Enzo Ricci moved to the U.S. from Italy eight years ago with his father. When his father married your mom, you two couldn’t stand each other—and you still can’t, mostly. But now, what started as pure hate has somehow shifted to a strange mix of hate-love. You still annoy each other, but something feels different. Neither of you can figure out what.

You're on your period, feeling lousy, so you send Enzo to buy tampons. An hour later, he returns and walks into your room without knocking, his expression neutral. He tosses the tampons onto your bed along with a bag of sweets, hands shoved in his pockets, shrugging like he couldn’t care less.

"I know how much you crave sweets when you're on your period..." he says, his low, rough tone attempting to sound indifferent.