He gives me a big smile.
That’s how we find ourselves at Gaby’s place in Manhattan Beach. Enzo still has the key, and we enter her cottage easily. There’s still a pair of sandals by the door.
Gaby’s place is great. Seaside cottages within walking distance of the coast are not cheap. The appliances are new. The countertops are marble. For a single mom, Gaby lived well. Enzo was able to give her a great life, just like his college-self had always said he’d wanted to do.
Enzo stands in the doorway for a moment, not moving.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods, but his jaw is tight. “I keep expecting her to walk out of the bedroom. I need to come back this summer and go through everything. I didn’t have a lot of time to pack?—”
“And you were mourning and watching a two-year-old at the same time,” I say. “That’s difficult even at the best of times, and that was the worst.”
Enzo nods.
In the old days, I might have flown back to help him or at least spoken to him on the phone. He had to go through all that by himself. Why did he separate from me?
“Enzo, maybe we should talk…”
He stops mid-motion. “It’s fine, Axel. Really. I overreacted when I learned about… Well, you know.”
“Why was that such a big deal?”
He closes his eyes. “I don’t want to get into it. Please? I want some privacy.”
“The past is the past, Enz, and we’re in the future, and it’s going to be awesome. I promise.”
Enzo smiles, and my gaze drops to his mouth before I can stop it.
I’ve never kissed him. We’ve done everything else, but not that. Kissing is for boyfriends, not... whatever we are.
But perhaps…
I draw back. My heart pounds.
Maybe I’m sleepy. I didn’t sleep well last night. Enzo wasn’t in my bed, and… Well, it’s normal to worry. I feel better when I feel him breathing against me, when I know his body is warming the sheets beside me.
That’s probably a caveman instinct: two people in the cave is better than one. The whole warmth-conservation thing.
Except cavemen bros probably didn’t lie awake wondering what their caveman bro’s lips tasted like.
What would it be like to kiss him? I can’t stop looking at his mouth.
But I can’t pull him close and see what it’s like. Enzo is the man who ghosted me, even though I thought that was something that people did—maybe, not politely—after a couple of so-so app dates, and not after years-long best-friendship.
I move into the kitchen, because looking at Enzo does strange things to my body. I scan the kitchen.
“I’ve forgotten how nice it is here,” I say, looking around.
“She had excellent taste.”
“You must miss her a lot.”
“Do you?”
The intensity of the question catches me off guard. “Sure. She was great, Enzo.”
“And pretty.”
