Page 65 of Daring Enzo

Rachel nudges me gently. "Kelly, did you ever manage to go hiking again after Camillo?"

I laugh softly. "If you count chasing after a hyperactive toddler who crawls faster than lightning through the park as hiking, then yes!"

The vibrant atmosphere eases my mind, but I can't shake the ache of Enzo's absence. I'd tried to hold back and let Enzo fade in memory. But curiosity gnawed at me like a persistent itch. I'd hired a private investigator to check on him. The impact of seeing his photograph in the report after such a long time apart shocked and surprised me. His transformation was real and tangible. He frequented a community center like Alessia had said, a place so unlike the penthouses and boardrooms he'd once inhabited.

There was a photo in the file, the one stole my breath away. Enzo's brown eyes bore in mine, a mix of vulnerability and strength. Even in the janitor clothes he wore at the community center, he looked irresistibly sexy. If we ever get back together, I will certainly need him to cosplay.

What am I thinking? How could a man haunt my dreams even when he was miles away?

Despite trying to restrain myself, the longing to check on him grows too strong to resist. I sneak a moment, slipping away to privately investigate the picture in my bedroom. His picture is in my hands, and I'm momentarily frozen. He's engaging in community work, something so uncharacteristic of the Enzo I knew. I marvel at the changes in him, the growth I've missed witnessing firsthand.

Then, a photo of him catches my eye, and my heart clenches. The private investigator had taken his job too seriously, perhaps because I had overpaid; this picture was taken in his small apartment while he was in a towel. His features — the dark, curly hair, those piercing light brown eyes, the subtle curve of his lips — flood my mind with memories. I long for him more than ever. The sight of his muscles has my loins stirring.

Why does it feel like this? I shouldn't miss him this much.

I hastily return to the party, trying to bury the mixed emotions stirring within me. Louisa catches my eye and waves me over to join the conversation. The distraction helps, yet Enzo lingers in the recesses of my mind, an unresolved puzzle I can't quite set aside. I wondered if he missed me too if he felt the void I'd left behind.

Does he miss my touch?

As the stories wind down, the evening takes a gentle turn. Camillo, nestled in Mom's arms, seems to sense the shift. His laughter fades in gentle coos and babbling, drawing our attention. The chatter continues, filling the room with warmth and laughter. As the evening progresses, we gather around the table, adorned with a colorful birthday cake, a lone candle flickering in the center.

"Alright, everyone, gather around for the birthday song!" Dad announces cheerfully, beckoning us closer to Camillo seated at the head of the table.

Camillo giggles with delight, clapping his tiny hands as we gather around, ready to sing. His bright eyes sparkle with excitement.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," we all sing in unison, the joyous tune filling the room. Camillo squirms in anticipation, a broad smile lighting up his face.

"Happy birthday, dear Camillo, happy birthday to you!" we finish, cheering with applause.

Camillo beams, his laughter bubbling over as we encourage him to blow out the single candle perched atop the cake. With a little help, he purses his lips and blows, the flame flickering before extinguishing with a tiny puff of air. Applause and cheers fill the room as Camillo claps his hands, thoroughly delighted with his accomplishment.

"Mama, Ento, Ento!" Camillo babbles excitedly, drawing a momentary hush over the room.

"What's the little one up to?" Jenna smiles, her gaze fixed on Camillo.

We watch in awe as he repeats a string of sounds, his tiny voice filling the room. "Ento, Ento."

Silence envelops us as we exchange stunned glances. Camillo's innocent babble sounds remarkably like "Enzo, Enzo."

"He... did he just say Enzo?" Rachel gasps, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"He did, didn't he?" Louisa murmurs, her tone awestruck.

Molly's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "'That's... unexpected!"

"He's just a baby, right?" Jenna breaks the silence, seeking confirmation. "I mean, it could be a coincidence, couldn't it?"

Mom smiles gently, patting Camillo's back. "Babies do babble, but sounded pretty clear, didn't it?"

I gaze at my son, my heart feeling a surge of emotions. Amid the murmurs and ponderings, I catch Camillo's eye, and he giggles innocently, oblivious to the significance of his words.

It has to be a coincidence.

As the evening winds down and goodbyes are exchanged, the memory of Camillo's words lingers. The weight of his innocent babble echoes in my mind, leaving me with a sense of curiosity and longing. I bid farewell to my loved ones, their lingering presence a comfort as I retreat to my bedroom.

I put the sleeping Camillo in his crib, a pang of longing tugging at my heart. Enzo. My mind wanders, wondering how he's doing, how he's coping without knowing about his very much alive child who just mumbled his name. The urge to check up on him gnaws at me; and despite my resistance, I succumb. I sink onto the bed holding the photo of Enzo half naked tightly in my bosom.

"Enzo," I silently whisper, the name hanging in the air like an unspoken prayer, as I bury my face in my hands, seeking solace in the solitude of the night. He is different now, finally in therapy. The man he had been was evolving, shedding layers like a snake shedding its skin.

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