Cycles 5

I dedicate this story to a dear friend I lost too soon--Karen. When I was younger, she taught me what it truly meant to love deeply, honestly, and without fear. Her warmth, her laughter, and the way she made space for others in her heart left a mark on me that has never faded. Cycles is a reflection of that kind of love, the kind that shapes us, lingers through time, and circles back when we least expect it. Karen, this story carries pieces of what you gave me. I'll never stop being grateful.

On to the story:

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Prologue:

Matt:

Seattle has always been home. Not just in the physical sense, but deep in my bones. It's the hum of rain on glass, the hiss of bike tires on wet pavement, the smell of salt off the Sound. It's where my parents raised me, taught me that a good life wasn't built on money but on moments, effort, and the people you ride with. With their help, I opened Lake Side Cycles--just a modest shop in Lake City with more hope than inventory. Somehow, it worked. Word spread, riders came, and the shop became something more. When I hired Rebecca McCormick, everything leveled up. She had this sharp wit and a grounding presence, and over time, she became a close friend--someone who saw the same possibilities I did.

When my parents died, they left me more than memories. A trust fund--more money than I'll ever need. But I've never been one to chase wealth. I live in the same neighborhood, ride the same Cannondale, and keep the bank account details to myself. Even Erin doesn't know the full extent. Not because I don't trust her. I just want to live with intention, like my parents taught me--to stay grounded in what matters, not what glitters.

Still, something inside me wanted to grow. I started imagining a place that wasn't just about bikes but about the whole outdoor lifestyle we live up here in the Northwest. That's when Olympic Edge Outfitters took shape. I bought a spot on the edge of Lake Union and poured myself into the vision. Not just a store, but a hub--a place to equip and inspire adventurers. We're almost there. The grand opening is around the corner. I've kept it under wraps, saving it as a surprise for Erin. Something that could mark the start of a new chapter--for both of us.

And Erin... she walked into my life on a rainy Seattle afternoon like a plot twist I didn't see coming. I was unloading a U-Haul, exhausted, soaked, trying to wrestle my mattress through a doorway when she stepped outside and asked if I could move the truck. Not exactly a meet-cute, but in retrospect? It was perfect. There was spark, sarcasm, something playful behind her green eyes. A month later we were dating. A year later, I asked her to marry me. Simple as that. Complicated as hell.

Funny how everything that matters can begin in a single moment. One question. One sideways glance. One rainy afternoon you don't think twice about--until it changes your whole life. And for me, it all started the day she asked me to move the truck.

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Unloading -

Matt:

The mattress was winning.

I had wedged it halfway up the stairwell, and it refused to go any farther. My palms were sweaty despite the chill, and every awkward push just jammed it tighter. My hoodie clung to me, damp from the drizzle that had been falling since sunrise. Welcome to Seattle.

"Of course it starts raining the second I open the truck," I muttered, pressing my shoulder into the foam like it owed me money.

Then I heard her voice--sharp, clipped, and coming from behind me.

"Hey! Uh--can you move your truck? You're kind of blocking me in."

I turned my head, already formulating a half-sarcastic reply, but the words froze on my tongue.

She stood at the edge of the driveway, arms folded, hood up, soaked strands of raven hair framing a face that somehow made irritation look like art. She didn't blink when I met her eyes. Green. Sharp. No-nonsense.

"Uh," I started, glancing back at the mattress. "Yeah. Just... give me a second to un-wedge this thing and I'll get out of your way. Unless you want to help?"

That earned me a smirk. "I didn't realize the welcome package included manual labor."

"Just a bonus feature," I said, grinning.

She hesitated, then laughed--a short, surprised sound like she hadn't meant to let it out. Then she waved a hand toward the U-Haul. "I just need to get to work. You're moving in here?"

"Yeah. Apartment B3."

Her expression shifted just slightly. "No kidding. I'm B2."

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, looks like I'm your new neighbor. Try not to file a noise complaint just yet. I make decent coffee--peace offering."

She gave me a mock-considering look. "Depends. Do you grind your own beans or are you one of those pod people?"

"I grind. Burr grinder."

She smiled--actually smiled this time--and took a step back toward her car. "Alright, coffee truce. But seriously, I'm late. Truck?"

