Page 20 of Tailored for You

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I asked. When he gave me a look that I didn’t have a chance of deciphering, I sighed. “I was going to go grocery shopping tonight with Harper. I usually try to get meals that are half-made, so it’s easy for me to get dinner together.”

Once I started talking, my nerves took over, and I couldn’t stop. “Harper is at the stage where she won’t eat anything she doesn’t help cook, so it makes it a little easier.”

Enzo put his phone down and stared, giving me his undivided attention. Having all his focus was daunting. Intoxicating. I wanted more of it while wanting to hide, with no idea what to do besides babble about the mundane details of my life.

“She’s partial to mac and cheese and some fruits. I’m working on expanding her food preferences to pizza, because at least there are tomatoes, which I think are vegetables.”

Stop talking. Please stop speaking. I begged my brain to catch up to the fact that this was a one-sided conversation.

It didn’t take long for me to finish my meal, and then I was back at the mannequin, ready to take on the rest of the work.

Enzo sat in the same chair, phone out. The only thing he did was turn the chair so he faced the door.

Why was he hanging around? I wanted to ask, but I was a coward, afraid of what he might say.

I had enough rejection in my life. The last thing I needed was to find out the guy I had a massive crush on was just making sure the single mom had dinner—nothing more.

I turned back to my project, determined to focus.

“Serena,” Enzo called my name. I turned and almost bumped into him. Tipping my head back, I blinked at him, my mouth dry.

He was so tall. From this angle, I could see a new part of the tattoo that spanned his throat.

“Serena.” He said my name again, and I wanted to hear him say it in that crisp accent all the time. As many times as I could manage.

A phone rang. It took me a second to understand what the sound was, since I’d had my phone on vibrate for the last four years.

Enzo’s face transformed in anger as he slammed his thumb on the screen and snarled, “What?”

He took a step away, then another as he listened to whoever was on the other end. He paced, Italian words streaming out of him. The only words I understood were idiota and stronza.

I knew those two words. The rest were lost on me, though.

He hung up the phone, pounding his thumb on the screen. Enzo pinched his nose, then placed his hands on his hips, and let his head hang.

“I need to go,” he said. I nodded, ignoring the pit in my stomach.

“Okay.” It was all I could come up with.

He stared at me, eyes narrowing like they did when he was reading on his phone.

Don’t ask him to come back.

No matter how nice it was to have someone around while I worked, I knew better.

He’d say no. Obviously, he had things to do. I had no business asking for more of his time, no matter how much I wanted it.

“Lock the door,” he said, opening his mouth again, then shutting it.

I stayed still, wondering—hoping even— if he had more to say, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and marched out the door, closing it behind him.

The room was full of stuff, but without him, it suddenly felt empty. Too quiet, like Enzo took the noise with him when he left.

I turned the volume up on the stereo and shook off the loneliness that always seemed to creep up at the worst possible moment, and got back to work.

Sometime later, the bell buzzed, pulling me out of my creative zone.

The sun was setting. I’d lost track of time.