Chapter 19
Zoey
The Naked Bike Ride had rolled around, which meant that so too had dinner with Nick’s sisters.
Thankfully, that wasn’t until tomorrow, which meant that Zoey had a full twenty-four hours post bike-riding event to decompress and grill Nick about how to make a good impression.
And also a good number of hours today to do the same thing, given that he’d offered to meet her here to help out at her booth.
He was quite the booth helper. And he expanded the demographic of people who’d come up just to flirt, which meant more sales. And Zoey liked the idea of more sales given that she was down a roommate and that her rent was due for its large-as-legally-possible annual increase.
It was a gorgeous summer evening (possible zombies aside) and Zoey was marvelling at the way the light filtered through the trees at Laurelhurst Park – not the usual venue for this particular event, but apparently the neighbours up at Grant Park had hit their nudity limits.
Not to mention that the Laurelhurst Cat Mayor voting was taking place at the same time: cyclists could pop their vote into the nearby booths as they rolled past. Ainsley had spent the day door-knocking for Romero, and had left flyers at The Smoothie Maven to encourage voter turnout.
‘I’m anxious,’ she’d said, swigging atrocious wine as she’d guillotined flyers in the backyard patio of the shop. ‘Should we have done a get-out-the-vote postcard campaign?’
‘We did all we could,’ Zoey had said. ‘It’s in the hands of the voters.’
Now, Zoey leaned against her favourite tree – the stooped one with the little fairy cottages and dioramas – half watching a group of dads playing ultimate frisbee, half watching out for a good-looking lumberjack guy to make his presence known.
He did not disappoint: mere minutes later, Nick loped up, Alice cavorting around him. Nick was in his usual plaid shirt and jeans uniform, although today the plaid was a greenish blue that fitted in perfectly with the rich, deep colours of the enormous park.
‘Back where it all started, huh?’ she said, as she nodded over at the lake they’d walked around during their first … had it been a date? Looking back, she supposed that it had been. She’d certainly wanted it to be, no matter what the avoidant-attachment-style demon in her head had to say about it.
Nick nodded cheerfully as ducks plunged in and out of the water, curly butt feathers high and proud. ‘It’s hard not to get wrapped up in the magic of this place. And if you ask Alice, it has some of the best squirrel density around.’
Alice had her eye on a particularly fat squirrel who was mocking her from a branch directly above the sparkly fairy house.
‘Watch it, squirrel,’ warned Nick, ‘this girl can jump. She’s a regular Air Bud.’
A whirring sound: the frisbee was heading their way. It landed at Zoey’s feet, or near enough – she had to shuffle to catch it. She waggled it at Alice, who positioned herself in ready-to-play mode: front legs down, butt high in the air. Then she flung it back towards the frisbee dads.
But the wind was not behaving. The frisbee drifted off towards the lake, bumping and skidding until it rolled into the lake, then went floating off between the rocks and duck butts.
‘Sorry,’ called Zoey, trying to shrink down into invisibility.
But Alice was on the case. Smoothie Maven bandana flying, she went racing off to the water, plunging in to grab the frisbee. Ducks came tilting back up, blinking curiously at the marauding dog, and a few turtles slid into the safety of the water.
By the time Alice re-emerged, a small crowd had gathered and was cheering her on. Alice dropped the frisbee over by the dads, then came trotting back to Zoey and Nick, shaking herself off on both of them.
‘Ack, Alice!’ shrieked Zoey, trying to protect herself with her hands. But it was no use: wet-dog smell was going to follow her for the rest of the evening.
‘Are you repudiating Alice’s gesture of love?’ teased Nick.
Zoey was unclipping the top of her overalls, so that they’d drop down to reveal her mostly dry T-shirt underneath. ‘I can buckle these back up if you’d prefer.’
Nick folded his arms. (Something Zoey would never tire of.) ‘This is an unfair use of feminine wiles.’
Zoey made a show of reclipping and unclipping the overalls.
‘I call time out before we have no choice but to find a secluded spot. Which, as fun as that would be, would result in us missing the event.’
Hmm. Zoey wasn’t upset that she had this kind of draw over him.
‘Besides,’ he went on, teasingly, ‘I think it’s the riders who are meant to be naked, not the vendors. Not that I object to your right to be naked. But that’s a whole other brand identity. Terriffany would have a heart attack.’
‘You were so close to seeing what I was wearing underneath these voluminous garments.’ Zoey grinned evilly as she conjured up the least sexy things she could imagine. ‘Bloomers. Granny knickers. Shapewear.’
‘All at once? Impressive.’
