Page 43 of Stay for Forever

I grin, but I don’t jump for joy in victory. I’ll pencil ‘jumping for joy’ in my diary for later.

“Straddle the bike.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “I can think of something else I’d rather be straddling.”

“Oh, my dork. It’s too early for sleazy sexual innuendos.”

He chuckles as he straddles the bike. “What now?”

“Now, you’re going to walk with the bike.”

“Walk? Shouldn’t I use the pedals?” He places a foot on the pedal and pushes down causing the bike to lurch forward. He loses his balance and ends up falling to his side.

I rush to him. “Are you okay?” I lift the bike off of him.

“If I say no, can we stop?”

“I never figured you for a quitter.”

He climbs to his feet and brushes his jeans off. “I am not a quitter.”

“Good.” I nod in approval. “Let’s try this again.”

“I don’t understand why I have to walk with the bike. I’m not a two-year-old,” he grouses as he walks down the sidewalk with the bike between his legs.

“You’re getting the feel of the bike. Once you have the feel of the bike, you can speed up and scoot with the bike.”

“Finally.” He lifts his foot to place it on the pedal.

“Nuh-uh. No using the pedals yet. You’re going to scoot faster and faster until you have to lift your legs.”

“I feel like an idiot,” he says but does as he’s told.

“Why didn’t you learn to bike as a kid?” I ask when he stops for a break.

“My parents wouldn’t let me.”

I rear back. “Wouldn’t let you? What type of parents don’t let their child learn to ride a bike?”

“The type with a child actor who might lose a commercial gig if he has a scraped knee.”

“So what? You lose one commercial. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal was I was their meal ticket.”

He pushes off to start scooting with the bike again, but I grab the handlebars to stop him.

“You supported your parents with your acting when you were a child? Didn’t they have jobs?”

“My mother was a stay-at-home mom. She took me to all my auditions. When I began to earn decent money, Dad quit his job at the hardware store.”

He scowls at the memory, and I reach forward to squeeze his hand without thinking about it. “Did you even want to be an actor?”

“Too late now.” He pushes off with his feet and glides down the sidewalk before I have a chance to respond. Message received. The topic of discussion is now closed. Got it.

“Lift your feet,” I shout after him. “And balance the bike.”

I clap when he does as I say and manages not to crash. “You’re a natural,” I tell him when he reaches me. He smirks, and I roll my eyes. “Don’t get cocky now. You haven’t technically ridden a bike yet.”

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