Page 22 of One Small Spark (Love in Sunshine #4)
SIXTEEN
SHEPHERD
Supposedly, the customer is always right. In this case, the customer has the word Wrong glaring over his head in bright neon.
“I like this bike, Daddy.” A little girl has a mountain bike out of its slot, hands clutching the seat and handlebar like she’s ready to ride it home. Her eyes rake over it as if the bike is better than Christmas and Hanukkah combined.
“I think this one is meant for you, honey.” Her dad’s at the other end of the rack next to a pink bike that’s at least a size smaller than the girl needs, with white streamers and a wicker basket on the front.
It’s nowhere close to the bike meant for off-roading that his daughter’s claimed. She’s got to be eight or nine, and he’s trying to get her onto a bike we typically sell to four- and five-year-olds.
She frowns at the kiddie bike her dad’s showing her. “I like green.”
Palmer and I share a look behind the front counter.
We’ve seen this scenario play out dozens of times before.
Sometimes it’s about girl/boy color preferences.
Sometimes it’s about a parent who wants their kid to off-road when they just want to ride around town on a cruiser bike.
At its core, it’s always about an adult trying to push what they think is best onto a kid who’s just trying to have fun.
I try not to insert myself into conversations like this. I try . I generally fail.
The bell over the door chimes, and I momentarily forget the man ignoring his daughter’s interests.
Wren walks in, scanning the shop as if it’s all new to her.
The purple of her apron might be my favorite color, second to the blue of her eyes.
When her gaze lands on me, a hook lodges behind my ribs, reeling me closer.
I cross the room to meet her, even though I usually stay behind the front counter when she comes in. Then again, she usually looks at me like I might need the buffer of a few extra feet between us.
Today, her mouth twists, fighting a smile. I’d rather she lay me out flat with the real thing, but I’ll take the progress.
“Hey.” I leave more space between us than I want to, but I’m trying to be both a gentleman and a good business owner. I can’t very well crush her to me and hope to maintain either description.
“Do you have bike bells?”
Not where I thought this was going, but I can adapt. “Sure, we’ve got a few. They’re over here.”
I lead her to the display rack. We’ve usually got a mix of plain, practical models and ones with fun patterns. To be clear, our bells are neither gendered nor age-specific. I’ve seen burly guys get the rainbow-printed ones with the chiming bells, and petite, older women opt for the air horns.
She looks over the selection, but then side-eyes me. “Also, hi.”
“Hi.” That afterthought greeting shouldn’t give me the hope that it does. “Is the bell for you? ”
I would never try to force her into biking if she had no interest, but the image of us on a ride together is appealing. Maybe because I’m still stuck on that “making out in fresh air” thing she mentioned the other day.
“Ha. No way. It’s for August. I’ll feel better when people have warning that he’s coming.”
“If I know little kids with bells, he’ll ring it full time.”
The glimpse of her smile kills me. “A noisy child is a safe child.”
Another adage for her shirts.
“Any of these will fit on his bike. It just depends on the style you want to get him.”
Her eyes light up, and she grabs a box off its hook. “‘The loudest bike horn in the world.’ Tess would never forgive me.”
“It’s usually meant for commuters riding through traffic and competing with car horns, just as an FYI.”
Doesn’t seem to be a deterrent for Wren.
She clutches the box to her chest. “How bad is it I’m tempted to get this for him?”
“It would make you a very good aunt but a terrible sister.”
“That’s all I ever aim for.”
The dad and daughter’s conversation carries to us from the other side of the room.
“I like this one, Daddy.” The little girl’s voice breaks. “I don’t like pink.”
“That’s a boys’ bike, honey. Let’s get you a cute one that’s meant for little girls.”
The man’s patronizing tone grates even at this distance.
Wren shoots mental fireballs at the guy. “Did he just?—?”
“Yup. Excuse me for a minute.” I slip past her, needlessly brushing one hand across her lower back as I go.
Behind the front counter, Palmer gives me a thumbs-up in solidarity. He knows the drill .
When I reach the man, his daughter is on the verge of tears. I hate this part of my job. Ordinarily, I’m not a fan of confrontation, but somebody needs to speak up. Here in my shop, that’s going to be me.
“Do you need any help over here?” On my best days, my customer service voice isn’t much gentler than my normal one. Intervening on this conversation, I probably sound accusatory. That fits.
