a bike lock for next time.”
Paula’s was already crowded, so Anna sent Sawyer to nab a table near the window while she stood in line to put in their order—two coffees, two orange juices, and two egg-and-sausage biscuits. Because she was feeling guilty, she added a bear claw for Sawyer. If he didn’t eat it, she would. He was already seated, but stood up as she approached the table clutching two coffees and the table number tent that Paula had handed her at the register with the promise that their food would be out shortly.
He started around the table and she bumped into him. “ What are you doing?” She sidestepped, set the coffees down, and slipped into the chair opposite of where he’d been sitting.
“I was going to pull out your chair.”
“Why?” Pull her chair out? Was he serious?
The look on his face as he plopped back down across from her said he was dead serious, but he only shrugged. “That’s how I was raised.”
Immediately contrite, Anna closed her eyes for a second. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to anyone being so—” She ransacked her brain for an appropriate term that wouldn’t offend.
“Polite?” he offered with a quirked brow. “Gentlemanly?” He lifted the lid from his cardboard cup to add half-and-half from the bowl of capsules on the table between them.
She smiled in spite of herself and reached into her jacket pocket to hand him one of the napkin-wrapped flatware bundles she’d grabbed at the register. “Either of those.” She removed her lid and added a packet of sweetener and two capsules of half-and-half, stirring the dark brew into a light brown color that almost matched Sawyer’s hair. “I was raised with two younger brothers and cousins who’ve always treated me like one of the guys. I’m not used to gentlemen.”
He returned the smile and her insides melted. That dimple … “I was raised by two very proper academics who insisted I learn the niceties. So, I open car doors, I pull out chairs, I ma’am and sir my elders…” He shrugged.
Anna tried to remember the last time any man had opened a car door for her or pulled out a chair. Like never if she was truthful. At least not any man her own age or younger. “My dad still does those things for my mom…and me if I allow it.”
“Why would you not allow it if it makes him happy?” Sawyer leaned back to allow Olive Sutton, Paula’s second in command, to set plates in front of them. “What’s this?” He pointed to the bear claw.
“Thanks, Olive.” Anna smiled up at the older woman. “I thought you might need more than a breakfast sandwich, and Paula’s pastries are crazy delicious.” Anna was glad for the distraction because she wasn’t sure how to answer his question. Why would she get annoyed when her dad or any man treated her with gentlemanly kindness?
“It looks good. Split it with me?” He hovered his knife over the plate he’d pushed to the center of the table.
“Sure.” She watched as he cut the pastry into two mostly equal portions. “I get first choice since you cut it. House rules.”
He swiped the frosting-and-cinnamon-coated knife on top of the piece closest to him. “Whose house?”
“Mine when I grew up. Anytime we split anything, like a candy bar or a cupcake, the person who didn’t do the dividing got first choice. I think I’ll take this one.” She nabbed the piece he’d added the frosting to and put it on her plate, chuckling at his baleful expression. “You should have seen my brother Joe—he practically took out a tape measure to make sure he got the pieces exactly equal.”
“You have two brothers, Joe and…”
“Cam. Cameron. Both younger. You?”
“An older sister, Phoebe, and a younger brother, Huck.”
“Huck? Really?” She took a bite of her sandwich, savoring the combination of warm runny egg yolk and spicy sausage.
“My mom is a literature professor—mostly American classics and English lit. She would argue Mark Twain was the most seminal figure in American literature.”
“And Phoebe? Shakespeare? As You Like It ?”
He sighed. “Salinger. Catcher in the Rye .”
“That makes sense, too, if your mom’s into American lit.”
“What about you?” He took a bite of the bear claw and closed his eyes in obvious ecstasy. “Your name comes from Poe?” He sat back and cleared his throat. “ It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee. ” He sounded exactly like James Earl Jones.
Anna’s belly flipped at his deep voice and perfect delivery of the old poem that her grandfather Walker used to quote to her when she was little. She’d especially loved that he’d pick her up and swing her around on the last lines of the first verse, “ And this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me. ” She said Poe’s immortal words out loud and her belly flipped over again at Sawyer’s grin.
He was bringing things to her mind that she hadn’t thought of in years, warm happy memories that had been obscured by the painful track she’d been on with Daniel in the last year. She’d hidden her tender heart well from her friends and family—how was it this guy was making it twinge to life again?
She blinked and swallowed the bite of biscuit. “Sadly, nothing so literary. I’m named after my great-grandmother, who died before I was born.” She paused. “I think, because I’m blonde and blue-eyed, sometimes it feels like men don’t see me for the independent and strong woman I am.”
Sawyer frowned, clearly needing context.
Heat filled her cheeks. “Y-your question, you know, earlier about why I don’t always…appreciate a man who opens doors and pulls out chairs,” she stammered, feeling foolish and embarrassed. Why on earth did I back up to that topic? Too late now.
His smile was kind, almost indulgent, and she wondered if she should be offended. She wasn’t, though, merely intrigued. And she didn’t want to be intrigued by Sawyer Braxton or any man. She hated being flustered, dammit, and she didn’t need or want a man. For God’s sake, Annabelle, get it together.
She squared her shoulders. “I don’t need a man to protect me or treat me like I’m fragile.”
He nodded and there was that dimple again. “Tell you what. I don’t mind being fragile. If you’ll agree to have dinner with me on Friday, I’ll let you open doors for me and pull out my chair. Whaddya say?”