Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
WINTER
No matter how many times I remind myself why Enzo and I should only be friends, my heart seems to have a different idea.
Over the last few days, I kept running through all the reasons why it’s better to keep some distance between us. Why it’s not a good idea to let myself rely on him this much.
Every time my heart makes a little flutter because of something Enzo does—buying twenty varieties of coffee pods so I’d have plenty to choose from, going to my house and packing up all my clothes so I wouldn’t have to keep wearing the same ones over and over, sitting up every night watching movies with me because he knows it’s the only way I can fall asleep—I drag out all the reasons again.
My last relationship turned into a disaster of epic proportions. Clearly, I can’t be trusted to make good decisions about men.
I’m definitely dealing with some level of PTSD, based on the flashbacks and nightmares and fear I can’t seem to shake.
As my counselor said when I met with her virtually yesterday, I should be focused on my mental and emotional well-being and finding ways to cope with the trauma I’ve been through.
I didn’t mention Enzo, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t approve of the thoughts I’ve been having.
Like when we were watching Animal House last night—another movie my dad used to love—and our legs brushed against each other, leaving behind a delicious, tingling heat. And I thought about how nice it would be if we watched movies like that all the time, not with Enzo as my protector, but my boyfriend.
When he took me on a short walk around his property yesterday and lifted me over a tiny stream I could easily have jumped over, insisting he didn’t want me jostling my head, I spent the next ten minutes thinking about how good his hands felt framing my waist.
Then my mind started wandering as I wondered how Enzo’s hands would feel touching me in other, less chaste places. Places a friend would definitely not be exploring.
But it’s not just how my body comes alive around him after months of dormancy. It’s the way he makes me feel safe. Cared for. Important. It’s impossible not to trust him.
And I don’t think it’s all one-sided, either. Aside from when he said he couldn’t stop thinking about me—which I could attribute to simple concern—I’ve noticed the way he looks at me when he thinks I don’t notice. Sometimes it’s appreciative, like when I catch him glancing at my butt as I’m leaning over to put something away. And other times, his gaze is soft and affectionate, like he’d like us to be something more than friends.
Still. The practical side of me urges caution. It says to wait until things have settled before even considering pursuing something with Enzo. The irritating, boring, logical part of my brain says things like I could be forming an unnatural attachment to Enzo because he’s the one who’s helping me. His care and affection could be misplaced guilt, since I know he feels awful that I was being held captive right in town and he never realized it.
Not that it’s remotely his fault. We had some great conversations and there was some kind of connection between us, but he had no reason to think anything suspicious was going on. It’s not like we were dating and he had a reason to look for me.
The annoying part of my brain tries to squash my little fantasies of spending weekends with Enzo, hiking and spending time with his friends and introducing him to Aunt Linette and Violet.
Violet would approve, though. She’s a hopeless romantic. And when I talked to her the other day and explained everything, once she stopped crying and apologizing for believing I’d say such terrible things, she said, “But this Enzo. You say he’s really sweet to you? And he’s just helping because he wants to? Is he cute, too?”
No. Enzo isn’t cute. Cute is for puppies and twenty-something boys who wear khakis and button-downs and immaculate jeans. Enzo is tall and strong and ruggedly handsome and his clothes are worn in all the right places to show off all his very impressive muscles.
Speaking of Enzo…
He comes into the office wearing olive-green cargo shorts that I never imagined being sexy before I saw him wearing them, and the sleeves of his gray Henley are rolled up to show his muscular forearms. They’re a slightly darker golden shade than yesterday, tanned after he spent a couple hours outside doing yard work while I pretended to nap but actually kept sneaking looks at him through the window.
Yes, I was supposed to be resting. But his shirt was off and his skin was glistening with sweat and the way his shoulders flexed as he pushed the lawn mower…
Logic may tell me to be cautious, but my heart and body don’t seem to agree.
“Winter, are you working?” Enzo’s tone is lightly scolding, but he’s smiling as he says it. “I thought you were going to rest for another few days?”
“I’m not working, really.” As I hastily close the laptop, I can feel my cheeks heating. “Just, you know… checking things.”
Like my emails; hoping to hear back from some of my old clients after I sent them all a brief explanation of why I never finished their projects and seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. That was a tricky email to write.
Enzo walks over to the desk and holds out his hand to help me up. Once I’m standing, he doesn’t let go right away; instead keeping his fingers wrapped around mine as he says, “I know you want to get back to work. But the doctor said looking at computer screens can delay your recovery.”