Dammit, how did he best her every time? She shook her head. ‘All right, enough dirty talk. Time to get this booth thing happening.’
The two of them hauled her booth set-up off the back of Nick’s truck and over to where the other vendors were setting up.
Zoey grumbled as tablecloths and wooden price tags leapt from her hand wagon as though possessed by the spirit of a big-box store, then grumbled some more as she stacked them back in.
‘Not a fan of Jenga, huh?’ asked Nick, as he easily carried a fold-up table while shoving along a few crates of bottled smoothies on the dolly he’d used to transport her fridge all those weeks ago.
‘Hauling this stuff reminds me why I hate doing pop-ups.’ Zoey paused to shake out a hand. It was white from where the handle of her rolly cart had dug in.
‘It’s the last one for the season, isn’t it?’
‘I hope so. I was hoping that Terriffany would be on the hook for these, but apparently more lucrative, VC-adjacent opportunities await.’
‘Ah, yes, when you’re an aspiring founder, it’s an easy decision between smoothies and schmoozing.’
Zoey nodded. ‘I’ll figure something out for next year. Honestly I’m …’
She trailed off. She’d been about to say that she’d been thinking about going back to school, and that she’d been thinking it ever since their visit to the art museum.
Being surrounded by all of that incredible art had set the spark of her inner scholar alight.
But the whole notion was silly. How many master’s degrees did one woman need?
Especially when all they did was sit on a wall gathering dust. (And pollen. There was always pollen.)
But before Nick could press her, Reba appeared in a swirl of tie-dye, pushing along a cart that looked like it had been designed for off-roading. She’d booked a booth at this event as well – apparently she never passed up a Naked Bike Ride.
‘Evening, troublemakers!’ she crowed. ‘Are we ready for naked people and cat-mayor elections?’
‘I’ve been practising averting my eyes,’ admitted Zoey.
Reba waggled a coquettish ankle. ‘Ah, you should practise some bodily appreciation. It’s all natural. We’re all just beautiful bags of skin and bone.’
‘And muscle,’ added Nick.
Reba flapped a hand. ‘Speak for yourself.’
Nick grinned. ‘I do.’
‘Well, then, Muscles, how about you roll this cart for me when you’re done helping your lady. I overdid it on the cheese toasties and I’m a bit worried I’ll pop. Or get a hernia.’
‘Can’t have that,’ said Nick. ‘Leave it there and I’ll get to it in a minute.’
Reba strolled along after them, patting her belly as she pointed out her favourite trees, rocks and dogs. ‘I love this city. I go full Pac-Man mode every time I’m here. Just waka-waka-waka as I munch my way through every neighbourhood. Any word on the missing cat?’
Zoey shook her head. ‘We had a lead the other day, but he escaped.’
‘They’ll do that. My Ember can be quite the monster when he wants to be. Has murder on the brain, that one, I reckon. Anyway, I hope yours shows up before the votes are tallied. It’s no good to vote for a no-show mayor. Even if he is a cat with a solid platform.’
Zoey couldn’t imagine the look on Ainsley’s face if Mean George won due to a forfeit.
There was no way. She’d fight the results to the bitter end.
Demand a recount. Argue the benefits of an absentee representative.
After all, half the Republicans in the country didn’t hold town halls, and they got to keep their seats. And they were people!
‘I hope so,’ said Zoey. ‘The last time we saw him, he was in quite a state.’
She pantomimed Romero’s hissing and scratching.
‘I see,’ said Reba. ‘There’s been a bit of that going on. And not just with the pets. I went to grab a breakfast burrito this morning, and some yoga woman tried to give me a right chomp on the wrist. The entitlement!’
‘Did she mention anything about brains?’ asked Nick. ‘Just out of curiosity. We have a bit of a theory going.’
‘Brains? Like a zombie?’ Reba considered, though she seemed absolutely unfazed by the suggestion. ‘No brain talk that I can recall, but she was a bit green around the gills. Ooh, I can’t believe I’m in town for a zombie invasion! What luck!’
‘We didn’t say zombie invasion, precisely,’ said Zoey hastily.
Hopefully they were dealing with more of an aberration than an invasion.
Or better yet, she’d just connected all the wrong dots and there was a perfectly rational explanation for everything going on.
‘Besides, it is Portland. There could just be some new social movement we’re not au fait with. ’
Reba pulled the remainder of her breakfast burrito from an invisible pocket and went to work on it. ‘Well, if my decades of experience on this earth have shown me anything, it’s that the supernatural explanation is the most likely one. You know, Occam’s Razor.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite how Occam’s Razor goes,’ said Nick, setting down the dolly where they planned to set up.
