NICO
My blood's still boiling from hearing that piece of shit call my girl a slut. I can tell that Bella's still distraught over it, too, which is why I brought her to the boardwalk for dinner. Her eyes are on the sunset that's taking place before us, and as beautiful as it is, my girl is undeniably more beautiful.
Bella continues to stare ahead, yet all I can think about is if she knows how in love with her I am. I guess I'm wondering because I feel it so strongly inside that I know it must be showing on the outside, too.
She twists her head to the right, and that's when I notice it; the light-blue ribbon in her hair, wrapped around her pony. How did I not see it until now?
Nico, Age 16 / Bella, Age 15
"I don't think I'm doing this right," I tell Bella as I stand in front of the stove, stirring a boiling pot of elbow macaroni.
I'm having dinner at her Grandma Ruby's house tonight and we're making mac and cheese. It's just me and Bella in the kitchen with her mom and grandma sitting outside on the patio because we offered to cook. Well, Bella offered and then suckered me into participating. Let's just say, I'm not the greatest chef. In fact, whenever my family's private chef, Chef Taylor, is out of town, my meals usually consist of cereal and anything that I can sandwich in between two pieces of bread.
That's the thing, though. I'd do anything for this girl. Whatever she wants from me, it's hers.
Bella walks over, stopping behind me and clutching the back of my arms with her hands. Shit, that's distracting. She gets on her tippy-toes and peeks her head over my shoulder. "You're doing great," she tells me otherwise, before lowering her feet back down to the floor and coming over to my side. She covers my hand that's holding the wooden spoon with hers and I immediately freeze. "Why'd you stop stirring?" she asks with a laugh.
"Oh, uh," I falter, "sorry." That's the best response I can come up with because her touch alone is enough to render me speechless. Drive me crazy.
Thankfully I'm halted from further humiliating the shit out of myself when Grandma Ruby slides the back door open and peeks her head inside. "How's it coming in here?" she asks.
"Nico's a pro," Bella responds, but in a way where she's not saying it to just say it. I've noticed that about Bella. She compliments me, but it's genuine. Like it comes from this very real, very special place in her heart. And I get it. Because she holds that very same space in mine.
"Oh, goodie, I can't wait," Grandma Ruby exclaims, rubbing her hands together before shutting the door.
"You're giving me too much credit, BC," I joke.
"That's because you don't give yourself enough," she tells me back.
I lick my lips and then chew on the bottom one. This girl is...everything.
Bella walks over to the dining table and picks up the fresh bouquet of flowers that lay there. Her mom picked them up on her way home. Bella doesn't see me, but I watch her hold the arrangement of roses, carnations, and greenery to her nose, taking in the scent.
"Where are you going to put those?" I ask before realizing how stupid the question sounds. 'In a vase, you moron, where else?' I answer myself in my head.
"I'm thinking on the entryway console table," she says, more specifically. "I was going to put them in the center of the dining table, but I feel like these beauties need to be seen the second that someone walks inside the house."
"I like that idea," I tell her.
She walks over to the sink and unwraps this baby-blue ribbon that's holding the flowers together. She cuts the bottom of the stems and then places a clear glass vase under running water.
"How pretty is that?" she proudly asks once she places the flowers in the vase.
"I think you might've found your calling as a florist," I tell her.
"Ha-ha, very funny," she says, walking the vase over to the hallway.
Bella comes back into the kitchen and then strolls over to me. "Okay, Nico, I think we're ready to drain."
"Yes, ma'am," I tell her, using the oven mitts to cover my hands before bringing the pot to the sink. Once that's done, we walk back to the stove to mix the fresh tomato sauce in.
"Ah, hold up a sec," Bella says before we begin. "My hair's in my face. Let me run upstairs to get a rubber band."
She goes to leave the kitchen when I notice the blue ribbon that was holding the bouquet together, still laying on the counter.
"BC, wait," I call out, picking it up. "I have a solution."
She looks at me, confused. "I'm not putting that in my hair," she tells me once she's read my mind. She's always reading my mind.
"Why? Baby-blue's your favorite color. Come," I call her over, flashing a cute smile.
"What?" she tucks her chin in. "You going to style my hair for me?"
"That depends. You trust me to?"
She doesn't say anything, but nods her head in a wholehearted way.
"Like I said, you give me too much credit, BC."
"Like I said," she softly speaks, "you don't give yourself enough."
Her empowering words get me to smile. "Fine then," I say, circling my finger in the air. "Turn around, please."
Bella smirks at me before turning her body around. I have no idea what I'm doing but I pick her brown hair up into a pony, smoothing out the top softly with my hands, and then, as best I can, tie the blue ribbon around it. Bella's hair pretty much comes undone right away, but she leaves it as is, laughing instead.
And her laughter is music to my ears.
"Nico!!" She shrieks.
"I'm sorry, BC! You said you trusted me."
She turns back to face me and then utters 7 words that strike a chord in my heart. "I did. I do. I always will."
We have a moment where our laughter dies down and we're just standing there, gazing at each other with serious expressions. Taking each other in. Nothing else around me matters. She's it. She's the only thing that I see in this world.
I refuse to break first; I refuse to be the first one to snap out of this daze with her, and I think she knows it because, a few seconds later, she's the one to break the silence.
"What am I going to do with you?" she cutely teases.
"You love me," I tell her, but she just playfully shakes her head. I reach for the can of sauce and tell her, "I'll take care of the pasta while you run upstairs."
"It's okay. I don't need to go upstairs anymore."
"But what about the rubber band?" I ask.
She smiles at me and pauses. "I like this look better."
YOU ARE READING
Across the Pond
Lãng mạnNico Bradford is nothing like me. He's rich, popular, and gorgeous. He's also been my best friend and neighbor from across the pond since I was 7 years-old, despite the fact that I've always wanted to be something more to him. To mean something more...
