The Problem with Enzo

Chapter 15: Smiles, Claims, and Groceries

Hers...

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We stepped out of the restaurant into the warm buzz of Manila nightlife — neon lights flickering against jeepneys, horns blaring in the distance, and the sticky hum of the city I didn’t know I’d missed until now. Lia’s small hand wrapped around mine, her other hand confidently holding onto Enzo’s fingers like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Normal. Ha. My chest was anything but.

She didn’t mind the teasing, the banter, or the loudness of my Bahite gang. In fact, she thrived in it—giggling when Bhong mimicked Enzo’s accent and even nodding furiously when Rica shouted, “Mama Ana’s got a new Papa, ‘noh?”

To which my very own child, my traitor of a daughter, replied without shame:

“Siyempre! Afam na, gwapo pa eh!”

I nearly collapsed on the pavement. My child. MY CHILD! Wasn’t she supposed to be on my side?

The group roared with laughter. Sharmaine clutched her chest, wiping a fake tear. “Grabe, Lia! You’re funnier than your mom!”

Before I could disown my child on the spot, Sharmaine and Rica swooped in with their plan: a quick grocery run before karaoke.

“We need chips, soda, and arte snacks,” Rica announced, dramatic as always.

“Fries and ice cream too!” Lia chimed, already bouncing beside her.

“And maybe a new papa?” Rica whispered, smirking at me like she was auditioning for a teleserye villain.

My dagger glare could’ve sliced her into pancit canton strips.

After goodbyes filled with more teasing, the group scattered toward their errands. And suddenly, it was just me and Enzo.

He slid a steady hand against my back, warm and firm.

“I’ll walk you back,” he said simply.

“You really don’t have to—”

“I insist.” The grin that followed was soft, smug, infuriatingly charming. The kind of grin that said you don’t get a choice.

We walked in silence—only it wasn’t really silence. It was that charged, humming kind, filled with all the words unsaid but hanging in the thick Manila night air.

When we reached the condo entrance, I turned, half-prepared to say a quick, casual goodbye. But instead my mouth betrayed me.

“And why did you follow me?!”

His brows lifted, caught off-guard but amused. “Uh… because I’m a gentleman?”

“You sure?” I crossed my arms, feigning suspicion. “Or did Ashley bribe you with Kapeng Barako?”

He chuckled low. “She didn’t have to. I’d follow you for free coffee any day.”

“Cheap,” I shot back, but my lips curved despite myself.

“Selective,” he countered with a wink. “I only walk home women who’ve emotionally wrecked me in Cebu.”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “Wow. That’s a very specific demographic.”

“Yeah, it’s really just you,” he said, eyes steady on mine. “Congratulations.”

My smile faltered into something else—something warmer, shakier. He looked at me for a second too long before his hand lifted, slow, deliberate, fingers brushing against my temple as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was so gentle, so intimate, it felt like muscle memory.

I froze. My breath caught.

Then he leaned just a little closer, his voice dropping into something hushed, something that curled straight into my chest.

“Goodnight, min kära.”

The words were foreign but the weight of them wasn’t. They landed too heavy, too sweet, rattling me to my bones.

I shoved him lightly on the chest, desperate to recover. “Go now—before I change my mind and make you carry all my groceries tomorrow.”

His grin spread, smug but soft, like he’d just won something I didn’t even know was up for grabs.

“Looking forward to it.”

And then he walked away into the night, leaving me at the doorway, half-melting against the glass, wondering how a man I barely knew could feel like someone I’d been waiting for all my life.

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Hers...

She had just stepped out of the shower, towel-drying her hair before slipping into a square-necked taupe tank top—simple, clean, flattering without trying too hard. Cream high-waisted shorts cinched with a caramel belt gave her that “errand-ready” look. A light beige cap shaded her still-bare face, and strappy sandals kept it casual.

Lia was already buzzing with energy, recounting every little detail of her plans with her titas later. Ana was mid-sip of water when a knock came at the door.

She opened it—and her breath caught.

Enzo.

He stood there like some unsolicited weekend blessing, balancing two iced coffees in one hand and a brown bag of pastries in the other.

Her hair. Damn it. Still damp, still unbrushed—she probably looked like she had fought with a typhoon and lost.

“Morning,” he greeted, voice still rough, warm, almost lazy from sleep.

He wore a plain black crew-neck shirt, beige khaki shorts, and clean white low-top sneakers. Effortless. Comfortable. And on his wrist—yes, that was definitely a Rolex, casually gleaming like it had every right to. His hair was messily tousled, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

Ana hated herself a little for wanting to do the same.

Before she could react, Lia peeked from behind her, squinting at him with a grin that spelled trouble.

“Starstruck, Mama?”

Ana glared at her daughter.

Enzo chuckled, quick to add fuel. “Take a picture—it’ll last longer.”