"Right, right. One second."

I wrestled the mattress back down the stairs, shoved it into the living room, and jogged to the truck to pull it forward just enough for her to back out. She gave me a small wave through the windshield as she pulled away, and I stood there on the wet pavement, heart thudding harder than it had any right to.

I didn't even know her name.

But something had shifted. I felt it.

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Erin:

I was already running late.

My phone buzzed with a passive-aggressive "Where are you?" text from Derek, which I promptly ignored. My hair was damp, my coffee had gone cold on the passenger seat, and to top it off, some guy had parked a moving truck squarely behind my car. Perfect.

I stepped out into the drizzle, tugging my hood up and preparing to go full passive-aggressive-Seattle-nice. But when I rounded the corner and saw him--halfway up the stairs with a mattress folded around him like a bad burrito--I hesitated. He was struggling. Like, genuinely wrestling the thing. I almost felt bad. Almost.

"Hey!" I called, loud enough to be heard over the rain. "Can you move your truck? You're kind of blocking me in."

He turned. And I swear to God, for a split second, I forgot I was annoyed.

Dark hair, scruffy jaw, a tired grin that looked like it'd been earned by a long day. He blinked at me, eyes impossibly green, then gave me the kind of sheepish smile that could disarm anyone with a pulse.

"Yeah," he said, glancing back at the mattress. "Just... give me a second to un-wedge this thing and I'll get out of your way. Unless you want to help?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize the welcome package included manual labor."

"Just a bonus feature."

I wasn't expecting him to be charming. Or quick. Or funny. I definitely wasn't expecting to laugh--but I did. Just a short, involuntary sound that slipped out before I could stop it. Damn it.

He mentioned coffee. Something about living next door. Apartment B3. My heart did this weird skip. I told myself it was nothing. Just a guy. Just a neighbor. A good-looking one, sure, but probably one of those weekend mountain bike types who wears too much fleece and listens to folk covers of hip-hop songs.

But when he mentioned the burr grinder, something shifted. That detail. That little unexpected thing. It caught me off guard.

"Alright, coffee truce," I said, backing away toward my car. "But seriously--I'm late."

He nodded and jogged off. A minute later, the truck rolled forward just enough for me to squeeze out. As I eased into the street, I glanced at him in the rearview.

He was standing there in the rain, hoodie damp, watching me go.

I didn't know his name. But somehow, it felt like I'd just walked into the beginning of something.

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Matt:

The hardest part about building something in secret isn't the work--it's hiding the joy. Every time I left the apartment and Erin asked, "Heading to the shop?" I'd nod, half-truths tangled behind my smile. Technically, yes, I was going to the shop. What I didn't say was that the shop wasn't Lake Side anymore--not entirely. Olympic Edge Outfitters was becoming real. Framing was done. Drywall up. The main floor was starting to take shape. Every time I walked through that unfinished space on Lake Union, I saw more than shelves and displays. I saw a future. Our future. But the words kept catching in my throat.

I told myself I was waiting for the right moment. Maybe when the sign went up. Or when the lights were installed. Or when the floors stopped creaking and the smell of sawdust was replaced with fresh gear. The truth was, I was scared. Not of the business--that part, I knew how to handle. I was scared of what it might mean for us. For her. Erin had dreams of her own, big ones. Corporate campaigns, bright lights, east coast offices. She didn't say it out loud, but I saw it in her eyes sometimes--restlessness, like Seattle was a stepping stone. What if my dream held her back?

Rebecca knew. Of course she did. She'd been helping coordinate the launch behind the scenes, prepping to step in as store manager once things went live. She kept teasing me. "You've got that goofy grin again," she said one afternoon while reviewing vendor orders. "Just tell her, Matt. Women like ambition, you know." I smiled, nodded, deflected with a joke. But deep down, I wasn't worried about whether Erin liked ambition. I was worried about whether she'd choose mine over hers.

In the evenings, I came home covered in dust and excuses. Erin would be curled on the couch, laptop open, pitching taglines into the void. I'd kiss her cheek and say something like, "Busy day at the shop," and she'd nod, distracted. Part of me wondered if she could tell--if she knew something was coming and was just letting me hold it close until I was ready. She always gave me that space. It's one of the reasons I love her. But there were moments--brief, quiet ones--where I caught her looking at me like she had a secret too.

