The Art of Appreciation Read Online Free Page B

derision was clear. “Nothing you didn’t do back home. Nope. We have plans.”
    “No fair. You bike all of the time. Why don’t you have to do something different?”
    “No fair? What are you, eight?” Sarah grabbed another cracker before continuing. “Besides, I am courting change. I’m meeting new people of the male species every day, and I’m bugging you about something that’s bugged me for years: your stick-in-the-muddiness. Change!” She rose and tugged Abby to her feet before steering them both toward the stairs despite Abby’s grumbling.
    Watching for Sarah’s reaction, Abby protested all through dressing and renting a bike and buying a helmet and joining the group that would be touring downtown Santa Cruz and the boardwalk. She protested when she got on the bike and continued to protest in hissing whispers as the guide explained the intricacies of riding in a pace line. Sarah ignored her, choosing instead to smile gently at the people around them, who listened in amusement.
    The guide finished his explanations and started to buckle his helmet. Abby looked at hers doubtfully. “We’re not going fast, right? So why do I need this?”
    “It’s the law, Ab.” Sarah buckled on her own helmet before grabbing Abby’s out of her hands and smashing it down on her head. “Lift your chin, or I’m gonna take off skin,” she ordered. Abby complied. She’d agreed to this, right? If change required a stupid hat, a grown woman should accept that.
    “I bet I look like a dork,” she muttered, trying to shift the helmet and finding it unmovable.
    “Whatever. Get on the damned bike.”
    Abby grinned. Though it had been fun to exasperate Sarah, she was actually looking forward to the ride.
    The group set out at a slow pace, allowing the assembled riders to adjust to riding in a pace line. After a few minutes, the leader increased the speed and called out points of interest. Abby started to enjoy herself, looking around at people as she passed them and smiling at little kids who stopped to stare.
    Big mistake.
    As the pace line slowed to round a curve near the boardwalk, she didn’t slow down quite enough, and her front wheel grazed Sarah’s back tire. Instantly, Abby flew off her bike. Her shoulder hit the pavement a moment before her head slammed down, and she was grateful for the protection of the denim shirt she wore over her tank. Her hip wasn’t so lucky. She gasped when the friction of sliding against the road pulled her waistband down and skin met asphalt.
    When her violent movement stopped, Abby lay on the pavement, blinking up at the sky and wondering if she was okay. She gingerly moved all of her limbs, finding them hurty but functional, and tried to sit up as a crowd gathered.
    Gentle hands held her down. A horribly familiar face floated into her field of vision, and she closed her eyes. “Nice to see you again, too.” Deft fingers moved under her chin, unbuckling her helmet. She opened one eye and saw the sharp angle of Surfer Dude’s jaw as he stared off into space, his long fingers gently probing her neck and as much of the back of her head as he could reach without removing her helmet. “Do you feel like you’re bleeding?” He searched her face. His eyes were a color that could easily morph into blue or gray, and the lines around them were deeper than Abby had expected—maybe he wasn’t in his early twenties after all.
    “Just my hip.”
    His hand hesitated over the tail of her shirt. “May I?”
    Abby nodded, and he lifted the cloth gently, drawing air between his teeth in a hiss. “Wicked road rash. That’s gonna hurt for a while. I hope you have some low-cut pants.”
    “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” Abby cracked, chuckling as he reddened. As he moved to grab her hand, she avoided his grasp and removed her helmet.
    “Hey! You shouldn’t do that. You could have a head injury.”
    The bike guide crouched next to Hottie McHotHot. “Thanks, Matt. I just called the