“You were tired,” I say softly.
“I’m always tired.” He almost smiles. “But no one notices that.” He looks down at his hands. Those scarred knuckles. “You saw something else.”
My brain, a traitorous bitch, supplies: I’d also like to see you shirtless. Possibly on top of me.
Focus, Stevie.
“I see you now too.”
His head comes up. “Yeah?” There’s something vulnerable in his voice. Something young. “What do you see?”
“Someone who dips fries in milkshakes.” I smile. “Who showed up at my grocery store to check on me. Who’s keeping me safe even when I’m being catastrophically stupid.”
“You’re extremely catastrophically stupid.”
“I know.” I wrap my hands around my shake. “But you’re here anyway.”
“Yeah.” He holds my gaze. “I am.”
The moment stretches. Charged.
Neither of us moves.
Then Enzo clears his throat. Leans back. Puts distance between us that wasn’t there a second ago.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he says. “Coming back. Breaking into houses. Leaving cookies everywhere.”
“I know.”
“Every time you show up, you risk someone recognizing you. Someone from the family. Someone who wants revenge.”
“I know.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“I know.” I stir my shake. “But staying away is killing me. Being Beth Taylor, disappearing, pretending I’m fine. It’s killing me. And when I’m there, when I’m near him, I feel like.” I stop. Can’t finish.
“Like you exist,” Enzo finishes quietly.
I nod. Eyes stinging.
“Yeah.” His voice is rough. “I get that.”
We sit in silence. Both staring at our half-finished shakes.
“I’m not going to stop you,” he says finally. “Can’t, probably. You’re too stubborn.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s an observation.” He almost smiles. “But if you’re going to keep being an idiot, at least let me help.”
“Help?”
“Keep you safe. Make sure you don’t get killed doing something stupid.” He shrugs. “That’s what Dario wants. It’s what I want too.”
“Why?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “You hum when you bake. Off-key, always the same half-song over and over like your brain’s stuck in a loop and baking’s the only thing keeping it from catching fire.” He’s not looking at me. Looking at his hands. “I know because I’ve been watching. Making sure you’re okay. And you talk to yourself when you’re anxious and you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous.”
