Page 62 of Matchmaking On The Menu

Luke takes a sip of his latte. “Yeah, I should be able to do that.”

Oh.

“Oh my gosh, you are the best!”

The relief hits first, fast and bright, before my brain has a chance to catch up.

Before he can change his mind, I rush to my car, pop the trunk, and grab the first bike. Except the pedal is tangled in the spokes of the second one, so both bikes come out at once, half in, half out, stubborn and uncooperative like they’ve decided to make a point.

Brilliant.

“Here, let me help you,” Luke says.

I smile sweetly and hold up a hand. “No, I’ve got it. You know, Luke, it’s rather regressive to assume a woman always needs a man’s help. I’m a perfectly capable, independent woman.”

Yeah, this pretty much contradicts everything up to this point. I guess I didn’t think my plan through as much as I thought.

I heave the bike.

And immediately regret it and any other decision that led me to this moment. The pedal suddenly gives and the bike launches forward, nearly taking me with it, the sudden shift yanking me off balance before I can correct.

I stumble back, my heel catching on something slippery.

A leaf.

A single, traitorous leaf.

Goddamn it.

And suddenly I’m skidding, everywhere.

I swear it takes three-to-five business days for me to stop sliding before I land squarely on my ass.

The impact rattles up my spine, knocking the air out of me for half a second as I just… sit there, processing both the pain and the sheer betrayal of the situation.

I look up at Luke, who is trying hard not to laugh, his mouth twitching like it’s physically painful for him to hold it in.

“Uh, a little help would’ve been nice, Luke.”

“My apologies,” he says. “Didn’t want to interfere with your independence. Wouldn’t want to be regressive.”

I narrow my eyes. Then remember I need him. I need to work on my priorities.

I plaster on a smile. “Karma, I guess. Would you mind helping me up?”

He sets down his coffee and offers his hand. Taking it, I dig my heels in, and he pulls me up in one smooth motion that makes me feel slightly less like a complete disaster.

Slightly.

I brush myself off and grin. “Thanks, Luke. You’re the best.”

Right. Time to leave before I die of embarrassment. I grab the second bike—much more carefully this time—and place it beside the first. This plan better work. I might need my coccyx checked.

“I should get going,” I say. “If I could have it by Sunday morning, that would be amazing.”

Before I can overthink it, or stop myself, I boop his nose. I can’t believe I booped a grown man’s nose. I need to act like that never happened. I seem to be good at that these days. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”

He looks mildly stunned as I jump into my car like I’ve just committed a crime and peel out of there before my dignity can suffer any further damage.