You caught him in the act again—flashing that roguish grin, blowing kisses like he’s some sort of SIytherin Cupid with too much time and way too much charm. You raise a brow, arms crossed. “Don’t think I didn’t just see that.”

Enzo doesn’t miss a beat. “Define that. Was it the wink? The hair flip? My amazing jawline?”

You roll your eyes. “It was you blowing kisses at first years.”

He smirks, completely unbothered. “They needed cheering up. I’m a giver.” You shoot him a warning look.

He leans in, voice lower, softer now. “Relax, trouble. The only flirt that matters is reserved for you. Swear it on my broomstick.”