The Problem with Enzo

Chapter 5: Traffic, Tension, and the Natatae Confession

Later That Day – Cebu

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• Electric – Alina Baraz & Khalid



Hers...

The van slowed as it turned into the driveway, tires crunching over white gravel. Ana adjusted her sunglasses and leaned forward, catching the gleam of an elegant white stone sign framed by flowering trees: La Maréa. The letters curved in a script that whispered luxury, the kind born from old money and quiet confidence rather than flashy grandeur.

Behind it, palms swayed lazily in the breeze, their fronds casting dappled shadows over manicured hedges trimmed with precision. The air was soft here—warmer than Manila’s but touched with something cleaner, scented faintly of frangipani, sea spray, and the mineral tang of sun-warmed stone.

Beyond the gates, a winding drive curved toward the heart of the property, revealing glimpses of terracotta roofs and whitewashed walls that seemed to glow against the cobalt sky. Glass panels caught the light in quicksilver flashes, hinting at the infinity pool she’d heard about. From somewhere unseen came the muffled clink of cutlery, the rustle of linens, the low hum of music played for ambiance rather than attention.

It wasn’t ostentatious. It was curated. Every stone, every bloom, every line of the building seemed placed with the intention of being admired but never shouted about.

Ana could feel it in the air—La Maréa was a place designed to make guests forget that the outside world existed at all.

This wasn’t just a hotel. This was the kind of place people posted about with captions like blessed and hashtags that made you want to roll your eyes.

“This place is… wow,” Lia breathed beside her, nose nearly pressed to the window.

In a pale yellow shirt and denim shorts, her long legs made Ana ache with the reminder—her daughter was growing too fast. Eleven, and already eye-level when she stood straight.

Ana gave a small nod, tugging down her cropped blouse and smoothing her high-waisted jeans. She’d never been one for modesty or for spectacle—confidence was her armor, not a performance. But here, in the heavy coastal heat, showing a little skin was pure practicality.

Her canvas tote was slung over one shoulder, packed with spare clothes, sunblock, and water bottles. Lia’s backpack mirrored hers—cartoon keychains, a tiny fan clipped to the zipper, and the faint scent of strawberry candy.

At check-in, the receptionist’s tone shifted the moment Ashley’s name was mentioned. Smiles widened. Cool towels appeared as if by magic, welcome drinks sweating in tall glasses. Their room wasn’t a room at all, but a small seaside apartment, with a balcony that spilled into an endless horizon and a minibar stocked like a celebrity suite.

“It’s too much,” Ana murmured, half to herself. Still, gratitude stirred quietly under the weight of the gesture.

Ashley had texted earlier—they were at the beachside restaurant down the path. Ana wasn’t hungry after the flight, but she decided to stop by. Just to say hello. Just to… show her face. Not linger. Not with him around.

The restaurant was all open air and the ocean breeze. A woven bamboo roof dappled the tables in shifting patterns of light. Salt and grilled seafood scented the air, mingling with bursts of laughter from somewhere deeper inside.

Ashley spotted them first, waving so hard Ana thought her arm might detach.

“There they are!” Mica, Chris, and Clarisse turned as one. They were barefoot and sun-kissed, beads of seawater still glinting on their arms.

Clarisse gasped, her voice crying. “Ooh, Ana, you look like a magazine spread! And—wait—is this Lia?”

Lia, poised but shy, offered a small smile.

“My God,” Clarisse declared, clutching her chest. “She’s gorgeous!”

“It’s your first time meeting,” Ana said, lips quirking as she steered Lia forward. “This is Clarisse. Loud but harmless.”

“Hey!” Clarisse protested, but her grin stayed wide. “You didn’t say she was already a runway model!”

Ashley swept Lia into a hug. “I’ve missed this face! You’re coming with us later, right?”

Ana lingered near the entrance, scanning the group. No Enzo. Relief unfurled in her chest like a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

But Mica—cheerful, warm, and disarmingly observant—leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “He’s in the water,” she murmured, tilting her head toward the glittering shoreline. “Paddle boarding. Probably showing off.”

Ana’s answering smile was polite, nothing more.