Ana rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw her own regrets. “Come in,” she muttered, stepping aside.

Both Lia and Enzo were laughing as he entered, placing the coffees and pastries neatly on the table like he belonged there.

“Didn’t you say you’re in charge of groceries?” he asked, lips quirking. “I said I’d help.”

Of course he’d show up. Early. Prepared. Calm. She didn’t expect him to follow through, but here he was—steady, dependable, annoyingly smug about keeping his word.

Before Ana could retort, the condo door burst open with dramatic flair.

Pao strolled in first, sunglasses on indoors, tote bag dangling from his arm like it was Gucci. “Mare! You will not believe the elevator drama—”

He stopped mid-rant, eyes landing on Enzo by the dining table. “…Oops. Sorry, didn’t realize there was an afam in the building.”

Right behind him, Jem entered and promptly gasped loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Ay, girl! Si Enzo ba ‘yan? And why does he look like a budget Chris Hemsworth on intermittent fasting?!”

Enzo gave them the most polite smile, clearly entertained. “Hi. Good morning.”

“‘Hi. Good morning,’” Jem mimicked with a dramatic sigh, fanning herself. “Girl, is this your grocery assistant or the plot twist we’ve all been waiting for?”

Ana smacked Jem’s arm lightly. “Tama na. Magdadala ‘yan ng basket mamaya. Grocery lang ‘to, hindi teleserye.”

Pao adjusted his shades, giving Enzo a critical once-over. “You carry the heavy bags, afam. Let’s see if you’re worth our best girl’s attention.”

Unbothered, Enzo grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

Ana groaned, covering her face with her hands as Lia giggled in the background, thoroughly entertained by the circus.

And just like that, her ordinary errand day transformed into another episode of her ridiculous life: slightly chaotic, occasionally flirty… and now starring one very persistent Enzo who made even groceries feel like a date.

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His...

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• Adore You – Harry Styles

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• Can’t Stop the Feeling – Justin Timberlake

If someone had told him a week ago that he’d be pushing a shopping cart through a Filipino supermarket with Ana beside him, humming quietly as she compared labels—he would’ve laughed.

Yet here he was.

Yesterday replayed in his head like an uninvited reel.

The way she had laughed—loud and unguarded, not the polite chuckle she often gave him. How she teased her friends like they were siblings, playful and sharp-tongued. The way she leaned in to listen, the way she rolled her eyes and pouted, exaggerated but endearing. She had been… alive. Effortlessly magnetic.

What caught him most wasn’t her beauty—though God knew that was impossible to ignore—it was her heart, showing in gestures she didn’t even realize. Passing food across the table without being asked. Nudging plates closer. Making sure her friends, her daughter, even him… didn’t leave hungry.

That tugged at him, hard.

It was familiar. The kind of quiet service he’d grown up watching—his mother to his father, his brothers’ wives to their husbands. Not servitude. Not duty. Love. Care woven into the smallest acts, invisible if you weren’t paying attention.

And he wanted that. Not abstractly. Not someday.

With Ana.

Now, walking beside her in a cramped supermarket aisle, he found himself noticing everything—the way her fingers traced the text on a can, the absent-minded hum in her throat, the crease on her forehead when she was calculating prices. Ordinary things, but with her, they pulled him deeper.

She caught him staring again. Of course she did.

Her brows lifted. “What?”

He almost said it. You. Just you.

Instead, he smirked and reached over, dropping a random pack of instant noodles into the cart. “Nothing. Just making sure you don’t starve.”

She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath in Tagalog that he couldn’t fully catch—but the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

And Enzo knew, right then, that yesterday hadn’t just been a fleeting moment. It had opened something.

In her.

In him.

And he wasn’t about to let it close again.

And oddly… Enzo felt at peace.

Ana was holding a jar of something with green chilies, studying the label before turning to him. “Do you have any food allergies?” she asked, genuine curiosity in her tone. “Or anything you can’t eat?”

He blinked. “None. I’ll eat anything, especially if you’re the one cooking.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Careful. I cook Filipino food. Some dishes might traumatize foreigners.”

Enzo raised a brow. “I survived military food and Swedish fermented fish. I can handle anything.”

Her grin was quick, unguarded. “Okay, big guy. But seriously, if there’s anything you like—snacks, drinks, anything at all—just say so. I’ll get it, or I’ll cook it.”

The words caught him off guard. He stood still for a moment, stunned by how thoughtful she sounded. Other women always told him what to order, what to wear, where to go. They wanted him claimed, branded, paraded like some kind of prize.

But Ana was different.

She wasn’t trying to possess him or mold him into her world. Instead, she was asking what he wanted. A choice. A voice. As if what mattered to him actually mattered to her.

It was so simple, yet it felt disarming. Personal. Intimate.