“I know.”
“It’s not that I’m trying to tell you what to do… I just worry.”
Tipping my head back to look up at him, I meet his gaze. “I know you’re not. And you’re right. I should wait. I just keep thinking about losing even more time with my business, and?—”
He brushes his fingers across the bruise on my forehead, his touch feather-light. Concern tightens his features. “Just another couple days. Does that sound reasonable? And I was thinking… Well, since you’re going to be creating all the new graphics for the store, I should probably pay you an advance or something…”
“Enzo.” I frown at him. “I’m not doing that because I want to be paid. That’s not why I offered.”
“I know that.” And now he has this disappointed look on his face that makes me feel all icky inside. “But you’re a professional, and if I had someone else do it…”
While I understand what he’s trying to do—obviously Enzo knows I’m worried about money—the last thing I want is for us to have a client-customer relationship. “Yes. But it makes me feel good to be able to do this for you. Like I’m not taking advantage of your generosity.”
Enzo stills, and his gaze goes dark and intense. “Winter.” He takes both my hands in his. “You are not taking advantage of anything. Not in the least. I want you here. Okay?”
My heart flutters again. “Okay.”
“And I get it. Why you want to do this for free. But…” His brow furrows as he thinks. “Alec might want some new graphics for his business. As you know, he’s great with computers, but he’s not the most creative guy. And Knox—you’re going to meet him shortly—has a contracting company. I bet he could use some help with a new logo, business cards… if they want to hire you, will you let them pay?”
“Well…” How can I say no when his expression is so hopeful? “As long as you don’t make them hire me. I don’t want them to feel pressured.”
“Absolutely not. And I checked out your website. They’d be crazy not to want your help.” Enzo keeps hold of one of my hands as he leads me out of the office. As we head down the hallway, he says, “So, Alec is coming over to do the final check of the security system. And Ronan and Knox should be here any minute to introduce themselves.” Casting me a concerned glance, he asks, “Are you sure you’ll be okay if I go in to the store today?”
“Of course.” Not really, but what am I going to say? Please don’t open the store that you had to keep closed for the last few days because my asshole ex tried to ruin it?
I just have to suck it up, like I did when Alec came over the other day so Enzo could go to the store to clean up. But that was only for a few hours. Today is the first day the store is officially open, which means Enzo’s friends are going to be keeping an eye on me all day instead of him.
Enzo doesn’t look entirely convinced, but thankfully, decides not to call me on it. “So, Knox is going to be here until noon. Then Ronan will take over until I get home. I have Will in every day this week; he’ll be closing so I can be done by five. Then we can have dinner, watch a movie…”
We head out onto the front porch, and the kiss of sun on my face makes some of my anxiety ease. “It sounds fine,” I assure him as I sternly tell my stomach to settle. “Alec is really nice, and I’m sure Knox and Ronan are, too.”
“They are.” Enzo still hasn’t let go of my hand. He leans against the railing and turns to face me. “Ronan was stationed at Fort Campbell with me; he was a Green Beret before he was selected for Delta. And Knox was actually on Alec’s team. Both of them have been out for a few years, but they’ve kept up their training, like I have. So you’ll be well protected.”
Enzo smiles as he adds, “They’re not intimidating. Ronan is sarcastic and funny, and Knox is a bit quiet at first, but he’s one of the nicest guys I know. You’ll like them. You liked Alec, didn’t you?”
I look out across the lawn and spot a large pickup truck working its way up the driveway. Since Alec drives an SUV, I’m assuming it’s Knox or Ronan. “Yeah. Alec is really nice. Really smart, too.”
Enzo gives my hand a little squeeze. “Just don’t like them more than me, okay?” Then his cheeks turn ruddy. “I mean?—”
I don’t hesitate. “I won’t. There’s no way I could like them more than you.”
As much as I like Enzo’s friends, my spirits lift as soon as Enzo walks through the door.
He scans the room with that constant alertness he has, but the moment he spots me sitting on the couch, his entire demeanor changes. The tension in his shoulders releases. The worried expression on his face disappears.
A smile lifts his lips. “Winter.” Quickly crossing the room, he comes over to the couch and sits down next to me. His gaze sweeps across my face, assessing. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good.” Not that he doesn’t know—he called Knox and Ronan each several times to check on me, which could seem overbearing but really just felt nice. “How was everything at the store?”
