Huge thanks as always to the ladies that help me with these things, and to you guys for your reviews. Veggiella incoming!

Bella

"Hey guys! And welcome back to today's video. A lot of you have been asking for this in my comment section, so I thought today I'd finally show you… fuck. Blahhhhh."

A deep breath, swinging my arms around, tilting my head this way and that like I'm warming up to do some serious exercise. I reaffix a smile to my face, staring into the bright ring-light and the camera in the middle of it.

"Hey guys, welcome to today's video! A lot of you have been asking for this in the comments… urgh."

Hand to my forehead, it slides down my face. Huffing, I look at Bree to my left, her nose practically pressed up against the screen of her cell, long legs slung over my newly purchased blue velvet armchair.

"What's the matter?" she asks, raising dark eyes from her phone and letting it fall against her chest.

"I'm just not feeling it today." Blinking at the ring-light, my skin prickles hot beneath it. "I want to sulk and eat my weight in brownies, not make matcha cookies. Periods suck."

I look back at Bree; her toned, dark brown stomach on display in powder blue Alo leggings and a matching sports bra, Nikes on her feet—one swinging back and forth. She's a model. A real one. Her last shoot was for Vogue Brazil.

"I'm up for brownies! I totally vote for brownies. My next shoot is at the end of the week."

I run a hand through my hair and walk out from behind the kitchen island where it's cooler, picking up my own branded water bottle, decorated in cute chibi vegetables, and taking a gulp.

"Mhm. I know." I swallow. "But I promised, and you know what it's like when you promise something? You have to deliver, otherwise…" My voice lowers to a whisper. "They'll come for you."

Bree laughs loudly and shakes her head, looking out the windows and down onto the street. I walk over to it, opening up one window wide. I can see the guys who live opposite doing weights in front of their garage in the winter sunshine, already working up a sweat. It's very typical of LA. The posturing. I'm sure they could work out indoors, but then how else would anyone see how ripped they are?

"You know, you don't owe anyone anything. Let alone those psycho followers that berate your every move," Bree says, standing and shaking her legs out as she joins me, a skinny arm wrapping around my neck as I let the cool breeze wash over my flushed face. "So what if you don't deliver a video on time? Shit happens. Come on, let's say 'hi' to your new neighbors? Or we could go grab some food at that new place I was telling you about? They do vegan. Or a movie? Christmas shopping? A run? Clear your head? There's no point trying to force it. Especially not when you're on your period. It's, like, the most perfect excuse ever."

"I could do with some food." I glance down at my belly that seems to look prominent in the leggings I'm wearing. Feeling bloated and crampy, I rub it trying to get some relief. "All my Christmas shopping is done. Did you need to do any?"

"Yes, but definitely not today. What did you end up getting Lottie in the end?"

I can't help but smile, feeling smug, knowing how much my little sister's mind is going to be blown away come Christmas Day. "Tickets to see Harry Styles next September."

Bree's eyes go wide. "No way! Oh my God, Bella! She's going to freak!"

"I know. You have no idea how difficult it was to get the couple of tickets I did." It's a lie. There's a ticket for Bree too, but I'm not telling her that right now.

"I am so, so, sooooo, jealous. I completely missed them going on sale because of the time difference in Europe. I was gutted they'd all sold out so fast."

"Right? Like the sweatiest two hours of my life. Worse than going to Dogpound to work out. Be glad you weren't put through that: preregistration, my browser crashing. I swear, I was shaking at the end of it, and I'm not even that much of a fan."

And I definitely didn't watch forty-five minutes of Harry Styles TikToks the night before the tickets went on sale, either.

"So worth it, though. I can only imagine how excited she's going to be! I'm so envious of y'all. Gah!"

I retreat into my bedroom, trying to act nonchalant, and keep my mouth shut. Keeping secrets is hard, for me especially. I pull open my wardrobe and run my hand along the clothes, finally pulling out a dress that will definitely hide the period bloat.

Bree finds me a couple of minutes later, crumpling pristine white sheets as she throws herself on my bed, tucking an avocado shaped cushion to her chest, sighing wistfully. Her cell is back in her hand and I can hear the tinny sound of a male voice as I slip a blazer on over the dress, and pull on some cute tan heeled boots.

"This guy is so fucking cute," Bree drawls, reaching out a slender arm and showing me her cell.

Tattooed fingers are in the frame, slicing shallots papery thin. The camera cuts to his face, hazel eyes and lashes most girls would kill for, and a look of concentration on his face that kind of makes him look… brooding—sullenness around his mouth.

And yeah, she's right. He's cute. Sort of. Cute and… brooding. I watch as he frowns, as his tongue peeks out with concentration and his jaw juts a little as he finishes plating up his dish, delicately layering the shallot slices on top of each other.

