The morning after Enzo’s unexpected arrival had been soft in color and harsh in silence.
Amelia hadn’t spoken much. Her eyes did the talking—guarded and unreadable. She kept herself busy, moving around Nora’s home with an invisible shield up. Enzo noticed every shift in her body language, every stiffening of her shoulders, every exhale that ended in restraint. It wasn’t how last night had ended—with kisses and whispered apologies tangled in sheets and fingers—but something was different again.
Distance.
And he hated it.
By afternoon, he had paced the length of the backyard three times while pretending to be on the phone. He wasn’t. He was trying to find the nerve to talk to her. The right way.
But Enzo didn’t know how to be soft.
Not without her asking. And she wasn’t asking.
Instea
