• 22
??
I knew because I counted them every Wednesday and Thursday.
"Five more," I said softly, sliding my pencil back into its case like it was something important. "Then you're free from me forever."
Nico leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes flicking from the worksheet to me.
"You say that like it's some prison sentence."
I smiled. "You act like it is."
The library was quieter than usual. It was late, later than we normally stayed—and the sun had already dipped below the windows, leaving the room dim.
I stacked my notes neatly. He never did. His papers were a mess, half folded, half shoved into his bag.
Boys can be so carefree.
"I should go," I said, glancing at the clock. "My parents don't like when I'm too late."
Nico stood up slowly and looked out the tall library windows.
"It's dark."
"I know," I said. "I walk home all the time. It's not that bad."
He turned to look at me.
"I'll drive you."
I blinked. "Oh—no, it's okay. Really. I'm used to it."
"Daria," he said calmly, already pulling his keys from his pocket, "that wasn't a question."
I sighed dramatically, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
"Oh. It's that thing you do," I said. "Where you make me think I have a choice."
He shrugged.
I smiled. "Fine. But—" I lifted a finger, already bargaining. "You have to take me to my favorite café first."
He paused. "Why."
"Because," I said brightly, "you look like you hate joy and sugar, and I think that's sad."
For half a second, I thought he'd say no.
Then he nodded once.
"Fine."
I've learned, that was Nico's version of yes.
We walked out of the library together, my shoes echoing softly against the pavement as the night air hit my skin. It was cooler than I expected. I hugged my cardigan tighter around myself.
His car was parked across the street.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Oh," I said faintly.
He turned back to look at me. "What."
"That's... your car?"
A cream Aston Martin sat under the streetlight like it had been dropped into the wrong place. It was so slicked and polished. Expensive in a way I'd only ever seen in movies.
"You drive that?" I asked. Okay what!
He looked at it, then back at me. "Yeah."
"Nico," I whispered, horrified. "You're literally a teenager."
"So are you."
"That's different," I said. "I drive... well nothing."
He opened the passenger door for me like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I climbed in slowly, still staring.
"Your parents must be, like... rich rich," I said.
He didn't answer right away. Just shut the door and walked around to the driver's side.
"Something like that."
That should've been my first clue that there was more to him than he ever let on. But sixteen-year-old me didn't think that deeply. I just buckled my seatbelt and tried not to touch anything.
The car purred to life, smooth yet quiet.
"So," I said after a minute, "my pink café is ten minutes that way."
"I know."
I blinked. "You do?"
"I've driven past it."
"Oh," I said, smiling. "Of course you have."
The café glowed like a pink cloud against the dark street when we pulled up. Soft lights. Pastel chairs, little heart decals on the window. This was my favorite place, and I told Nico I'd bring him here someday.
Nico stared at it like it might attack him. I giggled.
"I told you," I said cheerfully. "Sugar."
Inside, it smelled like vanilla and warm pastries. I practically skipped to the counter.
"One strawberry milk latte," I ordered, then turned to him. "And for him—"
"No," he said immediately. How does he manage to be so serious.
I gasped. "You didn't even hear it."
"I don't want it."
"You're getting a caramel cream latte," I decided. "Extra sweet."
He sighed like a man accepting his fate, and refused to let me pay.
When the drinks came, I took a sip and hummed happily. It tasted like happiness.
He stared at his cup for a full five seconds before taking the smallest sip imaginable.
His face changed instantly.
I burst out laughing.
"Oh my gosh," I said. "You hate it."
"It tastes like the dresses you wear," he muttered.
I laughed harder, tears in my eyes. He was funny.
He watched me for a moment, really watched me—and something in his expression softened. Just a little.
"You're too happy sometimes," he said.
"I know," I grinned. "That's why you like me."
He snorted before he could stop himself.
I gasped.
"You laughed," I whispered. I made him laugh.
He cleared his throat. "Don't get used to it, princess"
I rolled my eyes. I told him I hated being called a princess. He did it anyway, because I called him bestie.
No regrets.
We sat there longer than we should've. Talking about nothing. About school. About my little sister. About how he hated math and how I liked explaining things.
When he finally drove me home, he didn't drive away until he'd watched me unlock my front door.
I turned back once, waving.
He was still there, no smile. But somehow the look on his face made me feel safe.
That was the first time I realized something about Nico Costa.
He didn't say much, or smile often.
But when he decided you mattered?
He stayed, he cared, and he protected.
Who thinks these flashbacks are adorable!