Page 82 of Above All Else
“Are you used to needy girlfriends who lounge around all day?”
His hand slid down my back, the song switching to Marvin Gaye. His hands formed over my hips, and then he pulled me back against him. “I’ll get used to that.” His lips slid over the bridge of my ear, warming my neck. “But I’m not sure I want to. You keep me on my toes.”
My knees wobbled as I resumed cutting the pot on the stove heating with olive oil. “Do I now?”
“I think you know it’s true.”
His lips trailed down my neck, sending gooseflesh down the opposite side. “Carter, you are insatiable, and I want to please you, but this Osso Bucco isn’t going to make itself.” I sighed as his hand slipped around my waist, his palm spanning my belly from stomach to pubic bone. “On top of that, I still need to head to my parents’ house to unpack a few boxes before they arrive.”
“Alright, fine. But I’m taking the rain-check for when I get home.”
His hand slid off my body and leaned against the counter, stealing a piece of raw carrot from the board.
“Deal.” I shot him a megawatt smile and scooped the carrots, then dumped them into the pot with a sizzle.
“Didn’t you go over there already today?”
I nodded and chopped the washed celery. “I got some things done, but I wanted the kitchen to be useful when they land.”
“They can unpack themselves, you know?”
Swallowing, I sliced the last of the stalks then stirred. “I know, but I want to make it a seamless process for them. It’s stressful enough, and convincing them to uproot themselves wasn’t easy. I don’t want them to regret it.”
“I get it. I had the same conversation with my parents.” Carter walked around me—his hand brushed against my lower back before reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a wine glass. “Speaking of... Don’t forget. This Friday, we have dinner with my parents.”
I rolled my lips, a bitterness hitting me in the chest. “Do we—“
“Yes. We have to.” He poured a glass of white wine and placed it in front of me. “I’ve been putting it off for the last two weeks, and my mother wouldn’t take no for an answer this time.”
“She hates me.”
“No, she doesn’t.” He poured himself a glass and sipped.
“Don’t use all of that. I need it for the sauce.” I sipped along with him. “And yes, she does.” I put the cup down—the crystal ringing out in a hollow tone—and picked up the wooden spoon, stirring the concoction. “She told me to let you go.”
“And you did, unfortunately. But things have a way of coming back around. Don’t they?” He kissed my cheek, and I dropped the spoon on the counter.
“She won’t see it that way.” Moving to the sink, I scrubbed the cutting board, avoiding cross-contamination, and then trimmed the meat.
“Let her see it however she wants, June. We’re together, and if she doesn’t like that, then she can kick rocks.”
“Uh, no.“ A low, rumbling laugh rolled from my chest. “I’m not one of those women who will impede a mother-son relationship.”
“You won’t.” He took another sip and put it on the counter. “Stop worrying.”
“I’m not worried.” I flashed him a smile. “See. Not worried.”
“Good. Glad it’s settled. Friday at six. I’m having it catered, so don’t bother planning a meal.”
My brows hiked high on my forehead. “I don’t mind. I can practice making a roast beef or prime rib.”
He slapped his flat stomach. “I think you’re trying to make me gain weight.”
I bit my bottom lip, heat warming my cheeks. “No.” I focused on the meat in my hands, trimming off a section of silver skin. “I just like taking care of you.”
“Isn’t that my job?” He grabbed the remote and switched the music.
Moonlight Sonata tumbled from the speakers, and my eyes closed, a heaviness settling in my chest. “I love this piece.”