The group kept her in their orbit—Chris offering drinks, Clarisse demanding selfies, Ashley too busy peeling shrimp for Lia to notice the way Ana’s gaze kept straying toward the water.

And then—movement.

He emerged from the shoreline, the sunlight gilding his shoulders. His hair, slicked back from the salt, gleamed dark and wet. A white shirt clung to him in all the ways it shouldn’t, a paddle board tucked easily under one arm. Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, veins mapping his forearms. He moved like the water itself approved of him.

Ana’s pulse tripped over itself. She straightened, tilting her chin just slightly higher.

“Come on, Lia,” she said, voice smooth as glass. “Let’s go change.”

They walked back toward the villa, shadows stretching long across the path. The ocean’s hum followed her, along with something heavier—an invisible thread, drawn taut between two people who hadn’t yet decided what to do with it.

______๑♡⁠๑____________๑♡⁠๑______

Cebu: Bound to Temple of Leah

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves

Hers...

The van was the kind you’d expect celebrities to step out of—sleek, tinted, and humming like it ran on silk. The air-conditioning was perfect: cool without being too cold, with just the faintest trace of lavender from a built-in diffuser. Leather seats wrapped around everyone like designer recliners. There were USB ports at every row, overhead reading lights with soft dim settings, and a touchscreen panel you could use to change music, check the GPS, or adjust the ride lighting. It felt less like transportation and more like a rolling hotel suite.

There were nine of us, but no one felt cramped. That’s how spacious it was.

Micah and Ashley were all giggles and sunscreen in the back row, with Lia wedged between them like a princess, already showing them something on her phone. Just in front of them were Clarisse and her boyfriend Brent, limbs casually tangled the way only couples can be. Chris and Matt occupied the middle bench, leaning toward each other in hushed laughter and inside jokes.

And at the very front, I was driving.

Which, in theory, I didn’t mind. I liked control. I liked having something to focus on—the road, the steering, the hum of tires against sunlit streets. It kept my hands busy. My eyes forward.

But that sense of control unraveled the moment Enzo climbed in and took the passenger seat beside me.

He didn’t say much. Just a quiet “Hey” as he buckled in, like this was the most normal thing in the world. As if my entire body hadn’t just gone alert the moment I felt the shift of weight in the seat next to mine.

He smelled like ocean breeze and some understated cologne that made it hard to concentrate on traffic signs.

I gripped the wheel tighter than necessary. My right shoulder was acutely aware of how close he was—not touching, but close enough that a small movement might change that. And I didn’t trust myself not to flinch.

We hadn’t had a proper conversation since Manila. Not even after Cebu began. Just polite nods, the occasional glance, and this unnerving, invisible thread stretching between us, taut and steady.

He tried—sometimes asking a gentle question, his eyes expectant. But I always clipped my replies short. Yes. No. Maybe. Thank you. A smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. Not because I wanted to be cold… but because opening that door was risky.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my attention to the winding road as the hills leading to the Temple of Leah began to rise. The view was spectacular—golden light spilling over treetops, the sea glittering behind us like a strip of glass.

Then—traffic. Red taillights blinking in lazy rhythm. We crawled forward, inch by inch.

From the back, Matt groaned theatrically. “Ugh, traffic. But hey—still better than Manila. At least here you get a view with your suffering.”

Laughter bubbled up among the group. Clarisse leaned into Brent. “And less honking. Manila drivers treat their horns like instruments.”

“Symphonies of rage,” Chris said, making Micah snort.

Ashley nudged Lia. “This is why we walk in beach towns.”

Their laughter was easy, warm.

But next to me—Enzo. Still. Calm. One arm resting on the console, the other tapping idly against his knee.

Meanwhile, my pulse was in my throat.

The van inched forward again, their chatter drifting to snacks, playlists, and whether the temple was worth the hype.

Then, from beside me, his voice—low, cutting clean through the noise. “Hey… are you okay?”

I kept my eyes on the road. “I’m fine.”

“If you get thirsty, or need a snack… just say the word, alright?”

Matt’s voice shot from the back. “Wow. Look at you, Romeo.”

Brent laughed. “Sweetest passenger of the year!”

I felt the heat creep up my neck. And of course, I glanced at him.

Our eyes met.

Boom!

