Page 20 of Come Take Me Now

He raises his eyebrows. “Yes, and Sicilian. But that’s a me thing. My dad, his siblings, my cousins—they’re Italian.”

And he doesn’t seem like he wants to elaborate on that either.

“Oh,” I pause. “Is all of your family nearby?”

“Mostly. My brothers are scattered between San Francisco and Nevada.”

“That’s where my stepmom is from.”

Enzo crosses his arms over his chest. “How’d they meet?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not sure what the timeline was, but my dad went to Reno with some friends to celebrate his big merger four years ago. I think she was a server, and he brought her back to Cali.”

“Damn, she must’ve wanted to get the hell out of Reno,” Enzo says.

“Yeah, it’s whatever. So, you were telling me about your family.”

“Right. Um, two of my uncles and their wives, including Appa’s in-laws, live in houses on property. My dad and his brothers are retired, but they’ve stayed close. Appa and Robby live a couple of miles away, but they come by a lot. Is that weird?”

I shake my head. “Nope, it’s really cool, actually. Tell me about Appa and Robby.”

And you’ve told her about me somehow.

Enzo sits on a stool in front of the wheel well of the front driver’s side tire. “Not much to say. They’ve been together for about five years and have two kids. Ember and Luca. Um, Robby’s my age. I’m two weeks older than him, and Appa’s a little younger.”

“Does he have siblings?” I ask, mostly to make conversation and fill the quiet.

“No.”

“What about your brothers?” I ask. “Do you have any sisters?”

“Valentis pretty much only make boys. I hate how that sounds, but it tracks. I just have three younger brothers.”

“Hmm.”

“They’re all married with kids now.”

How is Enzo the only single one?

Something must be wrong with him to be the only single one. He’s the oldest and should have kids of his own by now. Or it’s by design. He’s a selective one, so how the hell did I catch his eye?

Sometime later, Enzo stands and removes his gloves. “That should do it.” He lowers my car off the jack.

“I owe you,” I say.

“Not at all. It was nice to help you out with this.”

He bends to pick up tools, and the back of his shirt exposes his lower back. Black tattoos cover the exposed flesh and the sides of his torso in the small glimpse I catch.

What isn’t covered?

He straightens up and walks over to a toolbox. The tools clink as he puts them away. I carefully sit on the hood of my car as he shuts a drawer with a loud thud. He turns and walks back toward me. With a soft tap on my knee, I separate my legs, and he stands between them. He smiles at me like this is the only place he wants to be.

He dips his head and kisses me. Hungrily. Possessively. I lean back against the hood of the car, and he presses his torso against mine—firm, heavy, and oh, so right. I open my mouth wider and tangle my fingers into his tied-up hair. He tastes minty and musky, just like last night. His fingers find the edge of my top, and he slips them just under the material without exploring much more.

I wish he would.

Enzo breaks the kiss off, and before I can complain, he presses a gentle kiss to the small heart tattoo on my shoulder.