Before I can say anything else, the chef enters to begin our cooking lesson. He hands us each an apron, and when I go to tie mine around my waist, Carson places his hands on mine. “May I?” he asks. The combination of his touch and his deep baritone sends a shiver down my spine.
I nod in response, my words getting caught in my throat. When he’s done tying my apron, he rubs his hands up and down my arms, which are now covered in goosebumps.
“Are you cold?”
Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “No. I just caught a chill. I’m fine.”
I turn around to find Carson undoing the cuff buttons on his crisp, white dress shirt before he starts rolling the sleeves. I’m once again mesmerized by the way his forearms work.
“Oh, that is definitely going in my book,” I mumble to myself.
Carson turns to face me. His smile is smug like he knows how much he affects me. “I'm glad I could spark some inspiration.”
“There’s still so much that remains left to my imagination though.” I wink at him.
He bites his lip and chuckles at that. “Be careful what you wish for.”
After we learn how to make our own casoncelli pasta, the chef leaves the two of us to enjoy our meal.
Carson moans when he takes the first bite. “Mmm. Is it always better when you make it yourself, or is it just because we’re eating a homemade meal in Italy?”
“I think even if we tried to replicate this exact recipe back home, it would never measure up because of the ingredients being locally sourced here,” I reply.
“You’re probably right,” he says as he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “So, now that we’re officially a couple, I feel like I’ve got to ask the hard-hitting questions,” he tells me.
“Is that so? Such as?” I roll my fork in the air as if to say,Go on.
Taking a sip of his wine, he begins with, “Would you consider getting married again one day?”
Not anticipating that question right off the bat, I nearly choke. Taking a sip of wine and clearing my throat, I reply, “Woah, you really went for it, didn’t you? Um, well, yeah I think I would if I was confident that the relationship was healthy, and I was truly in love.”
And that’s the honest truth. I really could see myself getting married again one day. But I know if I do, I won’t go into the marriage lightly.
“What about you? Do you see yourself getting married one day?” I ask.
“Honestly, I never thought too much about it until recently. I knew I wanted what my parents have—a loving relationship and someone to share my life with—but I didn’t put much thought into it beyond that. But now, yeah, I know I’d like to be married one day,” he responds.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach once again from his words and how confident he is in his answer.
“What about kids?” The question slips from my lips before I’ve even processed what I’ve asked. But I need to know his answer. The topic was a major point of contention with Aaron. He only wanted kids to fulfill his parents’ wishes.
Carson’s face lights up with a genuine smile. “Yeah, without a doubt, I want kids. And you?”
I take a hesitant breath. “I do. I’ve wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. I think I’d like two so we’re not outnumbered. But I guess I’d be willing to see after the first two whether or not our family is complete.”
“We’re talking about our future children on the first date. I can hear the church bells already, Austen,” he teases.
My cheeks heat as the realization sinks in. I just said “so we’re not outnumbered” and “our family” to him. He chuckles when I hide my face in my hands.
“I love it when you’re bashful. And I love it when you include me in your future, Dream Girl. In case the nickname wasn’t obvious enough, you’re all I see when I think of my future. Marriage, children, pets, careers—I only see you by my side when I think of them.”
He’s looking at me with such hope and sincerity shining in his eyes, that I can’t help but give him a piece of me in return.
“I see you too,” I confess. “But I’m scared that my feelings for you are too strong too fast,” I add.
Instead of the frown I expect to see on his face, his smug smile has returned. “You like me,” he states, not asking.
Shaking my head at his antics, I chortle. “I do,” I admit to him, and his expression heats. The way he’s looking at me right now is downright sinful.
