Page 69 of Enzo

“I want to learn, though,” I said, frustration creeping in. I had to learn.

Until I’d ended up in the group home, I’d never had the label for how my brain worked, but it had always been this way—relentless, seeking, needing to piece together information in a way that made sense. When a question surfaced, I had to find an answer to slot alongside it, something solid that fit. Unanswered questions gnawed at me and left me restless, my mind buzzing with the discomfort of not knowing. It was never unhappier than when it was stuck in uncertainty, spinning in circles, trying to make connections that weren’t there. And this? This was maddening.

For the first time in so long, I had the urge to learn something new, but instead of excitement, I felt lost.

I hated it.

Rio tilted his head, considering, then he paused as if he was going to say something—probably asking me if I was okay—but then his gaze flickered over my face. Whatever determination he saw there must have been enough to shut his reaction down. His expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable before he shrugged. “You learn through doing.”

“I’d probably mess it up before I figured out how to fix it,” I muttered, regretting the self-deprecating remark. The frustration curled in my chest. I hated how easy that kind of doubt escaped me, always leaving an opening for someone to swoop in, to try to fix me like I was something broken instead of someone figuring things out.

“Jamie and I were talking that maybe you’d want to work on the Camaro with us Sunday? Beers maybe, pizza, I dunno, us just showing you some stuff?” He paused. “You up for that?”

Excitement fizzed through me, bubbling up, and before I knew it, the questions spilled out, tumbling over each other in a rush, my words unable to keep up with my racing thoughts.

“For real?” God, I sounded like a kid who’d been told they were seeing Santa.

“For real,” Rio said with a grin.

“Okay, You’ll explain what happens if the timing belt snaps? Like is it always catastrophic, or can it be fixed? What if it’s just slightly worn—does that mean the whole thing is doomed? And when you rebuild an engine, how do you tell if a part is salvageable or too far gone? How do you know when to replace it? What about the carburetor—how can you be sure it’s the issue and not something electrical? And is there a way to test if a fuel pump is bad before you replace it?”

My pulse raced as I fired off the questions, my hands moving, my excitement building with every thought that surfaced. The idea hit me like a spark—maybe I could be a mechanic. Perhaps this was something I could do. I’d never had the chance to choose before, never been in a position to decide my path, and now, the thought of trying, of figuring out what I loved, gripped me hard. The happiness, the sheer exhilaration of wanting something, bubbled up inside me, impossible to suppress. I wanted this. I wanted to learn, to get my hands dirty, to throw myself into something that could feel like mine.

Oh wow, I’m seriously overreacting.

“So it’s a yes then?” Rio asked, his grin widening.

I forced a breath, steadying myself. “Yes,” I said, keeping my voice even, though my pulse still raced from all the possibilities.

Rio grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “And in answer to the question you’re dying to ask—I’ll get Enzo to join in as well.”

I floundered, heat creeping up my neck. “I didn’t— I wasn’t— That’s not—” I straightened, clearing my throat. “I didn’t say anything about Enzo.”

Rio’s smirk deepened as he saw right through me. I wished I could roll back time and nod along instead of making a spectacle of myself. My face burned, and I struggled to will away the embarrassment, tightening my chest.

Rio raised an eyebrow, the picture of innocence, but before I could argue, a voice interrupted us.

“I heard my name?”

I turned, stomach flipping. The man himself. Tall and strong, a streak of oil smeared across his Redcars T-shirt, his lips curved in a small, easy smile, his arms crossed over his broad chest, muscles popping. He was magnetic, and it was impossible to turn away as he stared at Rio and me, his usual concerned expression settling over his face—a look he seemed to reserve only for me.

Rio grinned. “I told Robbie he could help us work on the Camaro on Sunday, and he wanted to know if you’d be there, too.”

I felt the heat crawl up my neck to my ears. I did not ask that. But I couldn’t deny it now without making it seem like I didn’t want Enzo there—when the truth was, I did. I wanted him there more than I probably should, more than I could ever admit without giving too much away. I wanted to sit on his lap again, but since the night with the window I’d been nervous to initiate anything, and he was handling me with a gentle care that was infuriating. The idea of spending time with him, fixing up some old car, caused a different kind of excitement. Attraction? Hero worship? Whatever it was, I wanted to spend as much time with Enzo as possible.

My excitement waned when he didn’t smile in encouragement. Instead he stared at me for a second, his gaze steady, unreadable. My stomach did a slow, ridiculous flip, heat curling in my chest and the air between us felt charged, thick with something I wasn’t sure I was ready to name. Butterflies churned, an embarrassing, helpless reaction to the fact he was staring at me and, for a moment, nothing else seemed to exist. My brain scrambled for something—anything. A joke, a calm reply, or a standard response that wouldn’t make me sound like a total idiot. But all I could do was stare, my throat dry, my heartbeat too loud. Say something. Anything. My mouth opened, then closed. Dammit.

“You really want to work on the car?” Enzo asked. “Is that your thing?”

“He said he wanted to,” Rio cut in before I could respond.

“I was asking Robbie,” Enzo corrected, his eyes not leaving mine. Then he frowned.

I felt my chest tighten as the excitement slipped away. I didn’t know what I’d do if he asked me if I was okay. I already knew I wasn’t—had known it for a long time—but I didn’t want to hear it from him, didn’t want the weight of his concern settling over me again. I wanted this to be normal. To be treated like I wasn’t fragile, like I could handle myself without being watched for cracks ready to split me open.

“I want to learn,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt. Why did I feel like I needed his approval?

Enzo studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

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