Elena nearly sent the message from her kitchen. Rain tapped the window, and her cycling shoes were still beside the door where she’d left them the night before. She typed, Looks like we should try next Saturday, then stopped. Last Saturday had become this Saturday. Before that, there had been a late meeting, a birthday, and a morning she’d simply slept through.

Her dad had answered every cancellation the same way. No trouble, sweetheart. Another time. She deleted the message and called him instead. “How’s it looking over there?” “Wet,” he said. “I did notice.” Elena smiled. “Give me half an hour.” There was a small pause before he answered. “I’ll get the bikes ready.”

By the time she set out, the rain had thinned to a mist. She took the quiet route along the park, easing around the puddles. At a gate where she stopped to walk her bike, her shoe slipped on the wet edge of the path. She caught herself, but her knee brushed the rough ground. She rinsed the shallow scrape with her bottle, checked that she could move comfortably, and walked through the gate before remounting.

Dad was waiting under the porch roof with his helmet fastened and his old blue bike beside him. He had set her childhood bike pump against the railing. The handle still wore the strip of red tape she’d put on it when she was ten. “You kept that thing?” she asked. “It still pumps.” “That wasn’t the question.” “Then ask a better one.”

Inside, she cleaned and covered her knee while he put the kettle on. Her phone buzzed against the kitchen table. She glanced at it, then turned it face down. Dad noticed, but said nothing. When they stepped outside again, the clouds were breaking apart. He gave the front tire of her bike a squeeze. “You used to make me do that before every ride.” “I trusted your thumbs more than the gauge.” “Sensible girl.”

They rode the river path without trying to make a workout of it. Dad still lifted two fingers from the handlebars to greet every person coming the other way. At the wooden bridge, Elena drifted ahead, then slowed until he was beside her. “You don’t have to wait for me,” he said. “I know.” She stayed there anyway.

They stopped at the bench where he used to unwrap sandwiches from her school lunchbox. Elena remembered being furious when he cut them into triangles. Apparently rectangles had been important that year. Dad remembered too. “Very demanding customer,” he said. “Terrible service,” she answered. He handed her half of the sandwich he’d brought. It was cut straight across. She looked at it and started laughing.

On the way back, Dad pointed toward a narrow turn in the path. “That’s where you finally let me take my hand off the saddle.” Elena looked at him. “You said you were still holding it.” “For the first few yards.” “Dad.” He grinned at the river. She shook her head, smiling, then moved close enough that their shadows rode side by side.

Back at his gate, she checked the time. For once, there was nowhere she needed to hurry. Dad leaned his bike against the porch and reached for hers. “Leave it here,” he said. “Save you bringing it next time.” Elena unclipped her helmet. “Next Saturday?” He looked up. “I’ll get the bikes ready.”

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