‘Reba’s Razor, then.’
Zoey would’ve pressed further, but the sound of bicycle bells filled the air. They had to get set up, stat. Reba balled up her burrito wrapper and popped it in a trash can. ‘All right, let’s do this.’
The three of them raced around, finalising their booths before the first cyclists showed up.
A couple of dozen booths coloured either side of one of the paths running through the park.
Joggers, families, and the odd silent-disco participants stopped by to browse the soaps and scarves and nipple pasties on offer.
(This event was apparently that particular vendor’s biggest night of the year.)
‘There you are!’ exclaimed Ainsley, out of breath from cutting across the wide field. Flyers flapped in her hand. ‘Did you vote, Zoey? Nick?’
Nick held up his hands. ‘I don’t live in the jurisdiction.’
Reba huffed. ‘It’s not voter fraud when it’s a cat. Here, give me a ballot.’ She waggled her fingers at one of the cat-mayor booth volunteers, deftly marking up her ballot and popping it into the ballot booth. ‘Preferential voting, eh? Fancy.’
The poll worker nodded. ‘That way we get our most community-preferred candidate instead of just the one with the most votes. It’s a fairer system for all.’
‘Pair that with universal voter enfranchisement, a day off for voting, and an independent electoral commission, and you just may be onto something,’ said Reba. ‘Now where are the naked people?’
‘Here they are.’ Zoey tried not to point as a wall of flesh appeared on the horizon. Was it rude to point in a situation like this? Did naked cyclists care about things like pointing?
Bells dinged and whoops chorused as the first of an endless stream of cyclists appeared down the path in all their birthday- suit glory. The frisbee dads waved and the silent-disco people danced like no nude cyclists were watching.
‘I can deal with the nudity, but they really should be wearing helmets,’ whispered Zoey. ‘I dropped a watermelon at the shop once, and it wasn’t pretty.’
‘Well, if there are zombies lurking,’ said Nick, ‘they can help with the brain-splatter clean-up.’
Zoey made a face. ‘What a lovely way to test our theory.’
As the cyclists came by, Zoey and Nick handed out samples and vouchers for the shop, popping them in bicycle baskets and outstretched purses.
‘No pockets,’ shouted one lady apologetically, as she took a voucher, carrying it between her teeth.
Another guy rolled up his voucher and stuck it in a stretched earlobe.
Here and there, riders paused to buy a smoothie, using Apple Watches or stashed phones (stashed where, Zoey didn’t want to know) to pay.
Ainsley, meanwhile, was dancing around with a giant Romero picket sign, trying to drum up last-minute support.
Every cyclist who slowed down was ushered over to the voting booths – and handed voter sign-up materials for actual, non-cat elections.
Smart, thought Zoey. Terriffany would probably enjoy writing a case study on this.
She went to text Terriffany, but a guy on a fat-wheeler choose that moment to moon them.
‘To think,’ said Nick, using an empty smoothie crate to protect Zoey’s eyes from the offending butt cheeks, ‘you chose this life over academia.’
‘I wish I were one of those “no regrets” people, but there are some definite regrets. So,’ she said, between riders, ‘what do I need to know to prepare for your sisters?’
Nick grinned. ‘Are you nervous? You’re nervous!’
Zoey wished she could put the smoothie crate over her head for protection. ‘I’m always nervous. That’s why I have my protective bubble of resting bitch face.’
‘They’re going to love you,’ promised Nick. ‘Cleo’s a sucker for cute animal videos, Art Nouveau architecture, Gilmore Girls conspiracy theories, nail art and second-wave coffee. Larissa, well, thank God for the protective bubble of resting bitch face.’
Zoey grimaced as she handed a flyer to an old guy wearing nothing but a rainbow cape. ‘That bad, huh? I did buy a used introductory law textbook and I’ve been reading it during my breaks at work.’
Nick looked amused. ‘Of course you have. I do love those brains of yours. But not in a zombie way.’
Zoey patted her temple. ‘Thank goodness for that, because they’re not going anywhere.’
‘Not unless he gets bitten and develops a brand-new craving,’ chimed in Reba from across the way. ‘Remember Reba’s Razor!’
Before Zoey could respond, a whole horde of naked cyclists came whizzing past in a flesh-coloured blob.
‘Have a voucher!’ called Nick. ‘You can use it to cover up if the cops come.’
‘Or not,’ yelled Reba. ‘Let the goods hang out, babes! And don’t forget to vote! Democracy depends on your participation!’