The man looks like he’s been caught red-handed. Good. Means this should be easy.
“We’re just trying to settle on a bike for my daughter. I’ve been showing her these girls’ bikes, but she wants the same kind her brother has.” He shoots me a look as if I’m going to commiserate with him over how foolish she is.
Tough luck, guy.
“Do you know how to ride already?” I ask her. I’m gentler with her than I was with her father.
She nods. “I learned on my brother’s bike. It’s like this one but blue.”
I figured as much. I turn back to her dad.
“Based on her height, that pink bike is too small for your daughter. I wouldn’t recommend that size because she won’t be able to ride comfortably.
” I gesture at the one she’s still clutching.
“This brand’s kids’ bikes are all unisex.
They’re good for paved or dirt paths, with a comfort seat.
If she already rides a bike like this, it might be the best option. ”
“I thought there was a difference between girls’ and boys’ bikes. You know.” He leans closer to me, and I catch a whiff of cologne. “Anatomically.”
I kind of wish Laurel was here to laugh in this man’s face. I’m tempted to ask him to explain what he means just to hear him sputter over made-up nonsense.
“Women’s bikes typically have shorter stems and shorter reach, due to women generally being shorter than men. But the best bike for a woman is any bike that fits her. The same is true for men. There’s no anatomical reason not to go with the bike your daughter wants.”
He stares at me for a few seconds like he’s waiting for me to get to the punchline. When I don’t, his resistance slumps along with his shoulders.
“Oh. Well.” He looks at the bike his daughter’s holding. “I guess we can go with that one, then. If it doesn’t make a difference.”
I don’t know if it’s the information I gave him or simply the fact that I’m a man that ultimately convinced him, but I’ll take it as a win for his daughter. And her happy smile is a win for me. “Palmer will help you two with that.”
I return to Wren, who doesn’t hide how she’s been following along.
“Is that a common thing?” she asks.
“Not really, but it does happen.” More often than I’d like. At least the man gave in and is willing to get her the bike she wants. I’ve seen more than a few kids leave disappointed because their parents only focused on making themselves happy with their purchase for their child.
She glares at the man across the room. “Maybe she needs the loudest bike horn in the world to drown out her dad.”
“Did you choose violence, then?”
Her brief laugh pings through my chest like a firework, lighting me up. “No. August would probably rather have this normal-sounding bell that has dinosaurs on it.”
“Good choice.” I bring her to the front counter and ring up the bell. At the other end of the counter, Palmer’s writing up paperwork for the girl’s new bike.
Wren looks over at the little girl, who’s still holding onto the bike’s seat like she’s afraid it might get snatched away .
“I like your new bike,” Wren says. “That dark green is a really cool color.”
The girl beams at her. “Green is my favorite.”
“I bet you’re going to have so much fun riding it.”
She nods, making her curly blond hair bounce. “I can’t wait to get it home.”
Wren turns back to me. She looks me over, no doubt examining whatever incriminating thing my face is doing. “What?”
I lean slightly over the counter, tipping my head down toward her. “It’s sweet.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t hide her smile. I’ll tell her as many times as it takes for it to stick. Wren isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, and I would never want her to be. But just like yesterday at the park with her nephew, this glimpse of her softness makes me crave more.
Lila Parrish walks in as I’m finishing up Wren’s purchase. She comes straight to the counter and turns to her friend. “What are you doing here?”
It’s an innocent enough question, but Wren’s cheeks take on a hint of pink. Her gaze darts from Lila to me and back again. “Getting a bell for August’s bike.”
Am I imagining the higher pitch in her voice?
“Aww.” Lila flips her attention to me. “Do you have a minute, Shepherd?”
Not when I’d rather spend all of them on Wren, but I’m not at liberty to say that yet.
“Sure.”
Lila clasps her hands in front of her chest, grinning up a storm. “The town council wants to hear your presentation about the bike trails expansion at a special town hall meeting next month. Open it up to discussion and get interest building for it. Isn’t that great news? ”
I pass the dinosaur bell to Wren along with her receipt, alarms clanging in my head. “A town hall meeting?”
Lila’s thrown herself into her new job drumming up tourism for Sunshine.
She’s organized all our major events this year and spearheaded new ways to both draw in visitors and boost community involvement.
She’s been pushing for my trails expansion project since she first heard about it over the summer, but somehow, I assumed she would take over convincing the town council on her own.