Page 108 of Filthy and the Beast

“Trust me,” I assure everyone. “I spend plenty of time watching birds with Enzo. Work will never get in the way of lake time.”

With a grunt, Enzo takes my hand. “We could always spend more time here,” he jokes.

Mom laughs. “Exactly. There’s never enough time for birds!”

I swing our hands as we walk along the lake. The leaves have all turned their brilliant fall colors, and light shimmers off the gently rolling water.

I’m definitely working a lot, although I wouldn’t say too much. After following through on my plans to audit the course in sexuality studies, it became clear that I cared more about the opportunity in social media, and Enzo encouraged me to take a chance and go for it. Launching my career has been a major project, but as soon as I started, I knew it was the right direction. I love the creative outlet of making the videos, designing sets and editing footage and writing posts, and spending all day with the dogs is a dream. Public appearances energize me, just like I’ve always found it enjoyable to meet new people. But none of that would satisfy me the same way if I didn’t believe so much in the work I’m doing.

I’m educating people, changing opinions, and using my platform to raise serious cash for causes I believe in. It’s hard to imagine a career more satisfying.

Luckily, despite all the work, support comes in from all sides. Fox has connected me with some great people in the media landscape, and I’ve been slowly but surely learning to build a brand and establish consistent income.

Just as important, though, has been the support I receive at home.

Enzo is proud of me and the work I do. He tells me all the time. And even though he hates being in the public eye himself, he’s been more than happy to drive me and the dogs to our events, just like he pleasantly busies himself with the million odd jobs I need done for each new video. He prunes the shrubs in the garden when I need a crisper background shot, keeps on top of the laundry and groceries and other household chores when I get behind on my deadlines, and organizes all the props and dog costumes I’ve been collecting when they threaten to spill out of the closet.

It’s not a strict division of labor. I don’t think either of us would be happy with that. Instead, it’s a true partnership, each of us falling into complimentary roles. I still love cooking, so Enzo preps some ingredients, but leaves it up to me to assemble the meal. He loves working out lessons for his classes, so I spend a few hours in the gym with him every week, running through drills and offering my perspective as a non-jock.

Warmth flowing through me, I look up at my man. The classes at Reggie’s gym have opened up a new chapter in Enzo’s life. The first weeks he was so anxious, he barely slept. He’d pace the home gym and the garden, wringing his hands and grumbling to himself. But then the students warmed to him. And Enzo found an entire world of people eager to talk about boxing, but without any of the corruption and violence of the fighting world that so abused him twenty years ago.

Whenever I see him coaching, pride blooms in me. The big goof's so happy to help, his scowl turns into a smile by the end of every class.

He found a place for himself in the world, just like we found a place beside each other.

Mom slows her walk, falling in step with me and Enzo. “What a lake.”

“Saw a rustic bunting here one time.”

“This far south?” she asks, excited.

Pleased, Enzo nods. “That’s right. Real surprise.” He nods toward me. “Damian always spots the peregrines.”

“He pretends not to see them so that I can,” I explain. “Like how I act like it’s a mistake when I make cupcakes and leave the dishes out with frosting all over them for him to secretly lick above the sink later.”

Mom laughs as Enzo snorts. “How the hell did you know I do that?”

“Pleasure imperative,” I tell him. “Sneaking you treats without you realizing is just too much fun. I’m perfecting my technique every day.”

Releasing my hand, Enzo throws his arm over my shoulder, pulling me by his side. “Sometimes you do see the peregrines first, by the way.”

I grin. “Glad to know it.”

We walk with our families for a while longer, arriving eventually at the picnic table. Nat and Gwen joke around with me and Mama. When we’re all laughing too much, Enzo and Mom hurry off with their binoculars to find some quiet.

In theory, the age difference between me and Enzo could have made for some serious awkwardness when we met the families. He and I definitely get funny looks in public sometimes, although with my rising celebrity and his waning recognizability, knowing exactly what the gawker is thinking about is always hard.

Dodging that bullet with our particular families is a blessing I haven’t forgotten. Nat and Gwen were so relieved Enzo had found someone, they didn’t even blink at my age. And after some loving and reasonable questions, my moms came on board and worked through any feelings they had before our first meeting.

Once we got the whole group together, though, it became obvious why it all works. Enzo and I are family, bringing a unique world together around us. Having a friend group just as strong, a whole second family there to share our lives with, makes me feel like I won the life lotto. Enzo has hangouts with Reggie, Everett, and Nat, usually playing basketball or drinking beer, and my game night has achieved epic status.

Mom wanders back toward the picnic table, and I excuse myself and sneak down the path. Enzo stands there, eyes over the water, a soft smile on his face.

“Any special birds?” I ask as I approach.

Turning to me, he pulls me into a kiss. “Just this one.”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo.”

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