6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Instead of telling her where he was going and why he was going there, Enzo told his mother he'd made plans with Rocco—it was a little white lie but the way he saw it, a necessary one, because he didn't need to encourage her to build her castle in the sky any taller than it already was.

He walked down the darkening street, noticing a number of people carrying ice cream cones and cups emblazoned with the Cherry's bright pink logo as he headed closer to his destination.

When he reached the corner the ice cream parlor sat at, with its big blank wall, he stood there for a long minute, staring at it. Imagining various different images splashed across it.

And even though he didn't really want to do it, in fact telling his mind that he didn't want to envision the story told by his paintbrush, he did anyway.

He could see it, clear as day, bright and undeniable, the outcropping hill rising on one side, Eliza standing on top of it, her dark hair streaming behind her in the wind as she faced the open ocean, waiting for the man she loved. There was a boat too, drifting on the waves at the far end, and the tiny figure of a man staring down the storm as he tried, desperately, to get home.

Enzo took a deep breath.

He still didn't want to paint this, but he couldn't deny it was an arresting image.

Rounding the corner, he pulled open the door to Cherry's, not surprised to see it half-full, but most of the people already sitting at tables, and only one person in line currently. He slipped in behind them, eyeing Will behind the counter, his big body moving gracefully from one task to another, scooping ice cream and mixing milkshakes and swirling dollops of bright white whipped cream on top of dishes, all topped with . . .what else but cherries?

The white T-shirt and bright pink apron he was wearing were mostly clean, a single stripe of chocolate across his pectoral muscle, and a smear of something almost as pink as the apron across its front.

He was smiling at something his employee had said, and his eyes were so blue, his teeth so white, against his tanned face, and something inside Enzo clenched.

He hadn't come back here to start anything with anyone. Certainly not the kind-eyed man with all the muscles and the ice cream shop.

He'd come home because his mother had made him such a good offer he hadn't been able to resist.

But he'd never imagined that the man would be as alluring as the blank wall he owned.

The woman in front of Enzo finished ordering and he watched as Will easily slid in front of the register instead of his employee who'd been there before.

Enzo wondered if it was because of him .

That thing inside him clenched harder.

"Hey," Will said, giving him an even deeper, sweeter smile. "How's it going?"

"Good. You?"

"Oh, we've been busy, but like I expected, it's been slowing down." The smile deepened even further, like nothing could have delighted Will more.

Enzo was helpless to smile back, even though there were probably half a dozen people in the shop who were going to report back to his mother—and to anyone else who would listen—that he and the newbie in town had been flirting over ice cream.

"Lucky for me," Enzo murmured. "I don't know what I want, so you'd better suggest something for me to try."

"I got you," Will said confidently, conspiratorially. "You like chocolate?"

Enzo shot him a look. "Doesn't everyone?"

"You'd be surprised. But I'm not surprised you do." Will's voice lowered and leaned in, right over the counter. "Your eyes are like the best Valrhona in my storeroom."

Enzo knew he had the Moretti good looks but it was still one of the best compliments he'd ever received. "I'd say thank you, but I didn't have much to do with them."

Will nodded, once, decisively. "I'm gonna make you my tuxedo milkshake. You good with that?"

"I trust you," Enzo said and realized, to his own surprise, that he didn't necessarily distrust Will.

"Go ahead and take a seat and I'll bring it out. Joy's already out there, and I've told her what I'm hoping for. She's very excited," Will said, waving towards the seating area.

Enzo wanted to warn him that he hadn't made any promises, but it was hard to burst the happy bubble that seemed to envelop him.

"Alright," Enzo said.

When Enzo turned around, sure enough there was an empty chair, right next to Joy Billings, who appeared to be halfway through her dish of ice cream.

"Hi, Joy," Enzo said, sliding into the chair after giving her a quick embrace. "It's good to see you."

"Oh, Enzo. Welcome home." There'd been a time when Joy's voice had been downright chilly, back when he'd resented Oliver for the failure of their date, but so much had changed.

