Read Online The Moment of Everything by Shelly King - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shelly King
Ads: Link
he said.
“At this hour?”
“You’re up, aren’t you?”
“You didn’t know that.”
He fiddled with the sweet-gum leaf he’d detached from the bottom of his green flip-flop. I stretched, hoping I came across as someone who entertained here every night. We both seemed to be deciding what to say or not to say.
“I’m glad to see you,” I said. It was true. I was. But he looked a little too happy, and I felt the need to justify what I’d said. “I’d like to know what you think about something.”
He followed me to the table where my laptop was open next to the copy of Chatterley . He bent down to look at my screen.
“Is it wrong?” I asked. “Putting the notes out there.”
He looked at me like he wanted to ask me something, and for some reason that made me a little anxious again, the nice kind of nervous that happens when you’re alone with someone you’re attracted to, afraid he will say exactly what you want to hear and then you won’t be able to help yourself. But there was something else, a shiver under my skin from the possibility that anything could happen, as if the slightest breath could topple castles.
“No one knows who they are,” he said. “It’s anonymous. And you’re trying to help Hugo and the Dragonfly.”
“Yes, but I’m mostly trying to help myself.”
“I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”
I walked over to his bike to put a little distance between us and climbed onto the leather saddle. It was a little tall for me, and I held the doorframe for balance.
“You know about bikes?” he asked.
“I had a ten-speed in high school.”
He told me how he’d found the frame on Craigslist a few months ago, painted the white lines with a brush intended for model airplanes, ordered the tires special from eBay.
“Is that what you do? Restore bikes?”
“I have no occupation, if that’s what you mean. Other than being a layabout.”
“How does that pay?” I looked down at the candy apple red of the frame.
“Terrible, but it comes with the added bonus of being a consummate disappointment to my parents.” He hopped down and walked toward the bike. I thumbed the bike’s bell like I hadn’t noticed. It sounded like the doorbell in my grandmother’s house. He straddled the front tire and held the bike near the center of the handlebars, balancing me. He told me how his father once paid a thousand people in India to pray for him to get into MIT, how he worked hard in school and grad school, worked his way around the Valley until he landed a chief technology officer position, but how the only time he was happy was riding his bike back and forth to work. “My parents used to send my picture to their friends trying to find me a wife. Now they send my résumé to executive search firms.”
“So you’re going to restore bikes all day instead?”
He started walking backward, pulling the bike with him down a row between the washers and dryers. I rested my feet on the pedals and let myself go with him.
“I like working with something I can touch. Look at her lines, the way she curves just right to sustain you and propel you at the same time. It’s engineering you can touch. I like that. I don’t know if I can make a living with it, but it feels good for now.”
He ran his hands along the handlebars to the edge of the handgrips where I held on. Even though he stopped short a few centimeters away from my skin, I could feel him. “She had qualities no one could see at first. Much like the Dragonfly.”
He let go and stepped away.
“It was good seeing you, Maggie. Tell Hugo I’ll drop by the store later in the week.”
“What about your bike?” I was still on it.
He turned and slid his hands back in his pockets like he was trying to keep them there.
“The bike is for you.”
Harmless flirtation was one thing, but this was something else. I tried to conjure a line using my mother’s finishing school charm or Rosalind Russell’s snappiness.
Instead, I said,
“At this hour?”
“You’re up, aren’t you?”
“You didn’t know that.”
He fiddled with the sweet-gum leaf he’d detached from the bottom of his green flip-flop. I stretched, hoping I came across as someone who entertained here every night. We both seemed to be deciding what to say or not to say.
“I’m glad to see you,” I said. It was true. I was. But he looked a little too happy, and I felt the need to justify what I’d said. “I’d like to know what you think about something.”
He followed me to the table where my laptop was open next to the copy of Chatterley . He bent down to look at my screen.
“Is it wrong?” I asked. “Putting the notes out there.”
He looked at me like he wanted to ask me something, and for some reason that made me a little anxious again, the nice kind of nervous that happens when you’re alone with someone you’re attracted to, afraid he will say exactly what you want to hear and then you won’t be able to help yourself. But there was something else, a shiver under my skin from the possibility that anything could happen, as if the slightest breath could topple castles.
“No one knows who they are,” he said. “It’s anonymous. And you’re trying to help Hugo and the Dragonfly.”
“Yes, but I’m mostly trying to help myself.”
“I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”
I walked over to his bike to put a little distance between us and climbed onto the leather saddle. It was a little tall for me, and I held the doorframe for balance.
“You know about bikes?” he asked.
“I had a ten-speed in high school.”
He told me how he’d found the frame on Craigslist a few months ago, painted the white lines with a brush intended for model airplanes, ordered the tires special from eBay.
“Is that what you do? Restore bikes?”
“I have no occupation, if that’s what you mean. Other than being a layabout.”
“How does that pay?” I looked down at the candy apple red of the frame.
“Terrible, but it comes with the added bonus of being a consummate disappointment to my parents.” He hopped down and walked toward the bike. I thumbed the bike’s bell like I hadn’t noticed. It sounded like the doorbell in my grandmother’s house. He straddled the front tire and held the bike near the center of the handlebars, balancing me. He told me how his father once paid a thousand people in India to pray for him to get into MIT, how he worked hard in school and grad school, worked his way around the Valley until he landed a chief technology officer position, but how the only time he was happy was riding his bike back and forth to work. “My parents used to send my picture to their friends trying to find me a wife. Now they send my résumé to executive search firms.”
“So you’re going to restore bikes all day instead?”
He started walking backward, pulling the bike with him down a row between the washers and dryers. I rested my feet on the pedals and let myself go with him.
“I like working with something I can touch. Look at her lines, the way she curves just right to sustain you and propel you at the same time. It’s engineering you can touch. I like that. I don’t know if I can make a living with it, but it feels good for now.”
He ran his hands along the handlebars to the edge of the handgrips where I held on. Even though he stopped short a few centimeters away from my skin, I could feel him. “She had qualities no one could see at first. Much like the Dragonfly.”
He let go and stepped away.
“It was good seeing you, Maggie. Tell Hugo I’ll drop by the store later in the week.”
“What about your bike?” I was still on it.
He turned and slid his hands back in his pockets like he was trying to keep them there.
“The bike is for you.”
Harmless flirtation was one thing, but this was something else. I tried to conjure a line using my mother’s finishing school charm or Rosalind Russell’s snappiness.
Instead, I said,
Similar Books