And standing there between fluorescent shelves and the hum of carts rolling past, Enzo realized it wasn’t grand gestures that undid him—it was this. Ana, thoughtful and unassuming, giving him something no one else had ever offered: space to just be himself.

It felt personal. Intimate.

Cloud nine? No. This was better. It was grounding. Like being seen for the first time in a long while.

They moved together through the aisles, laughing over the quirks of local packaging—Ana explaining what chocnut was, him daring her to buy sardines in chili oil. Enzo found himself discovering a new layer to her: dry humor delivered in such a subtle way it snuck up on you. She wasn’t loud, but she was sharp, surprising. Still guarded, though. Always careful, as if tiptoeing through her own thoughts.

He stepped away briefly to take a call from Nico about some documents. But when he turned back, he froze.

A man was standing beside Ana. Mid-30s, tall, trying too hard—and clearly hitting on her.

Enzo’s jaw clenched instantly.

Ana’s shoulders were tight, her smile polite but detached. He knew that armor. The version of Ana that kept the world at a distance. And then—just as his stride lengthened toward them—her eyes met his.

And she smiled.

Not polite. Not nervous. But the kind of smile that told him, you’re just in time.

Her lips curled warm for him, then cooled into dismissal when she glanced back at the man. Just a subtle lift of her chin, a silent message: I’m not available.

Enzo had caught enough of the exchange on his way back.

The man leaned in, voice slick with confidence. “Maybe I can take you out sometime—coffee, dinner?”

Ana’s reply was calm, polite, but final. “No, thank you. I already have company.”

Then she looked past him—straight at Enzo. Her smile shifted, soft and unguarded, and the heat in his chest flared. That warmth was his, only his.

He didn’t even need to say anything. Her eyes had already answered for both of them.

Heat flared in his chest, then cooled into something solid, steady. Pride. Possession.

That’s my woman.

And she handled it perfectly—without needing to raise her voice, without needing anyone to save her. She didn’t need a man. But hell, he wanted to be the one she’d lean on if she ever chose to.

He walked up casually, slipping the coffee he’d bought earlier into their cart. “Hey,” he said gently, before turning his gaze to the stranger. “Is there a problem here?”

The man faltered, sizing him up, but Ana spoke first—calm, steady.

“No problem. We were just finishing up.” She rested her hand lightly on Enzo’s arm, and the guy finally backed off.

Ana let out a soft exhale once he left. Enzo leaned closer.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, her tone clipped but composed. Then her lips curved. “But thanks for the timing. You’re good at that.”

His own smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Still riding high on the claim hidden in that smile of hers, he teased, “You smiled at me and roasted him with the same lips. Brutal.”

She smirked. “Multitasking. I’m a mom, remember?”

He laughed, the cart rolling forward again, though his heart stayed behind—still caught in the echo of that look she’d given him. In that strange, fluorescent-lit supermarket aisle in Manila, he realized something:

The more he saw of her, the harder he fell.

And he never wanted to stop.

At the checkout, Enzo reached for his wallet, sliding his card to the cashier without hesitation.

Ana’s eyes widened. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

She darted forward, blocking his card with her hand like a guard defending a basketball hoop.

Enzo blinked. “Ana—come on.”

That firm, no-nonsense look met his. “You’re the guest. Guests don’t pay.”

He tilted his head, lowering his voice just enough that it brushed against her ears. “I don’t want to be a guest.”

She froze. Just a flicker. She caught the weight of it, but said nothing.

He gestured to the groceries. “Call it a token of appreciation—for the documents you brought yesterday. And for feeding me, technically.”

She huffed, arms crossing. “If you keep doing that, you’ll run out of money before you leave the country.”

He grinned. “Unlikely. But if that happens, I’m crashing at your place.”

Her eye roll was immediate. “You wish.”

“I do,” he countered, half-joking, half not.

Her lips twitched, fighting a smile. Still, she stood her ground. “Seriously, Enzo. I’m in charge of groceries today. I planned for this. You’re not ruining my budget.”

God, this woman.

He didn’t care about the money—he’d spent more on a single business meeting than this entire cart. But this wasn’t about the cost. It was about Ana wanting to handle things her way. Her pride. Her control.

And maybe… her boundaries.

So he lifted his hands in surrender, retreating. “Fine. You win. But next time—snacks are on me.”

She glanced sideways, gauging his seriousness. Finally, she nodded. “Next time. Only snacks.”

Enzo smiled to himself as she paid, sliding her coins into the tray with practiced ease. He watched the way she organized the bills, checked the receipt twice, bagged everything with precision.

This was Ana’s world—quiet strength, order in chaos. Taking care of everything while pretending like it was nothing.

She didn’t need saving.

But God, he wanted to be the one she let in. To carry just one bag, without her guilt.

And maybe one day, she’d stop calling him a guest.

Maybe she’d call him… hers.