We can’t get into the house until Jen and Ethan are here, so while we wait, I soak up the ocean view with Mia, who’s happy digging in the sand while Alex does some self-admitted snooping around the property.
The moment Jen and Ethan pull in, Mia sprints toward their car.
Alex turns toward me. “What do you say we get out of here?”
I laugh. “A great way to kick off our ‘two-family’ vacation.”
“Mia’s happy,” he says, nodding toward the car, which Jen has just stepped out of, scooping Mia into her arms. “That’s what matters.”
Jen waves at us. We wave back.
“How about this, Ted.” Alex steps closer, smiling down at me. I turn my hands into fists so I won’t reach for him. “I’ll make up an excuse for us. We have to dash into town, grab groceries for dinner tonight.”
I glance over at the car again as Ethan steps out, in one of his preppy pink polos. Just the sight of him nauseates me. “I can work with that.”
“Great,” he says, already tugging me by the elbow around to the other side of the house.
“Where are we going? The car’s that way.”
“I thought,” Alex says, “we’d go for a little bike ride.”
I gasp. “Alex Bruscato,voluntarilystreet biking?”
He throws me that smile that’s just for me—annoyance tangled with affection. “Bethany Beach, I’ll have you know, is a very bike-friendly town.”
I thought I loved city biking. Now I know what I love best is beach-town biking.
A bracing sea breeze snaps through my hair, the sun pouring down on us.
“Look at us,” I call over my shoulder, “biking like pros!”
Alex grunts but says nothing else. He’s too busy white-knuckling his bike handles and glaring down every driver on the road.
“Alex,” I yell against the deliciously bracing wind, “relax! These bike lanes are wider than the roads back home! You can ride a bike without treating these cars like they’re assassins until proven innocent.”
Alex hollers, “There is not a strong-enough Xanax in the world for that to ever happen!” before he flips off the car passing us and yells a colorful Italian insult in its direction.
To be fair to Alex, the driver steered their car right to the edge of the bike lane. To be fair to the driver, they would have had togive us so much space they’d be driving into oncoming traffic to satisfy Alex, and even then, he still might have threatened to make meatballs out of them.
“This was your idea, remember!” I call over my shoulder.
“I thought,” he yells, “it wouldn’t still feel like we were gambling with our lives!”
We come to a pause at an intersection as opposing traffic cruises by, Alex rolling to a stop beside me. “I’m just teasing you,” I tell him. “We can turn back and get the car.”
He throws me an exasperated sidelong glance. “I’ll be fine, Ted. I can do hard things.”
“I know you can. But some things can feel too hard, and that’s okay. For instance, I cannot drive to a big-box, everything-under-one-roof store, you know, like the massive chains that stock your cookbooks that you refuse to look at and sign. It’s too hard.”
Alex mutters something under his breath as he reaches for his water bottle, then takes a long drink.
“Thank you for asking,” I tell him. “I would love to explain. So, to start, I acknowledge that, in plenty of ways, I am a weird woman.” I catch a small grin tugging at his mouth as he bends and shoves his water bottle back in its holder. “But when it comes to shopping,” I tell him, “I’m as basic as it gets. You know why I never drive Old Reliable when shopping?”
Alex leans over his handlebars, placing his sweaty forearms right in front of me. “Because,” he says, “every ride inOld Reliablecould be its last, and you’d sooner read a pirated e-book than say goodbye to your somehow-still-running 1997 Buick Regal.”
My eyes trail across his sun-goldened, sweaty skin. He’s sweaty everywhere. Forearms, biceps, throat, all of it dripping. Alex straightens, lifting his shirt at the collar, using it to wipe sweat fromhis eyes, which exposes atmosttwo inches of tan, taut skin at his stomach, yet a bolt of heat crackles through me.
I tear my gaze away, squinting against the sun. Hopefully, it looks like I’m watching the traffic light instead of trying to briefly blind myself so I can’t ogle him anymore.