"Oh, damn." Bree fans herself as he smiles at the camera. "Look at him!" Instead, I look for his handle. And something stirs, because the name Cullenary seems vaguely familiar to me.

"I think he's commented on one of my posts before," I tell Bree as I run my fingers through my hair.

Bree sits up straight. "Really? Girl..." She rolls her hand.

I'm reaching for my own phone, trying to remember which post he commented on—which platform—but my mind draws a blank. I'm sure it was recently, but a quick scan of my last few posts on Instagram and TikTok makes me feel maybe I imagined it. Recently to me could be like, a month ago. Or several. I get a lot of interaction on my posts, and it's impossible to keep up a lot of the time.

"Are you sure?" Bree queries, peering at my cell over her shoulder and then on hers as she looks to.

"I think so. I don't know. It doesn't matter, really, does it?"

"Yeah, no big," she echoes, shrugging and getting to her feet. "Are you ready? Let's go."

...

Good Stuff is busy when we arrive. I watch rushed-off-their-feet wait staff from the door, while we wait for a table to become free. It's nice to see a new place thriving, and I'm also eager to see what other people are eating when they bring out food. It's a good way of knowing what you should be ordering, and I've been known to point at the table next to me before and request the same without even looking at the menu.

Today gives me the time to do both. A simple white menu is handed to us while we wait, so when we're finally seated at a table for two, my mind is already made up.

"Can I have the shawarma mushrooms please?"

"Would you like that with the gluten-free pita bread, or normal?"

"Gluten-free, thank you."

"Sure, coming right up."

The waiter retreats, our orders clutched in his hand. Bree gets up to visit the bathroom, and I take the opportunity to snap a few pictures and post one to Instagram stories, tagging both Bree and the restaurant. Being a foodie, people always want to know where you eat, so I save it to my highlights too.

I'm a visual person, so every picture on my grid is carefully curated. It's bright and makes me happy to look at it, so I hope other people feel the same when they come across it too. I stop on a video I did of a Red Thai Curry a couple of weeks ago and scroll through the comments with a gut feeling that this has to be the post that Cullenary posted on. It was niggling me on our drive over here, because I was so sure I'd seen that name before.

I spend five minutes scrolling through the comments, a tiny seed of doubt planted... wondering whether maybe subconsciously I just wanted this cute guy to have commented on my food. But then, after what seems like exhaustive scrolling… bingo. There he is, telling me to add rice wine vinegar to the recipe, to add depth of flavor. He even replied to my reply, but this is the first time I've seen it.

Let me know what you think.

And I mean, of course I haven't done that because I've only just seen this message, and even if I had, the past couple of weeks have flown by in a whirlwind of press events… more press events, and Riley trying to buy my forgiveness with an expensive stay down the Californian coast in Big Sur. Admittedly, the first part of the weekend was nice, but then we got into a fight about him liking bikini photos of other girls, and the remainder of our trip was one fight after another.

I land on Cullenary's Instagram profile, and scroll through his content with a little bit of envy; what he's doing is way beyond what most 'influencer' cooks can do. This is fine dining, and there's no hiding that, even if his camera work and picture quality aren't the greatest.

"He's good, right?" Bree says, peering over my shoulder, as she moves past me with a sly smile on her face, and sits herself down across from me.

"How'd you come across him?" I ask, curiously. He's only got a couple of hundred followers on Instagram, and when I switch over and search him out on TikTok, there's not much more on there either. His accounts look fairly new; three weeks at most.

"Um, a friend of a friend of a friend made a TikTok with him and her new boyfriend. Want to see?"

She knows I do. She's smiling slyly, and then she's already showing me her friend of a friend of a friend's TikTok and I'm watching as they do some stupid challenge. I'm not really paying attention to what they're doing though, just his smile, which doesn't really meet his eyes.

…

It's much later, when Bree's gone home and I'm alone, sitting in my bed with a hot water bottle behind my back, planning out my week of filming when I find myself distracted by the thought of him again. I'm not sure what it is; and I feel a little bit guilty. I have a boyfriend. But, if Riley doesn't see a problem with him liking bikini pictures, then I sure as hell don't feel guilty for looking at this guy.

I return to his socials; his TikTok and his Instagram, watching him again, mindlessly.

This time I follow him, and then I share his latest post to my stories: a video on making butternut squash filled ravioli, with a fine coating of mushrooms, cooked to resemble something more like bread crumbs and sprinkled over the top.

He reaches out just before I fall asleep, his DM now at the top of a long list of unread messages, an emoji that's mouth is round in surprise.

Thank you, Veggiella

I smile to myself.

No worries. Call me Bella x