He'd changed, and then he'd done everything he could—save move home to Indigo Bay—to make it right with both the mother and the son.

"I see you've discovered how delicious the ice cream is here," he said as she scooped up a bite of ice cream the exact color of coffee with cream.

"Ugh, it's so good," Joy said, making a face. "It's become my favorite new way to procrastinate when a book's giving me trouble."

"Your secret's safe with me, if you do me a favor."

She raised an eyebrow, gone mostly gray. Unlike her hair, she didn't dye those. Today her short wavy locks were a sweet shade of lavender. "Is this the same favor Will asked me for?" she asked.

Enzo nodded.

An excited gleam appeared in her hazel eyes. "Are you really going to paint the story?"

"I'm thinking about it," Enzo said. "Will wants me to. But that's not normally how I do things. I'm . . ." He cleared his throat. "I'm trying to make an exception considering how my mom didn't even ask him if it was okay."

Joy nodded solemnly. "I told her she should have."

"And you didn't do it yourself?" It was a fair question.

"Ah, well, she said she would." Joy shrugged. "I assumed she would."

"She probably meant to—after I'd already started it." Enzo made an irritated noise.

"Probably. I know you have every right to be frustrated, but I know she did it because she loves you, and she wants you to be happy."

"I am happy," Enzo grumbled.

"I know," she said sympathetically and reached out, patting his arm. "So why are you hesitating to paint the story?"

Enzo was trying to find a nicer way to tell her he thought it was a load of bullshit when she continued. "Let me guess, you think the story's silly and heavily embroidered with fiction to sell tickets to the festival."

"Maybe a little?" Enzo winced. "Though I can't blame you guys for doing it, because it's brought a lot of tourism to the town." Tourism the town needed . Enzo wasn't stupid enough to believe Indigo Bay would survive without it, especially during the offseason.

"It has," she agreed.

"But you're right, I . . .I'm afraid I've never really understood it. And how can I paint something I don't understand?"

"Not everyone does," Joy admitted. "Will said he hoped that I might be able to convince you, and I'm not against trying to do that. But I think it's more than that. Art is more than that. You know that, and so do I. Maybe I'm not painting with colors but with words, but you have to care about it, and I can't make you do that."

That was not what Enzo had expected her to say. He'd expected her to drag out every good reason, every tourist-centered, every leader-of-the-town reason. But she hadn't.

"Oh. Well."

Joy smiled mischievously. "Do you still want me to tell the story again?"

She scraped the last of her ice cream. It was coffee—he could smell it now, in the air. And it smelled fucking delicious. He kind of hoped that maybe Will's suggestion of chocolate might include that particular flavor.

Enzo glanced behind the counter, where Will was bent over the glass case, arm muscles bunching as he effortlessly scooped out ice cream.

He wanted to paint a mural on his wall, but even more than that, he wanted to make it right. And what if Will's theory was spot-on, and he'd just never been particularly receptive to the story before because he'd been too young and too pissed-off?

"I do," Enzo said.

Joy nodded. "I hoped you might. We'll wait for Will, because he loves it so much."

"I hear you're remodeling the Inn," Enzo said.

"I am. Your mom's helping me out. She's got a ton of antique dealer contacts in Charleston, from when she moved there."

Giana had only spent a year or so in Charleston, before coming back to Indigo Bay. Enzo hadn't been particularly surprised when she'd returned to the small town—he'd been fairly certain she'd only moved because he was moving, and she was trying to distract herself from the inevitable loneliness after he'd left.

"I'm glad she's got more friends in town," Enzo said.

"Me too. It's too bad we didn't connect earlier," Joy admitted. She shot him a little smile. "You Morettis can be a prickly lot."

It was only the truth. Hard to take offense, when he'd certainly thought it himself a dozen or a hundred or even a thousand times. "We can be," Enzo agreed.

Joy patted him on the arm again. "But you generally mean well," she added.

