Page 25 of Wild For You
As I rounded the corner, my thoughts churned like the clouds gathering above the ridge. My relationship with Nico had alwaysbeen a delicate bloom in the garden of my life, something precious and new. But now, Michael’s venom seemed to be wilting the petals before they could fully unfurl.
Is this how it starts?A word here, a whisper there, until everything beautiful is choked by weeds?
My camera felt heavier than usual as I headed towards the sanctuary of the studio. The familiar click-clack of the shutters in the breeze was a rhythmic reminder of the stories she had captured, the moments of love frozen in time. Yet, now my own story seemed to be slipping through my fingers, fraying at the edges like an old photograph.
“Josie, hey!” The concern in Nico's voice anchored me back to reality as he jogged up to meet me. His dark hair was tousled by the wind.
“Hey.”
Nico's brow furrowed, sensing the shift in my mood, the cloud of worry that dulled my usually bright eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Of course.” But as I looked into Nico's eyes—those deep pools of understanding and strength—I knew that the truth would eventually have to spill forth like the first raindrops of a storm threatening to break.
Nico's gaze lingered on the furrow in my brow, a silent carving of my distress.
“You still wanna go to lunch?”
“Oh, yes. I forgot. Let’s go.”
He gently guided me towards the café door, his hand reassuringly at the small of my back.
As we entered, the tinkling bell above the door announced our presence, and conversations hitched before resuming at a murmur.
I could feel the weight of eyes upon us, the scrutiny from the townfolk hidden behind steaming mugs and half-eaten slices ofapple pie. Nico's protectiveness was a tangible thing, wrapping around me like a shield as we claimed a corner booth. But even within the leather-bound sanctuary, I couldn't shake the sensation of being exposed under a microscope.
“Josie.” Nico's voice was firm, pulling my attention back to him. “Don't let their whispers taint what we have. They don't know us.”
“Sometimes I wonder if I even know us,” I admitted, tracing the grain of the wooden table with my fingertip, the pattern swirling like the doubts in my mind.
Before Nico could reply, a shadow loomed over our table. Michael stood there, his stance wide and imposing, his blue eyes colder than the winter frost that painted the windows.
“Isn't this cozy?” Michael's voice dripped with derision. “Lawson Ridge's darling photographer and the town's brooding newcomer, playing house.”
The café had fallen eerily silent, every patron holding their breath for the drama to unfold.
“Michael,” I began, voice steadier than I felt, “I don't know what you think you're doing?—”
“Opening eyes, Josie. You've got everyone fooled with that innocent act,” Michael interjected, his words sharp enough to slice through the thick air.
Nico rose, his height towering over Michael, a silent challenge etched into the set of his jaw. “That's enough, Michael.”
“Or what, brother? You'll throw a punch? Defend her honor?” Michael sneered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Please. We all know how your stories end.”
My heart ached, watching the two brothers—so alike yet worlds apart—locked in a silent battle of wills.
I reached for Nico's hand, squeezing it as if to transfer my resolve into his veins.
“Go home, Michael,” Nico said, his voice low and steady, a counterpoint to the tremor running through the room.
With a scoff, Michael turned on his heel, leaving a wake of silence as he exited. A collective exhale filled the space, and the buzz of conversation gradually resumed, a symphony of normalcy attempting to tune out the discord.
“Thank you,” I whispered, gratitude mingling with the lingering fear. “For standing up for me.”
“Always,” Nico promised, his thumb brushing against my knuckles, a physical manifestation of his vow to protect me from the storms that threatened our quiet world.
18
Nico
