Belle 14: April Showers

And thus April has appeared and the rain continues to go on and off ever since. All I could do all day was sit in my room and write in my notebook (s); but every time I got rolling it faded quickly into the memories of running through the rain with Brody when we were kids.

I remembered how much he loved to watch me dance in my little flower dresses which got all muddy from our mud-ball fights. There was always something about the rain that gave me a thrill.

After two weeks of being stuck in the house, I decided to go out in the rain. I threw on a dress I could go without after this, and went out onto the porch. I could feel the energy of the rushing water. I stepped out feeling the cold rush of the rain. It made me laugh. I looked up at the source hoping to see someone spraying me. Thank you God for the rush.

I skipped and spun around, splashing in the mud puddles of the dirt driveway. I felt like a little kid again; free, energized, Brody’s eyes are watching me . . . I started to really feel his eyes watching me . . . actually watching me like he was here.

I looked over at the fence separating our yards. He was sitting on the fence under the tree, watching me. I ran over to him.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching you.”

“Creeper!” I teased.

“I am not,” he laughed.

“Prove it. Take off that shirt and let’s go.” Why did I say the shirt part? Granted he never wore a shirt in the rain, but even making that comment was too far in my book. But he did it. I wish I could say I was used to his toned body, but that’d be a huge lie. I still get weak-kneed.

He grabbed my hand, “Com’on.”

We ran around kicking puddles and splashing each other. It felt like we were kids again.

“May I have this dance?” he mocked a romance movie.

“Why of course you may,” I mock-curtsied. We started dancing around the yard together, spinning around a few times, and laughing at how dorky we were. It soon turned into an actual waltz. We started moving like it wasn’t even us doing it, like we were being moved by a force that kept us together.

He spun me out and back in. He let me fall into a dip which ended up with us falling into the grass. We started laughing like crazy, and then all at once . . . silence. His gaze turned into the same passionate stare he gave Miranda. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the start I’ve been waiting for. He slowly moved closer until our noses touched. We played with what side our noses were on . . . like a kiss.

There was something so right and natural about this; like we didn’t have to kiss with our lips. A kiss made with our eyes. That is until . . . I closed my eyes feeling our breath mix on my lips.

“Brody!” Miranda’s voice broke us.

He sprang up. I looked right at her. She didn’t look hurt at all. No sign of an emotional struggle at the sight. The only thing I could see that came close to hurt was knowing her efforts to hurt me didn’t work. No matter what she did he always came to me. He always came back to me . . .

Even though I had to watch him chase after her and her fake cry, I suddenly knew he would be back for me. He never left my heart, and apparently I never left his . . .

Maybe it was just because we were neighbors who grew-up at each other’s side, and the temptation to kiss came from when we did. It was just instinct . . . to him . . . to me . . . it was something that showed me how much he did love me. But it didn’t make sense that he would love me. He just couldn’t. She was Miranda Foster . . . and I was still Arabelle Grayson . . . a Southern Belle . . . not an eye-candy Barbie.