Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eve
I step into Carter’s kitchen. My breath catches as I spot Carter at the marble island. His athletic frame is silhouetted against the glow of pendant lights. His hands move with practiced ease as he chops vegetables.
“Well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her culinary presence,” he teases. His brown eyes sparkle as they meet mine.
I roll my eyes but can’t fight a smile. “I’ll have you know I can whip up a mean microwave dinner.”
Carter’s laugh fills the space between us. “I’m sure your Cup is a Cup Noodles masterpiece, Eve.”
My cheeks warm at the way he says my name. I move closer, peering at the ingredients spread before him. “So, what’s on the menu, Chef Morgan?”
“Lasagna,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “My specialty.”
“I didn’t know you could cook,” I admit, impressed. The scent of garlic and herbs fills my senses. My mouth waters.
Carter winks. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Dr. Moreland-to-be.”
My stomach flutters at his playful tone. I lean against the counter, watching as he layers pasta and sauce with care. His fingers, usually wielding a pen, now move with surprising grace in this domestic setting.
“Where did you learn?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He pauses. A wistful smile touches his lips. “My mom taught me. She always said every man should know his way around a kitchen. Actually, she thought that I should be able to cook one meal well enough to impress the future Mrs. Morgan.”
The mention of his mother stirs something in me. It’s a mix of envy and longing for that kind of nurturing relationship. I push the feeling aside and focus on the warmth radiating from Carter as he works.
“Well, I’m not sure I count, but consider me impressed,” I say lightly. “Though I hope you’re not trying to butter me up before a pop quiz.”
Carter’s laugh is low and rich. “No ulterior motives here, Eve. Just wanted to show you there’s more to me than lectures and lab coats.”
His gaze lingers on mine. For a moment, the air between us feels charged with possibility. I clear my throat, breaking the spell.
“So, what can I do to help?” I ask, desperate for a distraction from the way my pulse has quickened.
Carter grins and slides a cutting board my way. “How about you work on a salad? Think you can dice some tomatoes and cut some lettuce without losing a finger?”
I narrow my eyes, feigning outrage. “I’ll have you know my knife skills are top-notch, Professor.”
We work side by side. The kitchen fills with the aroma of simmering sauce and easy conversation. For once, the weight of expectations and family pressure fades. It leaves only this moment. I’m just chopping vegetables with a man who makes me laugh. A man who sees me as more than just Michael Moreland’s daughter.
It’s dangerous, this warmth growing between us. But as Carter’s arm brushes mine, sending a shiver down my spine, I find I don’t care. Tonight, I’ll let myself enjoy this. I’ll savor every stolen glance and shared smile.
I reach for the wine bottle and my fingers brush the cool glass. “Let me pour us some wine.” My voice is softer than I intend. “It’ll pair perfectly with your culinary masterpiece.”
Carter’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “Trying to get me drunk, Moreland?”
I laugh, feeling warmth creep up my neck. “Maybe I just want to see if your lasagna tastes better after a glass or two.”
As I pour the wine, I notice the way the low lighting catches the amber flecks in his eyes. He takes his glass. Our fingers graze in a moment that feels electric.
“To unexpected evenings,” he toasts, his voice warm and low.
We clink glasses, and I take a sip, relishing the taste. Carter leans against the counter. His posture seems relaxed, but there’s something tense in his expression.
“Eve,” he begins, then pauses. “Can I tell you something?”
I nod, curiosity piqued by his sudden seriousness.
He takes a deep breath. “It’s about my mom, Sandrene. We’ve always been close. Especially after my dad… well, he was never really in the picture.”
I listen intently as Carter opens up, his words painting a picture of a childhood filled with love but tinged with absence.
“We had money, sure, but it was just the two of us. Mom did everything to make sure I never felt like I was missing out.”
His eyes cloud with a mix of affection and frustration. “But when I left for college, something changed. She accused me of being ungrateful, of abandoning her.”
A pang hits my chest as I recognize the struggle in his voice. “That must have been hard,” I murmur, resisting the urge to touch his arm.
Carter nods and swirls his wine. “I love her, but I don’t know how to tell her I need space without hurting her. It’s like she can’t see me as an adult.”
I take another sip, buying time to consider his words. The parallels to my own life are striking, but I push those thoughts aside, focusing on Carter.
“Have you tried talking to her?” I ask gently.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve tried, but it always ends in tears or accusations. I just don’t know how to make her understand I can love her and still need my own life.”
