“Oh, my god!” a man yelled.

Pain slipped into her left side, and she looked down to see a deep scrape along her fingers and the back of her hand. She hissed, inspecting the wound closely.

When he dropped his bike and stepped toward her, she visibly flinched and crawled away from him.

Their eyes met, and her mind battled between fear and . . . curiosity? Attraction?

“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling next to her. She cowered away from him, cradling her hand against her chest. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” He was looking at her closely, his eyes wide.

They were so blue. So full of empathy. So kind.

The fear started receding, but even still, she yanked her arm out of his grasp when he reached out, saying, “Let me see that.”

At her movement, he quickly pulled his hand back and leaned away from her, tilting his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

Finally, she found her voice. “No, it’s okay. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking . . .” Her voice trailed off. Admitting that she was riding her bike with her eyes closed seemed stupid.

He chuckled and dropped to the grass next to her. Their bikes were still blocking the sidewalk but neither one of them made a move to fix that. “You were going fast. Running from something?” he joked.

Yes. Lynell laughed quietly. “No. Just enjoying the weather. I was being reckless.” She studied his face closer. He was young, couldn’t be much older than her. His hair was a lighter brown than hers and pulled into a small bun. He had a week’s worth of stubble lining his jaw. There was a small scar through his right eyebrow, which gave him the look of a young adult novel villain. Or an incredibly handsome, rugged hero. She wondered if he fought in the recent battles between rebels and government forces. If he fought, was he on the right side? Or was he with the guerrilla group who fooled themselves into thinking they could overthrow the government and end the Registration?

They were quiet for too long before Lynell got ahold of herself. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Are you okay? Your bike?”

He chuckled again, tugging a handful of grass free and setting the blades loose in the wind. “I’m fine. Not a scratch on me.” He held out his arms as proof. “You caught the front of my tire.” He leaned forward and gently touched the wheel in question. “Seems fine though. Even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be a big deal. I own a bike shop, so I could fix it for free.”

Lynell smiled. “You own a bike shop?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Half bike shop, half coffee shop. It just opened a few months ago. Over on Main Street.”

“That’s awesome,” Lynell said. The stinging in her hand grew stronger and she tried to hide the pain in her face. But he must have noticed because he sighed.