‘You have to admit,’ Eli said as Clyde flipped a page, studying a recipe for potatoes au gratin, ‘this is better than driving or reading.’

‘Much,’ I agreed.

‘She doesn’t sleep either,’ Eli told Clyde, who nodded. To me he said, ‘Clyde bought this place just so he’d have something to do at night.’

‘Yep,’ Clyde said. ‘The coffee shop part, though, that was Eli’s idea.’

‘Nah,’ Eli said, shaking his head.

‘It was.’ Clyde turned another page. ‘Used to be, we’d just hang out during the spin cycle, share a thermos and whatever pastry I was working on. Then he convinced me maybe we weren’t the only ones looking for a place to go other than a bar late at night.’

Eli poked his fork into his piecrust. ‘Spin cycle,’ he said. ‘That’s not a bad one, actually.’

‘Huh.’ Clyde considered this. ‘You’re right. Write it down.’

Eli pulled out his wallet, then took out a piece of yellow folded paper. From the looks of it, it was a list, and a long one. Clyde handed him a pen, and I watched as he added SPIN CYCLE to the bottom.

‘We need a new name for the bike shop,’ Clyde explained to me. ‘We’ve been trying to come up with one for ages.’

I had a flash of my first day in Colby, the conversation I’d heard among Jake, Wallace, and Adam as I passed them on the boardwalk. ‘What’s it called now?’

‘The Bike Shop,’ Eli said, his voice flat. I raised my eyebrows. ‘Nice, right?’

‘Actually, it’s called Clyde’s Rides,’ Clyde said, picking up my coffee mug to refill it. ‘But the sign got blown off during Hurricane Beatrice last year, and when I went to replace it, I thought maybe it was time to give it a new name…’

‘… which we’ve been trying to do ever since,’ Eli said. ‘Clyde can’t make up his mind.’

‘I’ll know it when I hear it,’ Clyde said, hardly bothered. ‘Until then, it’s fine if everyone calls it the Bike Shop. Because that’s what it is. Right?’

A phone rang behind him then, and he turned to grab it. As he stepped outside, the receiver pressed to his ear, Eli turned to look at me. ‘What did I tell you?’ he said. ‘Pretty good, huh?’

‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘And you’re right. I never would have found this place in a million years.’

‘Nope,’ he said.

We sat there for a minute, eating. On the other side of the wall, I could hear a load bumping through a drying cycle, thump thump thump. My watch said two fifteen. ‘So,’ I said. ‘What else you got?’

I’d thought I was pretty good at both staying up and staying productive. But Eli was the master.

After the Laundromat, we got back into his car – an old Toyota truck with a cab on it, the back of which was filled with bike parts that clanked and rattled with every turn – then headed fifteen miles west, to the twenty-four-hour Park Mart. There you could, at three A.M., not only buy groceries, linens, and small appliances, but also get your tires rotated, if you so desired. As we walked the aisles, a cart between us, we talked. Not about Abe. But about almost everything else.

‘So, Defriese,’ he said as he compared brands of microwave popcorn. ‘Isn’t that where Maggie’s going?’

‘I think so,’ I said as he pulled down a box, examining it.

‘Must be a really good school, then. That girl’s brilliant.’ I didn’t say anything, and a moment later he added, ‘So I guess that makes you brilliant, too, huh?’

‘Yep,’ I said. ‘Pretty much.’

He raised an eyebrow at me, sticking the popcorn in our cart. ‘If you’re such a brain, though,’ he said, ‘how come you didn’t know not to flirt with another girl’s boyfriend in her own kitchen?’

‘I’m book smart,’ I said. ‘Not street smart.’

Eli made a face. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call Belissa street. She gets her jeans dry-cleaned.’

‘Really?’

He nodded.

‘Wow.’

‘I know.’

We walked down the aisle a bit. He didn’t seem to have a list and yet still knew exactly what he wanted. ‘Seriously, though,’ I said. ‘You’re right. I was kind of…’

I trailed off, and he didn’t jump in, pushing me to finish. I was finding that I liked that.

‘I guess,’ I said, ‘that I just missed a lot in high school. Like, socially.’

‘I doubt it,’ he replied, stopping to throw a roll of paper towels in the cart. ‘A lot of that stuff is overrated.’

‘You can say that because you were popular, though.’

He glanced at me as we turned the corner, to the soup aisle. Halfway down, a guy in a long coat was muttering to himself. That was the one thing about being out so late, or early. The crazies were, too. Watching Eli, I saw he had the same attitude about it that I did, which was three pronged: don’t stare, keep a wide berth, and act normal. ‘What makes you think I was popular?’

‘Oh, come on,’ I said. ‘You were a bike pro. You had to be.’

‘For all you know,’ he replied, ‘I was a nerdy bike pro.’

I just looked at him.

‘Okay, fine. I wasn’t exactly a wallflower.’ He grabbed a can of tomato rice soup off the shelf, then another. ‘But big deal. It’s not like it makes a difference in the long run.’