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.