And maybe that's what scared me most. We were both building something in silence, hoping the other would catch up. Hoping it wouldn't fracture what we had. But secrets--no matter how well-intentioned--have a way of growing. Of shifting weight beneath your feet until something breaks loose. Still, I held onto the vision. The day I'd open the doors to OEO, lead her through them, and say, "This is for us." I just didn't know what she'd be holding when she walked in. Or if she'd still be holding me.

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Rebecca:

Matt didn't have to say a word. I could read it in the way he moved--shoulders tighter, smile thinner, eyes flicking toward his phone more than usual. He'd been pouring himself into Olympic Edge like a man possessed, and I admired the hell out of him for it. But I also knew the signs. He wasn't sleeping much, and whenever I brought up Erin, his answers got shorter. The final wall of gear had just gone up that morning when I cornered him in the back office with two cups of coffee and zero patience.

"You gonna tell her soon?" I asked, handing him the cup and leaning against the desk.

Matt looked up, caught off guard. "Tell her what?"

I gave him the look. The one I used on my son when he thought he could sneak cookies before dinner. "That you've been building a damn outdoor empire for the past year. That this"--I gestured around the room--"isn't just another bike shop. It's your future."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I want to. I do. I just... I don't want to scare her off, Beck."

"She's your fiancée, Matt. Not a skittish deer." I crossed my arms, lowering my voice. "Look, I like Erin. Smart. Driven. But if you two are holding your futures like cards in a poker game, someone's gonna fold. Just be honest. She loves you. She deserves the truth."

He didn't say anything for a moment--just stared at the cup in his hands like it had answers. I softened, stepping forward to place a hand on his arm. "You're building something beautiful here. But don't do it alone. You already know what it feels like to lose people. Don't make the mistake of shutting her out."

Matt gave me a half-nod, the kind that said he heard me but wasn't ready to act. Yet. And maybe that was okay--for now. I'd seen too many people wait until after the cracks formed to start patching them. At least he knew they were there. I just hoped when the moment came, he'd have the guts to open the door--and that Erin would still be on the other side of it.

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Erin:

The office was quiet for a Tuesday morning. I sat at my desk, staring at the slideshow I'd reviewed at least a dozen times, hands resting on the keyboard like they were waiting for permission to move. The pitch was solid. The numbers lined up. The creative direction was bold, clean, and compelling. It should've been enough. But underneath all the data points and sleek transitions was a knot of doubt I couldn't shake. Because this wasn't just about landing a client. This was about proving I belonged at the table--and maybe, finally, being offered a seat at the bigger one in New York.

Carla looked over from her desk, where she was reviewing the mock-ups one last time. "You've got this," she said, as if reading my mind. "They'll eat it up." She leaned back in her chair, twisting her pen between her fingers. "Honestly, if Derek doesn't greenlight your move after this, I'll flip his ergonomic desk myself."

I laughed--tightly--but her words meant more than I let on. Carla had always been the voice in my corner. The kind of friend who brought snacks to brainstorms and sarcasm to budget meetings. She'd seen the pressure I put on myself, the late nights, the moments I stayed too quiet when I should've spoken louder. She also knew how much I wanted that New York spot--even more than I'd admitted out loud. It wasn't about the skyline or the status. It was about being seen. About proving that I could stand on my own, apart from Matt, from anyone.

Still, my mind drifted back to him--Matt, probably elbow-deep in bike grease or talking to customers like they were old friends. He had his own kind of success, quiet and steady. Grounded. I loved that about him. But lately, I felt like we were walking parallel lines--close, connected, but heading in different directions. He hadn't told me what he'd been working on, and I hadn't asked. And here I was, about to possibly upend everything we'd built together. I wondered, briefly, what would happen if I got the offer. Would he follow me? Would I even ask him to?

"Earth to Erin," Carla said, tossing a stress ball across the desk. I caught it just before it bounced off my laptop. She grinned. "Let's go change your life, boss lady."

I smiled--this time for real--and stood up, straightening my blazer and squaring my shoulders. Whatever came next, I'd deal with it. But first, I had a pitch to deliver. And it was going to be damn good.

