He chuckles, softer this time, like he can’t help it. “Yeah, but this is different.” His thumb strokes across my knuckles when he reaches for my hand. “This tastes like… it means somethin’. Like you let me into your heart.”
The lump in my throat burns. I glance at him, and there it is again— that damn smile.
“My nene used to make dolma for every celebration,” I admit, my voice breaking on the words.
His eyes soften, that smile gentling but never leaving. “Then we’ll celebrate everything, baby. Big or small. As long as you’ll let me eat this and watch you smile across the table.”
And just like that, I’m gone and completely shattered by him. By his words, his touch, and his smile that only belongs to me.
I rise and walk around the table, sinking onto his lap without hesitation. His arms wrap around me immediately, his grin pressing into my shoulder before he kisses the side of my face.
The dolma cools on the plates, lemon slices catching the dim kitchen light. But all I can taste is him, his mouth brushing mine, his smile lingering between us like a promise.
Carter’s arms stay wrapped tightly around me, his chest rising and falling against my back as the last bits of steam fade from the dolma. I shift slightly in his lap, and he looks up at me with that grin. It softens his entire face, making him look boyish despite the bulk of his body and the shadow of his beard.
God, I’ll never get tired of it. I know he doesn’t hand that smile out freely. It’s mine, and mine alone.
I reach for the plate, pinching one of the dolmas between my fingers, still warm and glistening. “Here,” I murmur, holding it to his mouth.
His eyes flick to mine, playful but softer than I’ve ever seen. He opens obediently, teeth sinking into the roll while his lips brush my fingers. The contact is electric, and when he chews, he lets out a low groan that makes my skin prickle.
“Baby,” he says thickly, still smiling around his words, “you’re tryin’ to kill me.”
“Good,” I whisper, my throat tight. “Then you’ll know how it feels.”
He holds my wrist before I can pull away, gently kissing each of my fingers. His eyes stay locked on mine, that grin stretching across his face as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“You taste better than anythin’ you cook,” he whispers as he moves from kissing my fingers to the inside of my wrist.
My breath shudders out. His smile lingers as he presses his forehead to mine, as if he can stitch me together with nothing but the weight of his gaze.
The plates remain forgotten on the table. Carter shifts, slipping one arm beneath my knees and the other against my back. In one smooth motion, he stands, holding me against his chest.
I squeak, clutching his shirt, but he laughs, that rare, heart-splitting smile lighting his face as he carries me down the hallway.
“Carter Hayes,” I breathe, still dazed, “the dishes?—”
“Can wait,” he cuts me off gently, mouth brushing my hairline. “Right now, I just wanna hold my girl.”
I bury my face in his neck, my heart swelling until it hurts. His smile presses against my skin when he kisses my hair, and I swear I’ll never stop chasing it — never stop chasing him.
CHAPTER 15
Carter
Catalina’s draped across the island counter with her cheek pressed to the cool granite, as her arm dangles over the edge. Her iced matcha sits untouched beside her, condensation pooling in a ring.
“What now, darlin’?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe, though my chest already aches at the sight of her.
She lifts her head an inch, enough to glare at me with glassy brown eyes. “I’m not pregnant.”
I blink. “Catalina, baby, it doesn’t happen right away.”
“My uterus hates me. I’m a barren wasteland.”
I scrub a hand over my face, fighting a smile I know will get me killed. “It doesn’t work like that, baby. It’s too early to even know for sure.”
Her groan grows louder, vibrating against the countertop. “I just feel it, Carter. My life is over. Done. Buried. My tombstone will say: here lies Catalina, dramatic as fuck, survived by her bow collection.”
