This man just weaponized a fry. I should arrest him. I should marry him.
“Okay that’s actually really good.”
My voice is husky. Why is my voice husky. It’s a fry, not his dick. Get it together.
“Told you.” His grin widens, and it transforms his whole face. Makes him look less like a man who hurts people and more like someone who’d steal the last slice of pizza and not apologize. “You doubted me.”
“I doubt everyone.”
“Smart. Terrible survival instinct in your case.” He gestures at me with a fry. “But generally smart.”
I laugh. And it feels different from laughing with Saul. That was relief, the surprise of being okay. This is easier. Lighter. Like Enzo expects me to laugh, like that’s the whole point.
“My survival instincts are fine,” I protest.
“Sweetheart, you’re having milkshakes with a mob enforcer who followed you to a grocery store. Your survival instincts are on life support.”
“You’re the one who showed up at my grocery store.”
“You’re the one who invited me for milkshakes.”
“You’re the one who said yes.”
“You’re glowing.”
“You’re grinning.”
“You’re,” he starts. “Finishing your fries before I do.”
We’re both grinning now. Both leaning forward slightly without meaning to.
“You’re trouble,” he says. “I knew it the second you offered me cookies instead of crying.”
“What was I supposed to do? You looked sad.”
“I looked threatening. I was actively trying to look threatening.”
“You looked like you hadn’t had anything but vending machine coffee and vengeance in weeks. Of course I offered you cookies.”
He laughs. Rough and surprised and genuine.
“You’re insane,” he says, but it sounds like a compliment.
“I prefer unconventional.”
He steals one of my fries. “So. You want to know why I’m really here?”
What the fuck is it with men and potato theft? Not that I should judge. I wonder what I’ll steal from Enzo?
“I assume Dario sent you.”
“He did.” Enzo dips my stolen fry in his shake. “He’s worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Because you keep showing up at his restaurant and breaking into his house and leaving cookies like some kind of feral baked goods fairy.”
“I’m not a feral baked goods fairy.”
