Page 86 of Story of My Life
“Very peaceful,” Felicity said over the litany of swear words that was coming from the front of my house.
“You don’t by chance have a tire pump, do you?”
“So you just picked up andmoved here without even seeing the place?” Felicity asked as I muscled air into the front tire on theflagstone patio she’d installed herself off the side of her house. It was crowded with potted plants and a screened-in catio that housed a fat tabby whose only sign of life was an occasional tail twitch.
“To be fair, Darius’s auction listing took some creative license with the condition of the property,” I said, not wanting to sound crazier than I was.
“Still, that’s giving main character energy. I mean it was a bold move,,” she added quickly, as if she were used to talking to middle-aged folks whose grasp of slang had ended in the 1990s. She topped off my glass of homemade lavender lemonade. “Sometimes I wish I were brave. But then I remember how comfortable I am and decide that being brave is overrated.”
“I feel more desperate than brave most days,” I confessed, screwing the cap back on the tire valve.
“You faced down Emilie Rump in a town meeting. That’s brave.”
“Oh, God. I don’t know whether to be proud or embarrassed. I don’t remember seeing you there,” I said, blowing my bangs off my forehead.
“I watched the livestream. I, uh, don’t like to leave my house much,” Felicity said. “It’s my weird quirk.”
“We’ve all got ’em,” I assured her.
“Really? What’s yours?”
“You mean besides crashing my car into the town sign and being accused of vehicular birdslaughter? I have to sleep with my hands and feet under the covers so the monsters under the bed won’t get them.”
“Pfft. That’s not weird,” Felicity insisted. “Everyone does monster prevention.”
“Okay. How about I can only watch reruns on TV while I’m eating dinner, I act out the dialogue I’m writing with my face, and once I take a pair of socks off, I can’t put them back on? Also,I just snuck out of my own house because being surrounded by attractive, available men makes me break out in hives.”
“I think we’ll get along just fine,” Felicity predicted.
Ten minutes later,I was sufficiently sugared up, dressed for a brisk summer ride, and ready to escape the dusty, crash-y mess that was my house.
I was buckling my helmet into place in the driveway when Cam appeared on the porch roof to hurl the Pepto Bismol–pink bathroom sink into the dumpster.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
“Going for a ride,” I said, swinging my leg over the bike.
“Try not to destroy any public property.”
“Me me mee me mee,” I mimicked.
“Real mature, Trouble. Watch out for birds,” Cam warned.
I smirked and righted the bike, balancing on two wheels without moving.
“I think I’ll be all right.”
He shook his head. “I can’t watch this. If I see you fall, I’ll feel obligated to drive your blood-soaked body to the doc, and I’ve got too much shit to do today to play chauffeur.”
“Later, loser,” I said, sticking my tongue out at him and pushing off.
The muscle memory came back in a rush. I took off down the sidewalk, leaving Cam’s “that woman is a menace” in my dust before bunny hopping off the curb and into the street.
The sweltering breeze in my face brought back memories of weaving through standstill traffic and swooping through crowds of jaywalking pedestrians. I’d been a bike messenger for three exhilarating years after college before I’d sold my first book.
I patted my backpack to make sure I had remembered my phone and wallet, then took a fast loop around Main Street. It was another quiet day in town, I noted, veering off onto Lake Drive. To my left, the pristine lake waters sparkled in the morning sun. A handful of boats and kayaks crisscrossed the lake’s surface while a small crowd of people enjoyed a summer morning on the sandy beach and swimming area.
A silent shadow fell over me, and I hunched over the handlebars. Goose soared past me, banking hard over the lake before swooping dangerously low over an unsuspecting kayaker.
