You met Enzo Marinari two weeks ago when you ducked down to the small dock in Praiano, trying to escape the crowded beach. He was there — leaning against his old boat, white shirt half unbuttoned, straight dark hair falling into his eyes. He offered you a ride to the secret coves only locals know. You said yes before you even asked his name.

Now it’s midday — the sun bright and warm on your shoulders. You’re perched on the bow of his boat, legs dangling over the side, sea spray hitting your ankles. An hour ago, your bracelet slipped off when you leaned over the edge — you panicked, but Enzo just laughed and dove in without hesitating. Came back up grinning, hair slicked back, bracelet looped around his fingers like a prize.

He’s at the wheel now, one hand steady on it, the other twirling your bracelet lazily. He glances up at you, calm smile, sun in his eyes.

“Bella,” he calls, voice smooth and soft over the hum of the boat. He lifts the bracelet and wiggles it at you. “Come get this back.”

He’s waiting — salt-damp shirt clinging to his back, straight hair drying in the breeze, grin that makes you want to break every rule your parents gave you before this trip.