"Thanks," Enzo said dryly. "I'm not sure you're right, but I appreciate the sentiment."

Joy laughed. "It's good to have you home."

"I'm glad someone besides my mother thinks so."

Before Joy could answer that one, Will walked over, Enzo's attention suddenly riveted by the unbelievable creation he was setting in front of him.

It was streaked in an intoxicating swirl with deep, dark chocolate, but the milkshake itself was white, flecked with tiny little black specks. Vanilla bean, Enzo realized. And, like a crown on the top, was a swirl of whipped cream, and nestled into it was a triangle of deep, rich-looking brownie, partially dipped in white chocolate, a little bow tie drawn on with more dark chocolate, and like the jewel in the crown was a bright red cherry.

"This looks amazing ," Enzo said, not even sure where he should start.

"It's my tuxedo milkshake," Will said proudly.

"Oh, that's a good one," Joy said. "Even though I'm very partial to the coffee bean flavor."

"Tell me," Enzo demanded as he picked up the long silver spoon, not sure where he should start. Where the bliss should begin.

"Dark chocolate swirl, vanilla bean milkshake, topped with a tuxedo brownie and whipped cream. And of course, a cherry."

"Love the little bow tie. It's adorable."

"The best part," Joy agreed. "It's all in the details, and you get that, Will."

Will flushed, making him look even more attractive. Or maybe that was the decadent ice cream masterpiece he'd just brought Enzo. "Thanks. It is called the tuxedo," he said.

"I don't even know where to start," Enzo said, his spoon hesitating over the top of the whipped cream swirl.

"How do you start a mural?" Will answered Enzo's question with one of his own. "I'm gonna assume you just have to start . Doesn't really matter where."

Enzo dug his spoon into the whipped cream and then lower, digging out some of the melty-vanilla-ice-cream goodness, and groaned a little when he put it in his mouth. For anyone who felt like vanilla was overrated, clearly they'd never had really good vanilla bean ice cream, with the little flecks of seed, the taste rich and nutty on his tongue. And then there was the deep, dark chocolate ganache ribboning the edge of the glass.

"This is fucking delicious," Enzo said, through a mouthful of ice cream. He plucked out the brownie, his teeth sinking into the perfect chewy texture, flecked with chunks of chocolate.

Will smiled, looked very pleased. "Glad you like it."

"I love it. Please tell me all your ice cream is this good."

Will didn't need to tell him, because Enzo already knew it had to be.

"It is," Joy said.

But Will only shrugged, flushing again in a very cute, self-deprecating way. "I do pretty well," he said.

But from the number of people streaming in and out of his shop, it was clear he did more than "pretty well."

"As for the murals . . .I usually start with an idea. In this case, your idea."

Did he actually want to paint the de facto Indigo Bay story? He'd have said before today that there was no way. And yet, doubt had begun to wiggle in. He'd stood there, in front of the wall, and he couldn't deny it had talked to him, the way blank walls tended to do before he created something really special.

Who was he to ignore the call of inspiration?

"What happens after that?" Will sounded genuinely interested, which was surprising. Most people were only interested in the beginning and the end.

"Then I do a loose sketch, make sure the layout works for the wall, and then, depending on the project, a more detailed sketch. But for this? I'll probably keep it simple." Enzo finished the brownie in two delectable bites. "Did you bake this? Or do you get these from Oliver?"

A bright wash of pink crept up Will's neck and cheeks but this time he didn't look adorable, he looked perturbed. "No, no. Of course not."

"Oh. Well, I didn't know you were a baking genius as well as an ice cream prodigy. My apologies." Enzo grinned at him, hoping that it would smooth things over.

"Oliver actually told him he wanted his recipe," Joy said. She was glancing between the two of them, and Enzo was afraid that when this evening was over and she reported back to Giana—because there was no question she'd demand to know about this visit—his mom would be more determined than ever to see them paired up.

"You should put make that your slogan," Enzo advised. "This town worships Oliver's baked goods."

"For good reason," Will said.