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Big Moves -

Matt:

The new space smelled like sawdust and fresh paint--honest smells, full of potential. I stood in the middle of the soon-to-be flagship for Olympic Edge Outfitters, surrounded by open floor plans, scattered tools, and the sound of a drill whining somewhere in the back. The walls were up, the shelving systems installed, and the skylights I fought the contractors for now bathed the space in natural light. It was finally happening. My vision--our vision, really--was almost ready to breathe. And yet, I hadn't told Erin a thing.

It wasn't that I didn't want to. I could picture the look on her face if I did--surprise, maybe awe, hopefully pride. But underneath that daydream lived a seed of doubt. Her world was getting louder. Bigger. She was pushing toward the edge of something career-defining, and I could feel her slipping into a rhythm that didn't quite match mine anymore. I wanted to believe that this store, this life I was building, would be the bridge that kept us aligned. But I also knew what it meant to love someone with ambition. You either keep pace... or you get left behind.

Rebecca popped her head into the main room, holding a tablet and smirking like she'd been waiting to catch me in a moment. "You keep staring at the same corner like it's going to paint itself," she teased, walking toward me. "You going to tell her before we cut the ribbon, or after she reads about it in the Times?"

I gave her a tired smile. "I'm waiting for the right moment."

She raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're not waiting for the right outcome?"

Her words stayed with me long after she walked off. That was the thing about Rebecca--she didn't say much unless it mattered. And she was right. I wasn't just waiting for a moment. I was afraid of the wrong one. Of blurting it out while she was distracted or stressed or already halfway to New York in her mind. But I knew time was running short. The grand opening was three weeks away, and I had no idea what Erin would think when she found out I'd built a new life for us without asking if she wanted to live in it.

That night, back at our apartment, Erin was curled up on the couch, her laptop casting a glow on her face as she edited a pitch deck. I sat beside her, my hand resting on the box of mock-ups I'd brought home to review. She looked up briefly, smiled, then went back to work. I opened my mouth to say something--to tell her everything. But the words stuck. I chose silence instead, just for now. And as I watched her scroll, a strange mix of love and distance bloomed in my chest. We were still sitting side by side. But it was starting to feel like we weren't quite in the same place anymore.

---

It was just after midnight when I woke to the sound of rain tapping against the window--steady, familiar, grounding. Erin was curled against me, breathing soft and even, her hand resting on my chest like it had found its home in sleep. The kind of peace she only seemed to find after a long day of pushing herself too hard. I stayed still, not wanting to wake her, but my mind was far from still. It was racing, filled with floorplans and vendor calls, signage layouts and that damn ribbon-cutting ceremony I kept avoiding on the calendar.

I turned my head slightly, looking at her in the glow of the city light that filtered through the blinds. She was beautiful like this--unfiltered, unaware of the thousand tiny choices I was making behind her back. Not malicious ones, just... loaded ones. The kind that changed things. I thought of how she'd smiled at me earlier, distracted, when I brought her tea during one of her marathon editing sessions. She'd barely looked up. I didn't blame her. We were both busy building something. The question that kept pressing on me was whether we were building it together--or in separate directions.

I shifted gently, careful not to disturb her, and whispered into the quiet, "I wish I could show you."

She stirred slightly, her fingers twitching over my shirt, but didn't wake. I stared at the ceiling, heart heavy. "It's not just a store, Erin," I said quietly. "It's a life. One I want with you. One I built for you. For us."

For a second, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to wake her, take her hand, and tell her everything. To show her the space, explain the vision, and watch her eyes light up--not just because of the business, but because she understood it was rooted in love. But what if she didn't light up? What if her eyes stayed flat, calculating the distance between here and New York? That fear froze me. So instead, I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and kissed her temple.

"Soon," I whispered. "I'll tell you soon."

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Erin:

I wasn't asleep.

I'd drifted close--right on that soft edge of sleep where your body settles but your mind won't shut up. The rain had brought a rhythm that usually lulled me under, but tonight, something kept me tethered. Maybe it was the pitch. Maybe it was the unread email from Derek marked CONFIDENTIAL. Or maybe it was the way Matt had been quieter lately--present but not really with me. He thought I hadn't noticed, but I did. I always did.