Page 119 of Enzo

“I won't know. Why would I go back?” I draw in a long breath. People like me don’t get to jet set around like Penelope.

Penelope.

She’s waiting for my decision. I need to tell her.

Enzo’s phone rings, but he doesn’t jump to answer it. He’s staring at me quietly. Heat creeps into my cheeks.

Why does he have to look at me like that?

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I busy myself getting an egg whisk. “I'll quickly rustle up a nice little omelet for us,” I mumble.

Enzo answer his call, then walks away. I let out a sigh of relief. Relief from what, I’m not sure, but I notice that the dynamics have changed slightly.

I’m more ‘me’ here. I’m more comfortable and relaxed in my apartment, and though Enzo made me feel at home in the penthouse, I always felt a little cautious. Now the roles have reversed.

Enzo is the one who seems quieter, and more pensive.

I watch him now and then as he paces around my tiny space. He reappears, still on the phone, and walks past me as I turn around to get some plates out. We bump into each other. Something in my heart trips. A rush of heat darts through me.

“Sorry.” His voice is a surprised whisper, but he doesn’t move away. Neither of us do. His body is so close to mine I can feel the warmth coming off him, and something strange happens inside me.

A little pull. A feeling that I want to stay exactly where I am.

This is nice.

I move away, try to pretend nothing happened.

“Is it okay if I take a quick shower?”

I hear echoes of me asking him if I could use the bath in the penthouse.

“You don’t need my permission to do anything.”

“Noted.”

Strange how we seem to have swapped roles.

“I was just about to put out our breakfast,” I moan.

“I’ll be very quick,” he promises.

I have no choice but to wait for him, because I don’t want to eat my breakfast all alone. There will be plenty of time for that later.

He reappears a short while later. I’ve kept the omelet warm in the frying pan, and though it’s a bit crispy, it will do. I portion the omelet into two plates, pour coffee into our cups and grab the cutlery.

I notice that he's not wearing a shirt or a tie. He's very casual this morning. He must have packed casual clothes, which his strange because I remember him telling me specifically that even when working from home he always dresses the part.

He sits down. “Sorry I didn't help.”

“I didn’t expect you to. I like making breakfast for you.”

“You like taking care of people.”

“So do you,” I retort. I sit down. “I like making people happy.”

“You do that as well. You do make people happy.” He clears his throat, gets busy with his fork, cuts a piece of his omelet off. “I can see that about you,” he says, sounding a little flustered, which is odd, because this man never gets flustered. “And the children in your class must be happy.”

That was a long statement. So unlike Enzo. But thinking of my children brings a smile to my face. “Not long to go now.”