Gray eyes—calm but not empty. They caught me and held me there, like a hand closing around mine in the middle of a crowd. The kind that made the edges of the world blur, pulling everything else into a hush, like the still before a storm. My stomach gave a traitorous little flip, heat curling low in my chest.

For a second, I forgot I was driving. Forgot the traffic, the noise, even the steady thrum of the van. It was just him, and me, and that tiny, invisible thread between us pulling tighter with every heartbeat.

Then—HOOOONK.

I jolted, pressing the gas, forcing my attention back to the road. The spell broke, but the echo of it stayed—thrumming in my ribs, making my hands grip the wheel tighter than before.

The traffic enforcer ahead stood like a statue in the heat, arms crossed, sweat darkening his uniform. Without thinking, I rolled down my window.

“Kuya, matagal pa po ba makakausad?” I asked. (Sir, will it be a long time before we can move?)

He walked over, friendly but clearly resigned to the chaos. “Ganito talaga ‘pag peak hours, ma’am.” (This is just how it is during peak hours, ma’am.)

I leaned out a little, lowering my voice into something more conspiratorial. “Kuya, baka pwedeng makasingit.” (Sir, maybe you could let us slip ahead.)

Then, because desperation breeds creativity, I leaned slightly toward the traffic enforcer—making sure he, and only he, could hear me—while keeping my face perfectly straight. With Enzo still beside me, blissfully unaware, I whispered, “…natatae na po ako, kuya sir.” (I really need to poop, sir.)

The officer blinked at me.

I doubled down, pointing subtly at Enzo. “Kita niyo naman po ‘tong katabi ko, diba? Ang gwapo. Nakakahiya kung biglang abutan ako tapos katabi ko pa crush kong ‘to.” (You can see how handsome the guy beside me is, right? Imagine how embarrassing it would be if I… had an accident… while sitting next to my crush.)

Enzo didn’t move—probably wondering what on earth I’d just said.

The officer’s face split into a knowing grin. “Nobyo niyo na po?” (So, is he your boyfriend already?)

I smirked. “Hindi pa. Nililigawan ko pa lang. Sayang, afam eh!” (Not yet. I’m still working on it. Such a waste—he’s a foreigner, you know!)

He laughed, clearly enjoying every second of this soap opera unfolding in traffic. Without another question, he muttered something rapid in Bisaya into his radio, and within a minute we were being waved into a priority lane.

Bless that man.

Two minutes later, we were easing into the parking area when Enzo spoke—calm, casual, like he wasn’t about to detonate my dignity.

“So… you’re natatae and you have a crush on me?”

I hit the brake like I was trying to win Fast & Furious: Parking Wars.

The van jerked forward, everyone lurching like ragdolls. Clarisse yelped, Matt swore—but I only heard the deafening BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP of my own heartbeat in my ears.

I turned to him in slow motion, like my neck was weighed down by all the shame in the known universe.

And there it was.

Google Translate.

Open.

Mocking me in black-and-white letters.

I really need to poop, sir. You see this guy next to me? He’s handsome. It would be so embarrassing if it happened while I’m sitting beside my crush.

My jaw dropped so hard I’m surprised it didn’t hit the floor mats.

The van erupted.

Not just laughter—riot-level hysteria.

Clarisse was wheezing so hard she looked like she needed CPR. “OH. MY. GOD. ANA!”

Matt slapped the back of my seat, half choking on his own cackling. “You told him you need to poop?!”

Chris was wiping actual tears from his eyes. “And the crush part! You said it in Tagalog thinking he wouldn’t get it!”

I wanted to disappear. Right there. Turn into mist. Evaporate into the air-conditioning vent and never return.

And Enzo?

Oh, Enzo was leaning back in his seat, wearing the self-satisfied grin of a man who had just been hand-delivered blackmail material on a silver platter.

“So…” His voice dipped low, teasing, lethal. “The crush part… that was an update?”

I snapped my gaze forward so fast I probably gave myself whiplash. My cheeks were lava. My ears were lava. My soul was lava.

“Shut. Up.” I muttered, slamming the van into park like it owed me money.

But I could still feel it—his gray eyes glinting with amusement, his smirk stretching just enough to tell me one thing:

This man had just discovered his new favorite hobby.