As I watch Carter grapple with his emotions, he looks so vulnerable. It’s a far cry from the confident professor I’m used to seeing. It makes my heart ache in ways I wasn’t prepared for.
I take a deep breath and meet his gaze. “I understand more than you know,” I say softly. “My dad… he’s cut from the same cloth.”
Carter leans forward, concern flickering in his eyes. “Yeah?”
I nod and swallow hard. “Michael Moreland. Successful businessman. Master puppeteer.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “He uses money like strings, always pulling, always controlling.”
Carter serves the lasagna, its rich aroma filling the air. But as I continue, the delicious scent fades into the background.
“Growing up, it was tense. Aiden bore the brunt of it. He was constantly battling Dad while Mom tried to keep the peace.” I push the food around my plate, lost in memories. “When Aiden finally left, I thought I’d be next. But then…”
My voice catches. I feel Carter’s hand briefly cover mine. His warmth gives me the strength to continue.
“Mom got sick. She fought so hard.” Tears prick at my eyes. “I stayed with her, watching doctors and nurses work miracles and face heartbreak. It’s what inspired me to pursue medicine.”
I take a shaky breath. “But after she died, Dad… it was like he snapped. Suddenly, everything was about control. My calls, where I live, what I eat, how much I exercise. It went from restrictive to…”
“Abusive,” Carter says softly, his eyes filled with understanding.
I nod, feeling both relieved and vulnerable after sharing so much. “Med school was supposed to be my escape. But even here, I feel his grip tightening.” My hands clench. “I know I need to push him away, but the thought of losing his financial support terrifies me.”
As the words leave my mouth, I realize their weight. The suffocating reality of my situation hits me anew, and I struggle to breathe.
I take a sip of wine, letting the flavor ground me. Carter’s gaze is warm and steady, and I feel a flutter that has nothing to do with the alcohol.
“You know,” I say, twirling my fork, “despite everything, I still believe in love. In marriage.”
Carter raises an eyebrow, curious. “Really? Even after seeing your parents?”
I nod, feeling heat creep up my cheeks. “I know it sounds naive, but I can’t help it. There’s something romantic about two people choosing each other, promising to face life together.”
Carter leans back, tapping his fingers on the wine glass. “I wish I had your optimism, Eve. My parents’ divorce… it left its mark. Marriage feels like a trap to me.”
I study his face, noting the shadows in his eyes. “But you’re not your parents, Carter. Experiences shape us, but they don’t define us.”
He smiles, and it makes my heart skip. “You’re right. And I’m grateful we can talk about this stuff without judgment. It’s… refreshing.”
Warmth spreads through me. “Me too. I’ve never shared this much of myself with anyone.”
Carter reaches across the table, brushing his fingers over mine. The touch sends electricity through me. “I’m honored you trust me, Eve. And I hope you know the feeling’s mutual.”
As I meet his gaze, I’m struck by the intimacy of the moment. We’ve laid our souls bare. In this vulnerability, I feel a connection that thrills and terrifies me.
I push back my chair. “I insist on doing the dishes. It’s only fair since you cooked.” I gather our empty plates.
Carter stands too. “You don’t have to do that, Eve. I can take care of it.”
I shake my head, determined. “I want to. Really.” It feels important to assert myself.
He looks at me, then nods, a smile at the corners of his mouth. “All right, but let me help.”
I move to the sink, aware of Carter behind me. He opens the dishwasher, his chest brushing my back. The brief contact sends a shiver down my spine.
“I’ll rinse, you load?” I suggest, keeping my voice steady.
“Sounds good,” he says, his voice close to my ear.
We fall into a rhythm, our fingers brushing with each exchange. It’s domestic and intimate. I wonder what it would be like to do this every day, to share a life with someone who truly sees me.
“You know,” I say, handing him a glass, “I could get used to this teamwork thing.”
Carter chuckles, placing the glass in the rack. “Me too. It’s nice having someone to share the load.”
I glance at him. “Even if it’s just dishes?”
“Especially dishes,” he replies, holding my gaze. “Little things matter most, don’t you think?”
I nod, a lump forming in my throat. In this simple act of cleaning up together, I see a glimpse of the partnership I’ve always longed for. It’s both thrilling and terrifying.
If Carter decides that I’m worthy of more than this, that is.
As we load the last dish, I wonder where this connection might lead. For now, I’m content to live in this moment, side by side with Carter, building something beautiful one dish at a time.