“It was fine. A little busier than usual. All the locals wanted to come in and talk about—” He stops, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Anyway. Everything was fine.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly as I touch his arm. “You can say it.”
“I’d rather not.” His brows draw into a small V. “I’d rather hear about your day. Did you rest? Was everything with Knox and Ronan okay?”
Another one of those little fantasies flickers through my head. Sitting on the couch together after work, talking about our days; not as a new thing, like this is, but a regular occurrence.
“Things with Knox and Ronan were good. Knox told me about his company and showed me pictures of his dog and he said he could help with my house. Ronan and I watched a few episodes of The Office . And I did rest. I took a nap after lunch.”
“Good.” Enzo’s hand twitches toward mine, but he stops himself, lowering it to his lap instead.
Nervous moths take flight in my belly. I’ve gotten used to holding his hand. I like it. It’s a small permission I’ve been allowing myself, rationalizing that even friends hold hands.
But has he changed his mind about it? Was he thinking it was a small way of comforting me when I was hurt, and now that I’m doing better, he doesn’t need to anymore?
I don’t realize I’m frowning at his hand until he gently touches my chin, raising my head so he can meet my gaze. That worry line etches into his forehead again. “Are you okay? Is something wrong? Is your head bothering you?”
“No. My head’s okay.” The headache is still there, but it’s ten times better than it used to be, and the nausea and dizziness are almost entirely gone.
“Then why do you look sad?”
I shouldn’t tell him. It’s silly. It could imply a level of intimacy I should be avoiding. But it comes out anyway. “Do you not want to hold my hand anymore?”
His face jolts. “What?”
Heat fills my cheeks. “Nevermind.”
“No, not nevermind.” Enzo leans toward me, his eyes turning a deep silvery-blue. “Do you want me to hold your hand?”
My heart stutters. It’s hard to take a full breath.
“Yes,” I finally whisper. “But not if you don’t want to.”
“Ah, Winter.” His hand comes over mine, big and warm and achingly gentle. “I didn’t want to assume. Or push. But I definitely want to.”
Oh.
My heart isn’t just fluttering. It’s a whole percussion section drumming at top speed.
It’s crazy. Just holding his hand feels like this incredibly intimate connection.
“Okay.” I give him a small smile. “Good. I want you to, too.”
There’s something in his eyes that makes me wonder if he feels the same way as me. But it’s too soon to ask. Too soon to be sure I’m ready.
So instead, I squeeze Enzo’s hand and say, “I actually made dinner for tonight. A casserole. I know it’s summer and usually people don’t cook casseroles when it’s hot. But I found the recipe online and?—”
Oops. I’m not supposed to be using the computer. “Um. I mean. I might have looked online for a second…”
“You don’t need to cook for me, Winter.” Now his thumb is stroking across my hand and for a second I lose track of what he’s saying. “I’m happy to do it, even if I’m not very good…”
Stop thinking about how the roughness of his thumb feels against my skin. And definitely stop wondering how it would feel if he touched me…
The casserole. Talk about the casserole.
“It’s just some vegetables and tortellini and cheese,” I manage. “Nothing fancy. It took maybe twenty minutes to prep. And you can take leftovers to the store for lunch tomorrow.”
“That does sound good.”
Aha . It’s like Violet always said. The quickest ways to distract a man are with sex and food. And since sex is off the table for now…
Stop. Do not think about sex with Enzo.
“Winter, are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Enzo puts the back of his fingers to my cheek. “You look flushed.”
“Yup,” I answer brightly, forcing myself back on topic. “I feel fine. Just… Anyway. I started the casserole half an hour ago. So it should be ready in another forty-five minutes. And I was thinking… we were talking about board games last night. Maybe we could play one?”
“What about your head? Is that too much?”
“I think it’s fine. As long as we don’t play something like Trivial Pursuit. But if we play Monopoly or Life or Jenga… I just thought it would be fun.”
Over dinner last night, we got into a conversation about board games and how I used to play them with my parents when I was young, and how Enzo would play marathon rounds of War and Monopoly with his mom and uncle. It’s just another thing we have in common, like our love of black coffee and classic comedies and being outdoors.
And holding hands. That too.
There’s a pause, while Enzo just stares at me long enough for me to second guess my suggestion.
Then he smiles. “I would love that. Dinner and games and spending the evening with you? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
Oh.
Warmth blossoms in my chest. “I would love that, too.”