Page 2 of Summer Ever After
“That makes it weirder, I think.” His laugh wasn’t nervous, but there was a hint of a question in the low tenor. I wondered if he thought that I was homeless. There was duct tape on the toes of my shoes, I was wearing an oversized t-shirt over some vintage 1990s bicycle shorts complete with a green neon stripe down the side. The baseball hat that I’d had for ten years, had a huge sweat stain below the logo for the Brankmere Private School. “I’m Max.” He took a bandana from the pocket of his pants and wiped his hands before extending one toward me.
“Daisy,” I replied. It wasn’t my real name, but it might as well have been. Christina refused to call me by my real name, Rose, and after years of cruelty, I had conceded. Christina thought that Daisy was plain and ordinary, more like me, but the joke was on her, I thought that daisies were beautiful and whimsical.
He shook my hand. “Did you just look around and pick the name of a flower?”
I laughed. “If I’d done that, I’d have picked a cuter name - Sunny. Some people call daisies weeds, but my mom always said that a weed is something you don’t want in your garden. I’d love to have a garden filled with them.”He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, I think that Daisies are prettier than sunflowers. I would want them in my garden.””
Was he flirting with me? There was no way. He was probably getting my information in case there were reports of any prison breakouts or serial killers in bike shorts on the loose. The compliment fell heavily, like a weighted balloon, it had been so long since anyone had said something positive to me, that I didn’t know how to take it. So, I did what felt right – and avoided it.
“What’s your name?”
“It’s Max. Way less interesting than Daisy.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Is Max short for something?”
His cheeks reddened. “Maximillion.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I was going to guess Maxwell, but that’s ten million times cooler.”
He shrugged. “I guess. I never really liked it.”
There was a pause in the conversation. I cleared my throat and pointed to his bike. “I can help you start it. I think that you just need an extra set of hands.” “And you need someone light. My dad always made me do this part.” Before he could refuse, I set my bags down on the ground and stepped on the peg, slinging my leg over the top of the bike.
“Wow,” his voice croaked.
I pretended that I didn’t hear him. “Better get pushing.” I hadn’t been on a motorcycle in years, but my hands settled onto the throttle and brake lever, in the hot afternoon sun, as though I’d driven one that morning. The vintage motorcycle could be jump-started if the battery was dead.
“Are you holding on?”
“Of course, I’m holding on.” I looked over my shoulder as Max leaned his shoulder into the back of the bike like a linebacker running into one of those padded things in the movies. “Eeeeee,” I squealed. It wasn’t a gentle rolling start and my head jerked back with the momentum. Max was strong, and he was fast. The bike engine groaned beneath me and my hair started to blow in the breeze as we really got moving.
Max shouted, “Now.”
I popped the clutch and the motorcycle growled to life. Revving the engine a couple of times, I clicked up/down a few gears and left Max behind in a cloud of dust. “Don’t steal it!” he shouted as I left him in a cloud of dust. There was both laughter and a hint of nervousness in his voice. I could’ve easily driven that bike away and left him in the middle of the field of sunflowers. He wouldn’t have starved to death, there was some bologna in the grocery bag.
I went a little farther down the road than necessary, telling myself that I needed to ensure that the bike wouldn’t stall, but the feeling of the wind in my hair, and the powerful engine between my legs, felt like freedom. When I returned to Max, he had my grocery bags slung over his shoulder – helmet in hand. “I should’ve made you wear this - he held up the helmet. I didn’t know that you were the girl version of Evel Knievel.”
Revving the engine twice, I interrupted his speech about the helmet, set the bike onto the kickstand, and got off. It idled next to us, radiating intense heat into the space between our bodies.
“Don’t turn it off until you can charge that battery.” I took the bag of groceries from his hand and started to walk away.
“Wait. Where are you going?” he asked.
“Home.” I hoped that the sigh was hidden in my words.
“No, you’re not.” He took the grocery bags and put them into one of the metal boxes on the side of the bike and then put the helmet on my head. “No one is walking home in this heat. Not on my watch.”
I wanted to resist, but the idea of another ride on the bike, my arms wrapped around Max’s solid waist, well I couldn’t say no. My feet throbbed as though to remind me that it would be crazy to turn down his offer. “Well…” I kicked at the gravel but was reminded that there was duct tape on the toe of my shoe. I wished that I could hide it behind the other, but that one was also covered in tape. “I suppose you’ll need me if it stalls again.”
“Exactly.”
He had the best smile I’d ever seen - teeth so perfect I wondered if they were veneers – but the best part wasn’t his teeth, or his lips, it was his dimples – deep commas in the side of his cheeks emphasizing the emotion between them. He also had one of those chin dimples, which I usually hated, but on him, just like on Superman, it just worked.
He put the spare helmet on his head and patted the seat. “You want to drive?” His voice was muffled.
I was tempted but shook my head. “I want to see if you can handle this thing.”
“Oh, I can handle anything I put between my legs.”
