"Smart ass," she complained, wheeling her bike toward the trail. "You go first until I get the hang of it," she added, straddling her bike.
"You'll be fine. Supposedly, you never forget how to ride a bike," I said, peddling away. I rode for a hundred yards or so before venturing a look behind me to make sure she was okay. She looked like a natural, so obviously all her fears were for naught. It wasn't until I took in the clouded expression on her face that I guessed she wasn't enjoying the ride at all. Slowing to a stop, I straddled the bike, waiting for her to catch up.
"What's wrong?" she asked, looking somewhat distracted.
"Honey, I wanted to do something that you'd enjoy. I didn't mean for this to be some kind of torture chamber. Why don't we head back and we can do something else."
"No," she said in an unexpectedly stern manor. "I mean, I don't want to turn around. Really, I'm enjoying it."
"Sweets, you have a weird way of showing enjoyment. You look like you're in physical pain. Really, it won't be any skin off my nose if we head back."
"It's not that," she sighed heavily before looking up at me. I was shocked to see her in tears. "It's just, the last time I rode a bike, it was with my mom right before she died. We had this tradition where we would bike to the beach every week and ride along the shoreline. The last time we went, she was too exhausted to make it home, so my dad came to get us. A week later, she was too sick to ride at all and three days after that, she went to the hospital and never came home—stage four cancer. We never knew it. That last bike ride we took has always stuck with me. She was in a weird mood that day. In hindsight, I can't help wondering if at the time she suspected something was off," she answered as a lone tear streaked down her cheek.
"Oh, god, babe, I didn't realize," I said, using the pad of my thumb to wipe away her tear. "Let's go back. We'll do something else," I added, unprepared for the reaction her tears had on me. Usually, I viewed tears as a weapon that women readily used in their arsenal to keep men in line. Normally, I would have fled the scene at the first hint of tears, but Ashton's had the opposite effect on me.
"No, I don't want to leave," she insisted. "It's almost therapeutic. I've kept memories of her at bay for so long. It's nice."
"Right, so nice you're crying?" I asked skeptically.
"Bittersweet tears," she said, swiping the moisture off her cheeks and flashing me a tentative smile.
"And there's a difference?"
"A big difference, especially for me since I never cry the other kind," she admitted.
"Never?"
"Not since my mom died. I saw what a toll my tears had on my father and I vowed never to cry again."
I studied her for a moment, wishing I could figure her out. It amazed me the way she kept surprising me. When I had first been hired to find her, I'd studied the packet of pictures my client had sent me and saw nothing but a spoiled princess. At the time, I didn't care why she had run. I pretty much just assumed she'd skipped out to be with another man because I'd seen it so many times before. Every preconceived notion I had made before I found her was wrong. It was supposed to be me charming her, but somehow, she'd turned the tables and was the one charming me.
"So stop being a wuss and trying to weasel out of the bike ride," she said impishly, placing her feet on her peddles and taking off.
I took off after her, chuckling along the way. The tears were done now, which was a relief. Ashton continued to taunt and joke her way up the slow inclining trail. I allowed her to take the lead for purely selfish reasons since her ass looked incredible on a bike seat. By the time we reached the top, Ashton was breathing heavily and looked exhausted. I couldn't help ribbing her that if she exercised she'd have more stamina.
"My stamina was good enough last night," she answered.
Even though she gave as good as she got, I could tell she was more tired than she was willing to admit. At least the ride back down the trail was much easier.
"I blame the late-night canoe ride you took me on last night," she said, sinking into the passenger seat gratefully.
"You're probably right," I admitted, feeling guilty despite my joking. I handed her the keys before I closed her door so she could warm up the Range Rover while I loaded the bikes.
The ride back to Ashton's was quiet. She rested her head back against the seat with her eyes shut practically the entire way. I smiled briefly at how whipped she looked. She wasn't lying when she said she was worn out.
"I have a few things to do this afternoon, but thought I'd come over later if that was okay with you?" I asked, finally breaking the silence as I pulled into her driveway.
"Sure," she answered, wearily pushing the vehicle door open.
"I'm thinking we'll stay in," I added, laughing as she staggered slightly. "You better take a nap. You look like you were dragged down the mountain.
"Your flattery is staggering. I could outride you any day," she bragged as she stifled another yawn.
I laughed again. "Go take a nap and I'll be back later with some dinner. Then we can discuss your bike-riding skills," I suggested, wagging my eyebrows at her.
"Great, now that we've gone on an actual bike ride, I can't tell if you mean 'bike ride,'" she said, pointing to the back of the vehicle, "or 'bike ride,'" she said again, moving her hips back and forth.
"We—" She shut the vehicle door before giving me the chance to confirm what she already knew.