I stomp my boot into the dirt, dust puffing up dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m putting my heart and soul into this! I almost got trampled, I broke a nail, and I inhaled cow particles.”
He swings off the horse, strides toward me, sweat dripping down his temple, eyes dark with amusement. “Cow particles, huh?”
“Yes.” I shove at his chest, though he doesn’t budge. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
He smirks, cupping my face in his calloused hand, thumb stroking my cheek. “You’re the biggest disaster out here.”
I grin, smug and unbothered. “And you love me for it.”
He kisses me right there in the dirt, cows bellowing in the background, the dogs barking, and for a second, I forget I’m covered in sweat and dust.
One of the cows lets out a long moo that echoes across the pasture. I break the kiss, wrinkle my nose, and groan, “Ugh, he just ruined my moment.”
Carter throws his head back and laughs before tugging me back against him.
Okay, maybe I’m not the best ranch hand. But at least I’m entertaining.
My fingers work carefully,pinching the edges of a grape leaf around the mixture of rice, lamb, and spices. Each roll is small and precise, snugly tucked beside the others in the pot, just as my nene once showed me. Steam rises upward, carrying the rich scent of tomatoes and mint, filling the air with a comfort that feels like home.
Behind me, boots softly scuff against the tile. The sound alone makes my chest tighten, and then Carter’s presence appears—solid, unavoidable. His chest presses against my back, broad and steady, his warmth soaking into me until the chill in the kitchen vanishes. His beard brushes the edge of my temple, rough against the softness of my skin.
“What’re you makin’, baby?” His voice is low, a gravelly whisper against the shell of my ear.
“Dolma,” I say quietly, smoothing another leaf, tucking it with careful hands.
He repeats it, slower, “Dolma.” A hum follows, deep in his chest. “Don’t know what the hell that is. But it smells like heaven.” His lips graze my skin as he speaks, as though he’s breathing the word straight into me. “Smells delicious, baby.”
I suck in a breath as the leaf slips between my fingers. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes the space further, his arms sliding around my waist until his palms rest against my stomach. His nose brushes along the curve of my jaw before his mouth begins its slow descent down my neck, featherlight kisses pressed one after another, his beard scratching tenderly against me.
“Carter,” I whisper, but it comes out like a plea.
“You look so damn beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice rough with sincerity. His lips find the spot just below my ear, lingering there. “Cookin’ somethin’ I don’t even understand. All focused. All mine.”
His words settle into me until my chest feels too full to contain them. My fingers tremble as I place the last roll into the pot. The simmering broth hisses when the lid meets the heat, but the sound barely registers over the hum of his voice in my ear.
I turn into his arms, hands still dusted with flour and grape leaf residue, and press them against the solid plane of his chest. His shirt bears the faint smudges of my work, but he doesn’t look down. His eyes stay on me, steady and sure, as if the kitchen, the food, and the world itself could disappear, and he’d never notice.
“I love you so much,” I breathe out.
His forehead drops to mine, the brim of his black hat nudging against my hair as his mouth curves in the softest smile. “I know, baby.” His voice is reverent, quiet enough to be a prayer. “I love you more.”
The pot bubbles gently behind us, filling the air with the promise of a meal rich with memories. But Carter holds me even tighter, and in this moment, there’s nothing I want more thanthis—his arms, his words, the taste of his love pressed warm against my skin.
Carter keeps me anchored to him until the timer on the stove buzzes low, signaling that the dolma is ready. I move toward the counter, but his hand stays firm on my hip, reluctant to let go even as I lift the lid. Steam billows out, fogging my lashes and carrying the rich scent of mint, tomatoes, garlic, and lamb. The grape leaves have softened, tucked together like small gifts waiting to be opened.
I carefully plate them, a wedge of lemon vivid against the dark rolls, and set the dish in front of him. Carter watches me the entire time, that quiet smile tugging at his lips. God, that smile, I never tire of it. I’ll never stop craving it, knowing he saves it just for me.
He picks up his fork but pauses, grinning wider. “Baby, you sure this isn’t too pretty to eat?”
A laugh escapes me, my chest swelling with pride. “Just taste it.”
He doesn’t argue, as he simply takes a slow bite. His eyes slip shut, a hum of appreciation rumbling from his chest. When he swallows, that smile spreads again, broader this time, lighting up his whole face. “Sweetheart… that’s incredible. You made this?”
My throat tightens. “You literally saw me make it, babe.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, still grinning. “I swear, Catalina… you could feed me nothin’ but these little rolls for the rest of my life, and I’d die the happiest man.”
“You said the same thing about my brownies last week.”
