Enzo

She’s been staring out the window like the answers to all her questions might be hidden out there somewhere.
Music fills the silence, and the wind plays with her hair, like a caress meant only for her.
The scent of the pastries from the box she’s gripping tightly wraps around the air, warm and sweet.

When we arrive at the drive-in theater, she shifts in her seat and looks forward for the first time. The scent of popcorn drifts through the open window, salty and inviting.
A young guy at the booth greets us with a grin, scans a code, and points to the best spot in the center row. Not an accident.
She doesn’t say anything, but I see her adjust again, tightening and loosening her grip on the box like she’s bracing for something she can’t name.

I park the car.
“We can leave if you want,” I offer, voice low. Careful.
She finally looks at me, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.
“No. It’s… nice.”

Soft jazz drifts from a nearby car, blending with the rock spilling from ours.
Laughter rises from a group sitting on the open trunk of theirs.
Dim lights flicker along the snack bar in the distance.

“You want something to drink?” I ask.
She nods, glancing around.
“Yeah. A Coke… no ice,” she hesitates, then adds, “and popcorn.”

I nod, get out of the car, and start walking toward the snack bar.
I take my time. Walk slow.
She hasn’t said it, but her nerves are sharp in the air, like static.
And she needs a little time to breathe.

From the corner of my eye, I see a couple wrapped in a blanket, whispering over a shared drink.
Another guy sets up a small picnic on the hood of his car.
Normal. Simple. Human.
It almost feels like we belong.

On the way back, things in hand, I see her still in the car, windows down. Her face is tilted upward, eyes closed, like she’s listening to something only she can hear. Then, with a small, quick motion, she brushes her cheeks with the back of her hands, as if steadying herself… or checking if she’s still blushing.

I stop walking. Just to give her a few more seconds. I was right to give her space. But that doesn’t mean I will step back in.

By the time I slide into the driver’s seat, she’s already tuned the radio to the movie’s frequency.
The screen lights up as the previews fade, and Just Go With It begins.
She leans slightly toward the windshield, quiet still, but different now.
Her shoulders aren’t tense anymore.
Her fingers rest loosely on the box.

She glances at me sideways, and I catch the familiar spark returning to her voice.
“Really? A movie, a car, and fancy bread? I feel like I’m in the middle of a very poorly scripted rom-com.”
Her tone is dry. Sarcastic.
Perfect.

I laugh under my breath, not just because it’s funny, but because I know exactly what that tone means.
She feels better.

I light another cigarette and settle in.
The glow from the screen spills across her face in flickers, shadows and color dancing over her pale skin.
She watches like it’s the first time.
Even though I know she’s seen it, probably more times than she’ll admit.

She mouths half the lines and laughs at every dumb joke.
Smiles like she’s remembering something sweet. Something safe.

Curiosity gets the better of me.
“How many times have you seen this movie?”
“This movie’s from 2011, so… at least ten.” She glances at me, smiling with pride.

I’m surprised she never gets bored.
Have I ever even watched a movie twice?
“Do you have another movie on your ‘ten times’ list?”
“Yes. Too many.”

“Is that like… being a cinephile?” I ask. Her eyes flick to me, weighing the word.
“Maybe. I do know a lot of film facts, and I notice things like cinematography, script, direction, soundtrack… but at the same time, I love a dumb, silly movie, so…”
She stops abruptly, holding back.
“It’s a long conversation, and I don’t want you to get bored… This is the best part. When they go to Hawaii.” She turns, staring at the screen again.
“I’m not bored. But we can return to the topic later.”
She answers with a faint smile and a nod.

Halfway through, she opens the pastry box, absentmindedly.
And without turning to look, she holds out a chocolate bread toward me.
An offering made in silence.

I don’t take it.
Instead, I slowly lean forward and wrap my hand gently around her wrist.
Her head turns sharply to me. Her pulse flutters beneath my fingers.
Before she can react, I lower my mouth and take a bite of the pastry.
Looking straight into the deep forest of her eyes, locked on mine.
Letting my lips brush softly against the tips of her fingers.
Just a whisper of contact.
Just enough to see if she’ll pull away… or let it linger.

Her breath catches, pupils dilate and lips part.
Fuck.

I pull back, chewing like nothing happened. Even as my body betrays me, hard and aching, every nerve alive like bare wire. I shift in my seat, take a long inhale of the cigarette and I exhale the smoke out the window, without breaking eye contact.

Neither of us says a word.
But the tension that fills the car now isn’t nervousness.
It’s something heavier.
Warmer. Far from innocent.

We both turn back to the screen. We don’t acknowledge it, but we know exactly what just happened, and nothing can undo it.