Joy nodded, agreeing. "It's a family tradition."

"Share another one with me," Enzo said, forcing himself to turn away from Will's beautiful flush, towards Joy. "Tell me the story."

"You're sure?" Joy asked.

"I'm sure," Enzo said.

A hundred Enzo Morettis sauntered through Will's brain, uninvited, but not unwanted.

Enzo smiling.

Enzo teasing.

Enzo, his dark eyes serious and intent.

Enzo, moaning with the taste of Will in his mouth.

It was . . .well, it was not surprising, exactly, because Will was attracted to him. Anyone with a pulse would be, because Enzo Moretti was plain fucking gorgeous. But it was disconcerting. Especially with how tightly his brain was hanging on to even the thought of the guy. All day, he'd been trying to get a respite, even as he'd known he'd be seeing him tonight.

Not just any vision of him either, but an Enzo Moretti eating his ice cream.

He was having difficulty even focusing, as Enzo slowly demolished his milkshake, bliss blooming across his handsome face.

"Well, Will, how does it begin?" Joy teased. "Since it's your favorite."

When he'd first come to Indigo Bay, scouting for the right location for his ice cream parlor, he hadn't been convinced it was the right place for him. Then one morning, over coffee and the best scones he'd ever tasted, Joy had told him the story of her ancestors, the story that made Indigo Bay so special, and he'd never wanted to leave.

"It has to begin with Eliza," Will said. "She was born in the early 1800s to one of the first families of this town."

Joy nodded, giving him a soft smile. "Right. She grew up with Nathaniel Billings. To hear it told, they were childhood playmates, always close. But when they grew up, he decided to go to sea."

"But first, he fell in love." Will sighed.

"And not with Eliza," Joy confirmed. "With a woman named Betsy. They pledged their love to each other, before he left for a long sea voyage. When he came back, they were to be married. But he didn't come back. Not for years. For so many years, Betsy married someone else."

"Betsy's the real villain in this story," Enzo inserted casually.

Will had gotten momentarily distracted by Kate and Mari having a quick discussion, and when he glanced back, he realized that Enzo had finished his milkshake and after pushing it away, he'd laid his sketchbook out in front of him. He was sketching quickly, pencil flying over the page. Like he couldn't even keep up with his own inspiration.

With scenes from the story? Will wasn't sure.

"I don't know if she's a villain," Joy said. "What other choice did she have but to move on? There'd been no sight of him, or word either, for years. She wasn't supposed to wait forever."

"Eliza did," Will reminded.

It was the thing he loved most about the story. The hope that lived in Eliza that had never died—even when it didn't make logical sense for her to hang on to it.

"It was a question I did consider at length, when I wrote their story," Joy said. "Was Betsy right to move on and marry someone else? Was Eliza right to wait so long?"

"I think it's romantic," Will said.

Enzo shot him a teasing look. "Of course you do."

"She knew he wasn't dead. She knew it, which was why she waited. Why she climbed up to the high point every single day. She knew he'd come back home; she knew it deep down, in her heart, that he'd come back," Joy said. "That's why she waited. Ultimately that's why I decided she waited. There's a certain kind of enchantment to it, an unshakable faith that you have to buy into."

The way she glanced over at Enzo, who didn't even notice, with his eyes glued to his sketchpad, pencil flying over the surface, made it clear what side he came down on.

But could anyone not believe and be so into illustrating each scene? From his vantage point, Will could see the quick lines he'd drawn, building up the vantage point—this was South Carolina so none of the cliffs were particularly high, but it was the highest point on the coast—and the figure on the top, long hair curling in the breeze.

"Ten years she waited. Even when her family began to say she was crazy. She still climbed the high point every day. Watching and waiting," Will said.

Joy nodded. "They tried to send her away. To relatives in Boston. To a sanitorium in Georgia. But she refused. Kept saying she needed to be here, for when Nathaniel returned."

