Chapter 9
The Great Bike Debacle
Tessa
At least, that's what Skip said.
Translation: he didn't want to cover the counter when the shop was actually busy.
Whatever. At least I had thirty minutes to clear my head before the lunchtime rush.
My plan was simple – ride my loaner bike around the island, enjoy the crisp spring air, and maybe stop thinking about Ryder Vaughn and the Chicago connection.
I ducked out the rear exit and spotted the bike exactly where I'd left it – in the narrow bike-rack near the door. Mine was the only one locked – not because everyone else was too trusting, but because I was too paranoid to lose a bike that wasn’t even mine.
On autopilot, I unlocked the cable, pulled back the bike, and swung a leg over the seat. And then I froze.
The seat was too low.
The handlebar grips were wrapped in white tape.
And the bell – the cutesy silver one on the left – wasn’t mine. I knew this for sure. And why? Because my bike had no bell.
I winced. "Oh, no."
I climbed off to double-check, praying I was wrong.
I wasn't.
In my pre-dawn fog, I must've grabbed Maisie's personal bike instead of the loaner she'd been nice enough to let me borrow.
Fantastic.
In one dumb move, I'd officially become the world's worst roommate and a bike-swiper by mistake.
With a groan, I dug out my cellphone and opened our only text thread – one with so few messages I could've recited them by heart.
With nervous fingers I tapped out, "Hey, uh… funny story. I'm pretty sure I took your bike." I paused before adding a nervous smile emoji to show I was extra-embarrassed.
And then I hit send.
It didn't feel like enough.
Quickly, I started typing again. "It was dark this morning, and I was half-asleep. I'm sooooo sorry."
I wasn't merely sorry. I felt like an idiot. Maisie – trusting as she was – kept her bike outside on the front porch of the home we currently shared, her home, to be exact.
I'd been keeping my loaner out there too until yesterday, when Maisie noticed the lock and mentioned it wasn't necessary here on the island.
I hadn't quite believed her. But I also hadn't wanted to cause more friction, so I nodded like I agreed while secretly deciding to stash the loaner inside the back entryway and hope it wasn't an issue.
I'd been stashing the bike lock in my travel pack so she wouldn't spot it at home.
Smart, right?
Apparently not.
Even now, I could still picture Maisie's face as she'd told me, "Nobody steals bikes here."
Apparently, I'd just proven her wrong.
Clutching my phone, I held my breath and waited for her reply. When the typing dots appeared – and then vanished – I waited some more. Maisie was unfailingly polite, and yet, lately, I'd seen signs of cracking.
She wanted me gone. She never said so, but I could see it in her eyes whenever we crossed paths.
Would my stupid mistake finally make her say it?
When her reply finally appeared on my screen, I didn't even know how to take it. It was one single word. "Thanks."
I frowned. Thanks for letting her know?
Or was she being sarcastic, as in, "Thanks a lot, idiot."
I waited a long moment before texting again. "But don't worry. Your bike is totally safe at home, I promise."
I chewed on my lower lip. Maybe the promise was premature, because for all I knew, someone had broken into the house, stolen her bike, and dumped it into the lake – just to make me a liar.
I stared at my phone, desperate for a longer reply – anything to tell me how badly I'd screwed up. Like, what if…Oh, God. What if she'd had to walk to work because of me?
Maisie didn't even own a car. And even if she did, it's not like she could drive it here on the island. This left only three ways to get from Point A to Point B – by foot, by bicycle, or by horse.
Maisie had no horse. And even though she owned an entire fleet of bikes at her bike shop, she kept only two bikes at home – hers and the loaner. If she hadn't spotted the loaner in the back entryway, she surely would've been stuck walking.
But she never used the back entryway, which meant – damn it – she probably had been stuck walking.
And this time, there was no reply at all.
I felt a familiar twist of guilt. Great. The world's most annoying roommate strikes again.
Me. Not her.
Should I send her another text?
Probably not.
With a sigh, I shoved my phone into my pocket and mounted Maisie's bike. And then, feeling like a giant clod, I took off down Main Street, hoping to clear my head.
The street and sidewalks were a blur of motion and noise, filled with tourists sampling fudge, souvenir hunters drifting from shop to shop, and countless bikes along with horse-drawn carriages.
It was madness, but I liked it, maybe even loved it, the whole small-town vibe that made me feel nice and cozy compared to Chicago.
As I pedaled beyond the main tourist area, the clip-clop of hooves faded, and the island started to breathe.
To my right, Lake Huron glittered like glass in the morning sun, and I couldn't help but smile – until my mind drifted to the day I'd first shown up on Maisie Pickett's front porch.
Sure, I'd needed a place to lay low. But mostly I'd come looking for her.
Not Maisie.
Delaney. My sister.