We were sitting in a quiet corner of a cozy restaurant, eating lunch. I should’ve felt relaxed, happy even. But my mind was still reeling from what had happened earlier. I had confessed my feelings to Enzo, told him I loved him. He had tricked me into admitting it, using his dangerous driving as a tool to get me to speak the words I’d been too afraid to say. Despite the fear and the adrenaline, I’d done it. I’d told him I loved him.
Now, the reality of it was settling in. I kept stealing glances at Enzo across the table, but his expression was calm, unreadable as always. I wasn’t sure what I expected him to say, but before he could respond, I had quickly asked him not to say anything. I wasn’t ready for his response yet, whatever it might be.
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