Page 5 of Isabella

“I figured sitting might be better than walking,” he states, smirking down at my feet that have stilettos strapped to them.

I let out an amused scoff while we take a seat on the bench. “Well, joke’s on you because I’m actually excellent at walking in these things. I could probably beat you in a race.”

“I highly doubt that,” he laughs out. “But hey, I’m down to see if you can prove me wrong.”

Giggling, I say, “Okay, so maybe I can’t beat you in a race, but Iamvery skilled in a pair of heels, so if you want to keep walking, we can definitely do so.” I press the palm of my hands into the bench as I prepare to push myself up, then his warm hand covers mine, drawing my attention to him.

“I’d much rather just sit here next to you,” he murmurs, and my heart skips a beat as I relax back against the bench.

Removing his hand from mine, he slides his arm around the back of the bench. He’s not touching me, but he’s so close the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It’s a move, I’m pretty sure. Something I’ve seen in several movies before but have never experienced.

“You never answered my question,” he says. “What were you thinking about?”

Oh, right.

“I was just thinking about when you and I met.” My voice gets softer. “Well, thefirsttime we met.”

“It’s okay, Isabella. You can say my mom’s funeral. I think speaking about her is better than not.”

I wince, realizing how that came out. “I’m sorry.”

He chuckles. “You don’t have to apologize. What about the first time we met?”

I stare out into the street and watch as a car drives by, blaring music while two girls hang out the back windows singing.

Once they’ve made it down the street, I reluctantly answer Nicco’s question. “I remember seeing you at the funeral. You were so sad—reasonably so—and I just wanted to take some of that away.”

I turn to Nicco, and his gaze locks with mine. “That might’ve been insensitive at the time now that I think about it. You’re allowed as much time as you need to grieve.”

“It wasn’t insensitive, Isabella. It’s exactly what I needed at that time, and it’s exactly what you succeeded in doing.”

My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Nicco’s gaze bounces out to the street, and he sighs. His eyes shine bright, with the lights reflecting off them. “Do you remember what you gave me that day?”

I try and think back, but I can’t remember. The only clear image in my mind is of how distraught he looked as they buried his mom. I regretfully shake my head.

“Dandelion.”

The word doesn’t jog my memory right away, but as I sit here and rack my brain of that day, the image pops up in my mind.

“The dandelion,” I repeat. “Of course, yes, I gave you a dandelion and told you to make a wish.” I let out an embarrassed laugh. “How ridiculous of me.”

His arm curls around me, his hand landing on my shoulder, giving me a light squeeze. Goose bumps form on my skin as a shiver quakes through my body at his touch.

He tenses. “Are you okay? Are you cold?”

Cold? It’s a surprisingly beautiful September night, and even in my skirt and crop top, I’m still as comfortable as can be. No, I’m not cold, but being in Nicco’s arms does something to my insides. It sends an array of nerves through me but also a trickle of excitement and comfort. The reaction is a walking contradiction.

I shake my head. “No, I’m totally fine.”

He pulls me into him slightly, causing me to shift my legs, and my thigh brushes up against his dark jeans.

“That dandelion is nowhere near as ridiculous as you think it is. You giving me that little weed was the first thing that put a smile on my face since my mom had passed.”

“Really?” I’m still surprised he remembered me giving him that.

Nicco drags his gaze back to mine and smiles. “Yeah, more than you know.”

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