33.4 / eleven days before

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The beach at night did wonders.

A blue blanket fell over the sky to reveal the stars floating in the distance. The waves crashed into each other and against the shore in soft sounds, and there was a gentle breeze that stroked my face with each step I took under golden sand. There was the faintest taste of salt in the air, and far ahead, the horizon stretched on, marked by the languid flowing of the tide.

There were no people around. It was just us two.

"You're impossible," I said in a voice barely above a whisper, swinging the arm that held my heels as I jumped on the sand. "I can't believe we're at a beach. A beach."

Nico laughed. He stuck one of his hands inside his jean pocket, and the other held on tightly to the picnic basket he'd brought out of the car once he'd parked. An actual picnic basket. "I did say we were going out of Northvale for a while. Besides, my mother used to bring me here often when I was a kid. I don't think you've ever been to San Mateo, so..."

I turned to face him and reached for him with my free hand. "It's perfect. Thank you."

He curled his palm against mine, and the warmth of his touch calmed me. "Come on."

Nico led me farther across the beach until we reached one out of the line of cabanas overlooking the water. The structure of the small hut was all wood—the small steps, the roof, the foundation of the walls. Draped across the all surrounding walls were white curtains that gave the cabana openness and coziness and a little something like home, and inside were two sofa beds decorated in the palest shades of blue, a center table, and a hammock.

"Eating outside will probably cause us a lot of trouble, so I went ahead and called in a reservation this morning," Nico explained sheepishly, releasing my hand to set the food on the table. "Uh, I hope this is alright."

I wanted to kiss him. "This is amazing."

Nico cleared his throat and twisted around to rummage through the contents of the basket. "And um, yeah, for the food, Ma helped me, so I hope everything's okay."

"I'm sure everything's good," I answered, meaning it. Alejandra was a great cook. "She didn't have to, though. I'd have been fine with pizza."

The green-eyed boy snorted as he pulled out sandwiches. "She practically forced herself into the kitchen with me when she found out what the food was for. Trust me, she had to."

That sounded exactly like the woman I adored. I took a seat on one of the sofa beds and hummed happily. "Then what are we having?"

"Um, we have grilled chicken, and strawberries with dips, and potato salad, and a bunch of other Mexican food—but you know, you don't have to try them if you don't want to..."

I shook my head. "I'd love to. I'm taking a taste out of everything."

His mouth twitched. "Okay."

Nico settled down beside me, and we indulged ourselves in the delicious food and beautiful view while talking and laughing about everything and nothing, all at once.

It was as surreal as perfect first dates could go. Young as we were, there was this hope in me that wished for this to be my last first date.

When we finished the food, well, except for the strawberries, which Nico had assured me we were going to eat later, Nico insisted on cleaning up after I'd beat him in a game of catching candies in our mouths. He'd said he lost because my aim was all wrong, but truthfully, he was just a terrible catcher.

With a contented sigh, I stretched my legs across the sofa and laid down. "This was perfect."

My eyes were closed, but I could sense his small smile when he murmured, "Yeah?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

A pause. "Where did Faust take you?"

I frowned. "I don't want to talk about Faust. It doesn't matter."

Nico was silent for a while as he finished cleaning up. "Yeah, okay."

There was a sudden tightness to his voice that I had to sit up and reach for his wrist. "Hey."

He turned towards me as he let himself bend down to my level, and there was a crease between his eyebrows. I scooted closer to edge of the bed and splayed my hand around the nape of his neck. "Don't think about what happened between Faust and I, please. It doesn't matter. Not to me and not to him. Regardless of whether he has Anya or not, have you."

Nico's lips pressed to a thin line. "I feel like I'm still competing with him," he admitted quietly, eyes searching mine, "and I know you're not a prize, but I just—sometimes, there's this doubt. And I don't know. I've been thinking a lot."

I blinked and pulled back, suddenly nervous. "About what?"

Carefully, his hand found the side of my face, and I leaned into his touch as his fingertips grazed my cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over my lower lip. Nico's eyes stayed locked with mine as he continued in a hoarse voice, "You know everything. What I feel for you. How I've been feeling for you for the past four years."

My throat had clogged up, so I nodded instead.

Nico took a deep breath and retracted his hand beside my hip on the cushion while the other interlaced our fingers. "I just—I want you to know, that you don't have to do this with me just because of what I feel for you. I told you before and I'm saying it again—I'll take anything. Even if it's just as a friend. I'll take whatever you're willing to give me."

My chest suddenly ached, and right now, it hurt to look at him. "Nico..."

"You have to understand," Nico said, in the same low, vulnerable voice as he played with my fingers, "that I'm terrified, that someday, you'll realize you just went along with this just because you felt obligated to, because you knew about what I feel for you, or because you felt sorry for me."

I bit down the protest wanting to escape my lips, because when his eyes met mine, and in those green irises there was only desperation to get everything out, I knew he needed me to listen until he was finished.

"I love you," he whispered, sincere and genuine and warm and infinite. "So tell me now. Even if it breaks me."

I shook my head, and my eyes brimmed with tears as I cupped his face in both my hands, my fingers brushing over the smooth skin of his cheeks before moving back to run them through his hair, all the while keeping my gaze trained on him. "Since that night you picked me up when Faust left me at the restaurant...I was already yours. I just didn't want to acknowledge it because I was with Faust at that time and it would've been wrong. But now, I—I'm not doing this just because I know what you feel. I'm doing this because I want you. What else can I do to convince you that I'm staying?"

He rushed forward and buried his head on my shoulder, sliding his arms around me. "Thea," he breathed.

"You're not competing with Faust," I reassured him softly, finding home in his embrace, "whatever I had felt for Faust back then is nothing compared to what I feel for you. Okay?"

This close, I could feel his heart beating. Fast. Steady.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling heavily, "okay."

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