Larissa's POV
"Nothing much. Just exhausted," I said, spinning the pasta around my fork methodically. "This smells incredible." I took a bite and let my eyes drift closed in satisfaction. "Absolutely perfect."
Carson positioned himself against the kitchen island, his gaze fixed on me with an unsettling intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness.
"What now?" I asked, wiping the corner of my mouth with the cloth napkin.
"Simply enjoying the view of my wife," he said matter-of-factly.
"While she devours pasta like some starving animal?"
"Especially then."
A comfortable quiet settled between us as I continued eating. When I finished, Carson collected my dish without being asked, washing it thoroughly before loading it into the dishwasher with unexpected efficiency.
"Well then," I said, fighting back a yawn, "back to the grind tomorrow?"