"I don't know how anyone would believe, how anyone could believe, when all the evidence pointed to the fact he was dead," Enzo mused. But he no longer seemed as convinced as maybe he'd once been. When he looked up, Will could see the questions in his dark eyes.

"Love is funny like that. It's part hope and part magic, in the face of uncertainty," Joy added. "Then the storm blew in. It was the worst hurricane anyone could remember for a hundred years. They said it was like the hand of God, reaching out and touching the space between the land and the sea. When the weather finally cleared, the residents of the town could see a ship that had hit the rocks. And floating on a timber, in the wreckage, was a man with long dark hair and a thick beard that obscured almost all of his features."

"With blue eyes everyone recognized," Will said.

Joy nodded. "Everyone knew it was Nathaniel. Knew it had to be him. But Betsy hadn't waited for him, of course. She was married now, with three children. There was no room for him there. But Eliza took him in, despite the town's protests that it wasn't right, wasn't proper, and she nursed him back to health, physically and mentally. Winter turned to spring, and her love was so steadfast, he realized he'd fallen in love with her as well. They married a year later, and had five children."

"And one of them is your ancestor," Will said, smiling.

"Yes, indeed. I have a copy of Eliza's journal. The original is in the state history museum, but I don't need it, because every word is up here." She pointed to her head. "All her love, all her longing, all her faith. Her belief that he'd return. Then her unselfishness. She never asked him for marriage. Never expected anything would happen, because she thought he still loved Betsy."

"I could never be that unselfish. I'd have demanded his love," Enzo observed thoughtfully.

Will smiled, because he could see that. Could actually visualize Enzo in front of a man he loved, not letting him feel any differently than he himself did.

"I still think it's the most beautiful story I've heard. And you tell it so lovingly, Joy," Will said.

"Thanks, Will," she said and put her arm around him, tugging him into a quick hug. Then she stood. "It's late, but you got what you needed, Enzo?"

Enzo nodded. When she left, the tinkling bell of Cherry's indicating her departure, Will wanted to lean forward, memorize every line of Enzo's drawings, but he figured that would be rude if he hadn't been invited to, so he forced himself to look away.

To give Enzo the time he needed.

But when the silence drew out between them, he couldn't resist looking over, just a quick glance.

"Joy was telling me earlier, before you came over, how prickly Morettis can be," Enzo said quietly, leaning back in his chair, as he tapped the pencil against the shiny surface of the table.

"I don't know if I'd call it prickly necessarily." Difficult , was more what Will would've called them. Challenging and charming and persuasive, even when you didn't want to be persuaded.

"I don't always think I'm a very good Moretti," Enzo said thoughtfully. "Maybe I'm not. But it means I'm willing to say I'm wrong, when I was wrong."

He pushed the open sketchbook towards Will, who glanced down at it.

"You were right. It's the perfect story to paint on your wall," Enzo continued.

As he stared at Enzo's drawings, he could feel the impact of the story in the images Enzo had created. Had an idea, already, of how beautiful it would be when it was done.

The high cliff, Eliza's figure on it, her hair swirling around her, her hand reaching out, towards the ocean, towards the big-masted ship, crashing against the shore, a figure in the water. The wild fierceness of the storm that raged around them.

"Are you sure . . .I'm a newcomer . . ." Will trailed off. He didn't want anyone assuming that he didn't deserve to have his building hold such an important piece of Indigo Bay history.

"You love it. I can see it in your eyes that you believe it. That you connect to it. That it matters to you. That's all that matters to me." Enzo paused. "All that should matter to anyone is your inspiration ignited my own."

Will didn't think he'd ever heard Enzo sound so earnest, so heartfelt. From what he'd seen of the guy, he liked to cultivate an easy, breezy, unbothered, snarky exterior but Will could already tell that there was more going on underneath.

What exactly? Will wasn't sure yet, but he knew he wanted to find out.

Enzo Moretti was a mystery he wanted to solve.

"Are you sure you're Enzo Moretti and not some imposter, taking his place for the next few weeks?" Will asked with a teasing tone.

