As I stir the sauce, I glance over at Carlie, who’s leaning casually against my kitchen counter watching me with such an intensity, it heats every part of me.
Her presence fills the kitchen, making it feel more like a home than it ever has.
I don’t know how she does it.
“Need a hand?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I promise, I’m less clumsy with a knife than my feet.”
I chuckle under my breath. “I’m not so sure I believe that.”
She gasps in mock horror, pressing her fingertips to her chest. “I’ll have you know my Grandma says I’m the best prep cook she’s ever worked with.”
“Well, if your grandma can vouch for you …” With a grin on my face, I hand her the cutting board filled with vegetables. “Chop these for me?”
Carlie takes the cutting board with a smile, her movements confident and surprisingly graceful. She starts chopping the vegetables, and I can’t help but admire the ease with which she handles the knife. It’s a stark contrast to her self-declared clumsiness, for sure.
“So, did your grandma teach you to cook?” I ask, stirring the sauce slowly, as its aroma fills the air.
She nods, her focus still on the vegetables. “Yeah, she’s an amazing cook. Taught me everything from spaghetti to soufflés. Cooking was one of our bonding things. Now, she enjoys embarrassing me more than anything else.”
I watch her for a moment, struck by the warmth in her voice. There’s a depth to Carlie that always catches me off guard, a complexity that draws me in deeper every time we talk.
I add the chopped vegetables to the sauce, blending them in. “Well, I’m impressed. Maybe you can give me a lesson or two someday. As much as I love to cook, you’ve definitely got the chopping thing down more than I do. It’s not my favorite.”
Carlie laughs, a sound that’s quickly becoming my favorite melody. “Deal. But be warned, I’m a strict teacher.”She narrows her gaze and jabs a finger my way.
I can’t help but laugh.
As I continue to stir the sauce, Carlie finishes up the remaining vegetables with a rhythmic precision that’s almost mesmerizing. I can’t help but throw a playful challenge her way. “You sure that’s not too much onion? We don’t want to end up in tears here.”
She shoots me a sly look, her knife pausing mid-chop. “Are you questioning my expert judgment? I’m appalled, sir.”
I laugh, leaning slightly against the counter, closer to her. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m just concerned for our well-being. I mean, what if you want to kiss me later?”
“Oh, you think I’ll want to kiss you, do you? I think you have that the wrong way around.” Carlie resumes her chopping, but there’s a mischievous spark in her eyes. “If you can handle our training sessions, I’m sure you can handle a little extra onion.”
I can’t resist the banter, and as I add her perfectly chopped vegetables into the sauce, I quip, “Well, to be fair, I’ve got a pretty good view the whole time.”
She playfully rolls her eyes, and there’s a comfortable silence as we focus on our tasks. But the air between us feels charged, an electric current that’s both thrilling and a little daunting—no hint of the vibe from earlier in the day and I intend on keeping it that way.
After a moment, I decide to step up the playful atmosphere. I sneak a piece of bell pepper and toss it gently towards her. It lands with a soft plop on the counter next to her.
Carlie looks up, feigning shock. “Did you just start a food fight in your own kitchen?”
I hold up my hands. “I wouldn’t dare. Just testing your reflexes.” Of course, I let my smirk slip through.
In response, she picks up the pepper and pretends to consider throwing it back at me. But instead, she pops it into her mouth with a grin. “Can’t waste good food.”
The playful ease of our interaction feels natural, and I find myself savoring every moment. It’s not just the act of cooking together, but the shared smiles, the light touches as we pass each other, and the unspoken anticipation of what the evening might bring.
As we cook, the kitchen fills with the rich aromas of our meal, and I’m acutely aware of Carlie’s presence next to me—her laughter, her casual grace, and the warmth that seems to radiate from her.
This is more than just dinner—it’s a dance, a silent conversation, and a building of something that feels like it could be profound by the end of the night.
Once dinner is ready, I plate our meals and set the table. The room is bathed in the soft glow of the candles I lit, turning our casual dinner into something that feels intimate and special.
Carlie takes a seat, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the meal. “This looks amazing, Adam.”
I pour us each a glass of wine, the rich red liquid reflecting the candlelight. “You’re welcome. Thanks for helping.”
“Of course.” She grins back at me, reaching for her glass and taking a sip. “You know, they say food can be a sensual experience. This is definitely proving that point.”
I pause, feeling a sudden jolt of memory. That phrase echoes in my mind, transporting me back to Nocté, to a night of masked mystery and intense connections. Food was certainly a sensual experience then, too. But I shake off the feeling, focusing on the present.
“Absolutely. There’s something about creating a meal, the flavors, the aromas ... it’s all part of the experience.”
Her gaze meets mine, and there’s a hint of something more in her eyes, a depth that hints at something I can’t quite read.
I’m about to ask her what she’s thinking when she leans forward with a mischievous grin and whispers, “Let’s play a game. Truth for a truth. Are you game?”
Again, the memory of Nocté flares to life at the edges of my consciousness. I suck in a quick breath, watching her for the briefest of moments. But the only thing I see reflecting back from her is curiosity.
