Across the Pond

Chapter 22

"So, on a scale of 1-10, how was day one? 10 being the best," Danny asks as we both sweep the floors.

I lean the broom across the wall and take a seat on the wooden chair. "I feel like 5 is a fair number."

"Of course it's a fair number," he chuckles, "it's smack in the middle."

"I feel like I don't want to set my expectations too high or too low. Ya know what I mean?"

"That's a good point. I will, however, try and make you feel like you can set high expectations here."

"Yeah? And how are you going to do that?"

He searches the room like he's looking for some sort of answer, until he finally has one. He walks behind the counter and turns the espresso machine on. Then, he opens the bakery display case and uses the tongs to grab a chocolate croissant. He heats the croissant up in the toaster while he waits for the espresso machine to do it's thing, and before I know it, he's handing me both.

"For you."

I look at him with a cautious smirk on my face. "Are you trying to bribe me?"

"Bribe, no. Impress, yes." He pauses. "Is it working?"

I take a sip of the lavender latte that he just made me and then bite into the croissant. "I don't know. The croissant's a little stale," I tease.

He looks almost shocked, and picks it up from the napkin. "That can't be! I watched Wendy bake a fresh batch this morning."

I start to laugh. "You always this gullible?"

Then he starts to laugh. "I don't know. You always that convincing?"

"I didn't know that I was," I say truthfully.

Danny takes a seat at the table, moving his chair in closer. "So what are you?" he asks, but when I look at him confused, he elaborates with a chuckle. "What I mean is, what are you like?"

I shrug my shoulders and press my lips together. "I don't know...average."

He shakes his head at me. "Nah, I don't believe that."

"I'm serious!"

"I just met you and I can tell you right now that you are not average."

"Really?" I raise my eyebrows and ask. "Then why don't you tell me what it is that you think I'm like?"

"Well," he begins, "I think you're sweet and hardworking and...pretty." His tone becomes more serious and then he whispers, "really pretty." I immediately start to feel nervous and look down at my feet. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to make you feel uncomfortable."

I pick my eyes up to look at him and then smirk. "You never have to apologize for calling someone sweet, hardworking, and pretty."

He smiles at me, and suddenly our little moment is interrupted when the bell on the door dings. Danny and I turn at the same time to find Nico walk in. He's in a different outfit than he was in this morning. He must've just come from soccer practice because he's wearing mesh shorts and a hoodie sweatshirt. Plus, his hair is a little shaggy.

"Nico, what are you doing here?" I stand up and ask. He looks at Danny before answering me.

"Figured you could use a lift." He makes his way towards me and pulls me in for a side hug. "How was your day?"

"It was good. Danny, here, was a big help."

I feel Nico's body tense up as Danny pushes his chair out.

"I didn't do anything," he says as he stands up. "Bella's a pro."

"You say that like you know her," Nico says, chuckling in a condescending tone when he says it.

Nico's arm is still around my shoulder, so I have to tilt my head slightly to look up at him. He's staring at Danny so he's probably unaware that I'm looking at him.

"My mom thinks she's picking me up," I tell Nico, which finally gets him to look down at me.

"Not anymore. I called her and told her not to worry." He slightly tightens his grip around my shoulder. "I got you."

I look ahead at Danny, who appears a little uneasy.

"Do you need any more help cleaning up before I get going?" I ask him.

"Nope. I got it from here," he tells me. And just like that, it's almost as though we've both forgotten about the conversation that we were having before Nico arrived.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. And thanks again," I pause, "for having my back."

Danny smiles softly. "You're welcome."

The second that he walks into the back room, Nico pulls away and looks at me.

"What?" I ask as he continues to stare.

"Nothing," he shakes his head. "Just the way you talk to him. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you like him."

I let a deep breath out. I'm tired. And not in the mood for this type of conversation. Not to mention, it's confusing. At times, I find myself mistaking Nico's protectiveness for jealousy.

"I'm not doing this," I say as I start to walk away from him. "I'll be right back."

"You're not doing what?" he huffs, and I'm surprised that he's clueless to my frustration.

"Just...forget it."

"No, BC. Tell me."

I drop my shoulders and give in. "Fine. I'm not doing this," I gesture between the both of us. "This back and forth. You tend to get mad when some other guy who isn't you gives me attention. And you want to know what? You have no right."

He looks dumbfounded, and part of me feels bad. But the other part - and it's a bigger part - doesn't. It feels empowered.

"I'm not mad, Bella." I give him an 'oh, please' look. "Okay, maybe I'm mad...but that's only because the guy is a douche."

I roll my eyes. "If this is about some stupid high school riva-"

"It's not," Nico cuts me off and asserts. "It's not about some stupid high school rivalry. It's about the fact that I've seen that piece of shit do some pretty fucked up things. Things that I don't want you to be around."

"Why?" I snap. "I'm not a baby, Nico. I might be younger than you, but I'm just as mature."

"It's not about being mature, BC. You're a good person. He's not. It's as simple as that."

"Whatever," I give in and say.

"No, it's not whatever. You're clearly upset. You're upset over a guy who almost thinks your his. When you're not. You're mi-". Nico stops himself before he can finish his sentence, but it's too late. I know what he was going to say.

"I'm what?" I ask him, grabbing onto my hips and making a "hm" sound.

"It doesn't matter."

"I'm what, Nico? Finish the sentence."

"Bel-"

"That I'm yours?" When he doesn't say anything, I shake my head and chuckle in disbelief. "I'm going to get my stuff."

I don't know what's worse. Him feeling like I'm his. Or it actually being true.