Enzo made a face. "Let me guess, my reputation has preceded me. Who told you?"

"Uh." Will hesitated. Remembering everything Kate had told him about Enzo, before he'd ever showed his face in Indigo Bay.

"I'm sure they led with the disastrous date. How Oliver didn't want to date me, and I resented him for it."

"Well, yeah. They did start with that." Will squirmed uncomfortably. Recalling how he'd believed that because of that, Giana must have to recruit all his dates.

But the Enzo Moretti in front of him wouldn't need anyone's help getting a date.

"Not many queer guys in the town, back then. Different than now." Enzo looked at him pointedly. Okay, he'd probably heard—or guessed, anyway—about Will. He wasn't being exactly subtle, with the way he couldn't help but check out Enzo every time they ran into each other.

Plus, Oliver and Luca had known early on; they'd been the first people he'd told in this town, before he'd even officially moved here.

"I guess it didn't go well."

Enzo made a face. "An understatement. It was all wrong. A catastrophe. First off, we were the wrong people for each other. And I was a whiny little punk of a kid who wouldn't have known how to treat the right guy if he'd drawn out a map for me. I fucked it up by being an arrogant ass and then complained about it incessantly after."

He'd heard this story, of course. But not Enzo's version. "That's hard. For Oliver, and for you, too," Will said. He was having a hard time reconciling that guy he'd heard about with the Enzo sitting in front of him now. A nationally known and renowned mural artist. Unbelievably gorgeous and charming. The kind of guy anyone would want to go on a date with.

"I grew up," Enzo said, shrugging. "But some people haven't forgotten."

Will got the feeling it wasn't really the town that hadn't forgotten but Enzo himself. Because other than the fact that everyone clearly remembered, he hadn't seen anyone resenting Enzo now.

"That sucks," Will said. He understood a little about that. Sometimes he thought when his parents and his family looked at him, they still saw that little-too-eager-to-please kid. The one who'd drop anything and everything just to bring a smile to their faces.

But that kid was gone, now. Will had moved on, because he'd had to.

"Honestly, that's one of the reasons I stay away," Enzo admitted.

Will wanted to tell him he shouldn't—because he didn't think anyone genuinely held his bad behavior against him any longer—but he wasn't sure it was his place. Were they friends? Just no longer fighting about the mural? He didn't know.

He only knew that whenever their eyes met, something inside him lit up.

"So, what's the process here?"

"You're good with this sketch?" Enzo asked, gesturing to what he'd drawn out.

Will nodded. Probably a little more emphatically than he should've. But hey, Enzo had loved his ice cream. He was allowed to love Enzo's art, too.

"Good." Enzo folded the sketchbook closed. "Sometimes, if it's a bigger piece, I'll do a full color render, just much smaller, but for this, I don't think it's necessary. I'll finalize this sketch, make sure it's properly laid out on the wall, and then transfer the basic idea to the wall. Tomorrow. Or the day after. Depending on a few things. I've got to order some scaffolding, from Charleston, probably. We'll see how fast they can get it here. And paint, I'll need that."

"You'd think so," Will teased.

Enzo grinned at him, and there it was again. That electricity arcing through him in a dazzling wave.

This would be a lot easier if Enzo Moretti was a lot less appealing.

Or that he'd be spending less time outside Will's building.

Maybe Giana had been onto something, after all.

"Well," Enzo said, standing and stretching, flashing a strip of tanned bare stomach as he leaned back. "I'll let you know when I'm starting, for sure. I promise, no more unexpected paint surprises."

"It's . . .uh . . ." Will stammered. He did not want to be turned on by Enzo. Enzo was definitely not someone he could touch. He was way too complicated. "It's fine." He swallowed. "Give me your number," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "And you can text me updates."

He told himself he was only asking for that reason.

"Just don't tell my mom," Enzo said with a wild grin after he'd recited his number and Will finished typing it into his phone.

Will fake shuddered. "No way," he agreed. "It's our secret."