“All right.” I nod, clearing my throat, and deciding to steer clear of the same truths I gave that night. “I, uh used to be terrified of dogs as a kid. Took me years to get over that fear.”
Carlie leans back, pressing the palm of her hand over her heart. “Really? I would’ve never guessed.”
“It’s not the highlight of my childhood, that’s for sure,” I chuckle, taking a bite of my pasta. “Your turn.”
She taps her chin for a moment, making a show of searching hard for whatever truth she plans on sharing. Finally, she offers, “I once sang karaoke in a panda costume. It was a hit at the party, but I’ve never been able to live it down. Grandma’s bingo ladies still try to get me to wear it every Halloween.”
I laugh, trying hard not to choke on my spaghetti. “Now, this costume sounds like something I need to see.”
She shakes her head, scooping up a bite for herself. “Not a chance.”
We continue back and forth, sharing truths that range from silly to personal. With each exchange, the air between us becomes charged with an unspoken understanding, a connection that’s growing deeper by the moment.
As dinner progresses, our conversation flows effortlessly. It’s like I’ve known her my whole life. Not just a few weeks.
When we’ve finished eating, we naturally gravitate towards the living room, leaving our plates abandoned on the table. The couch welcomes us with its comfortable embrace, and we sink into it side by side. The dim lighting from the candles left in the kitchen casts a soft glow, adding to the warmth of the moment as I light a couple more around us.
I toss a cushion onto her lap playfully. “For extra comfort,” I say with a wink.
She catches it with a laugh. “Thanks, I’m all about the comfort.”
We start talking about random things—favorite movies, embarrassing childhood memories, the worst dates we’ve ever been on. Carlie’s stories are peppered with her signature wit, making me laugh more than I have in a long time.
“Okay, your turn. Worst date?” I prompt, leaning in with genuine curiosity.
She groans, rolling her eyes. “Oh, where do I start? There was this one time I went out with a guy who talked about his ex the entire dinner. Like, I knew more about her by the end of the night than I knew about him.”
I burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the room. “That’s brutal. Did you ever see him again?”
“Not a chance,” she says, shaking her head. “I noped out of there so fast. There’s only so much bandwidth for dating drama and I reserve that for my books.”
Her words jolt me a bit, making my insides constrict as I think back to Jillian and her comments on Instagram. But I shake it off, refusing to allow that woman to ruin the wonderful night that’s spread out before us.
The conversation continues to flow effortlessly, each story and confession drawing us closer, both physically and emotionally. I find myself sharing things with Carlie that I haven’t told anyone. Her presence makes it feel safe to open up.
As we talk, our bodies inch closer, the space between us diminishing until her legs rest over mine and our hands are intertwined. The physical contact sends a torrent of sparks through me, signaling a connection that’s deepening with every word we share.
At some point, Carlie leans her head against my shoulder, and I instinctively wrap my arm around her. She fits perfectly against me, as if she’s meant to be there.
I’m about to launch into another story when Carlie shifts, her gaze lifting to meet mine. Her eyes hold a mixture of warmth and something more—an unspoken invitation. Her hand gently brushes against my cheek, sending shivers up and down my spine.
I turn my head slightly, our faces inches apart. There’s a hesitation, a moment where everything seems to pause, the air thick with anticipation.
Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, our lips meet in a tentative, exploratory kiss. It’s soft at first, a whisper of a touch, but it quickly deepens, fueled by pent-up emotions and an undeniable chemistry between us.
The kiss ignites a fire, and we both yield to it, our movements syncing in a dance as old as time. Carlie’s hand finds its way to my hair, tugging gently, eliciting a groan from deep within me. I let my hands roam, exploring the curve of her back, and pulling her closer, so I can deepen the kiss.
We break apart for a moment, gasping for air, our foreheads resting against each other. Our eyes meet, and there’s a silent understanding, a shared desire that needs no words.
Carlie’s breath hitches slightly as she whispers, “Adam, I want ...”
I nod, my voice a rough whisper, “I know ... Me, too.”
We rise from the couch, our hands clasped tightly, as if letting go is not an option.
Every step we take is a silent affirmation of the path we’re choosing to walk together—one that means taking things a step further.
As we reach the bedroom door, we pause, our breaths mingling in the charged air between us. There’s a magnetic pull—a silent conversation in our shared glances—each one filled with a promise of venturing into uncharted territory.
Carlie’s eyes, bright with a mix of desire and something deeper, lock onto mine. She takes a small, almost hesitant step forward, closing the distance between us.
Her voice is barely above a whisper, yet it resonates with a clarity that reaches deep into my core. “Adam, are you sure?”
For a moment, the world around us ceases to exist, and all that matters is the choice that lies ahead of us.
I look into her eyes, seeing the reflection of my own emotions mirrored back at me and without a doubt I know this is the right move.
With a nod, I answer, not just with words but with the conviction in my gaze. “If you’re ready—if you want me as much as I want you—then there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
A slow, beautiful smile graces her lips and she pulls me into the bedroom.