It's unusual romance, but romance nonetheless.
There is something beautiful, breathless, and nerve-wracking about the conversation, the clearing of air thatmight lead to a path of a future relationship—not something we have now, but something more. A different sort.
One that's romantic.
I sit back and breathe slowly because I'm needlessly tying myself up in knots. So, I get up and go to the terrace's edge, leaning on it as I take in the pretty back terrace and then the skyline of Brooklyn that I can see.
The back doesn't face Manhattan, but I don't mind.
Yes, the view is lovely, but I want to sit with everything.
An evening like this is special.
He hasn't hit on me, though there have been looks, the soft flirt. The honesty I didn't expect.
Not just the honesty he uses to pay lip service, because he stumbled and laid things bare. He said it in a way I want to hug to me.
Because I can see it shining softly.
He owned up to his mistake, admitted he feels he did the right thing for me, but can see it might not have been right.
Enzo acknowledged I didn't overreact and that I have a right to anger, a sense of violation.
It's growth. Good.
And I can admit my own shit, too. How I liked him spying as part of a game, how it shows me permission is important on so many levels.
His presence, as he comes up behind me, wraps around me like a caress.
If he were to make a move and lay waste to some of what's been accomplished, this would be the time.
It's not that I think that's his plan, but I can see the risk, as this has the makings of a seduction scene if he did that.
But, of course, he doesn't.
Enzo leans on the balcony's edge near me. "Should I ask what you're thinking?"
"That it's pretty."
"Yes, it is. Very much so."
I turn, and he is looking at me. But then he casts his gaze into the twinkling yard.
"Should I go...?" Honestly, I'm not sure if I should go and thank his friend for cooking.
"Go as in go? Go as in you're tired? Go as in say thanks to the chef?" he asks, a faint zing of amusement in his tone.
We look at each other, and his curved mouth is the invitation I'm finding hard to resist.
"Which do you think it is?"
"You're fucking polite, Lola, so you probably want to see the chef." He pauses. "You're also capable of untold filth, so maybe that's not a good idea. François is exceptionally good-looking. I'm finding I liked the idea of a threesome with you and another guy when I was both me and the other guy."
"And how would that work?"
He shrugs. "No fucking idea. But I'll think of something."
Enzo turns back to the night, and I want his touch.
