Page 119 of Falling Overboard

“I might tell you my innermost thoughts for a good bowl of penne,” I said. “And I was thinking about how much fun I’ve had today. Thank you for all of it.”

“It’s about to get a lot better,” he said, leaning back as our waiter approached with my dish, setting it down in front of me.

After he left I asked Hunter, “Am I supposed to wait until you get yours to start eating?”

“No, dive in.”

I picked up my fork and waited a moment, wanting to take a mental snapshot of my pasta. “You know, I’ve never believed in love at first sight before, but I’m kind of believing in it now.”

He shook his head, amused. “It’s good to know where I’m at in the rankings. Somewhere behind pasta and baked goods.”

I wanted to tell him that wasn’t true, but I had made the mistake of putting the first bite into my mouth. I let out an embarrassing moan. This was amazing.

“Good?” he asked, that fiery intensity there as he watched me take each bite.

And if I’d been eating anything else, I would have stopped immediately and attacked his face, but I was far too distracted by the tiny bites of bliss. “I’m trying to figure out how to convert this into blood and inject it into my veins because I want to feel this good all the time.”

“I like a woman who knows what she wants.” The timbre of his voice sent tingles and shudders along my limbs.

“I do know what I want. And tonight I want you ... to pay for dinner.”

He laughed. “I’m just glad they brought you out the real thing and not some veggie impasta.”

“We’re not going to add pasta puns to the repertoire, are we?” Not that I really cared. Just so long as the waiter kept putting dishes like this in front of me.

“Remember that this is just a phase and it, too, shall pasta. And I’m alfredo I can’t stop because I know I mac you smile. Personally, I think we should be exploring the pasta-bilities because the pesto’s yet to come.”

“You are pre-pasta-rous,” I said.

“I’m so glad you spaghet-me.”

The rest of the dinner continued in the same vein—the waiter bringing me the best pasta I’d ever eaten while Hunter kept up a steady stream of jokes, stories, and puns to entertain me.

If someone had asked me whether things could get better after our day spent at the bakery, I would have said no, but leave it to him to find a way to make that untrue.

Despite eating my body weight in pasta, I still had room for dessert. While I probably should have picked something Italian, I opted for the chocolate soufflé, and it was like a kiss from a chocolate angel. Profoundly delicious.

After we finished eating, he grabbed the bill and paid it. I should have protested and offered to split it but it was part of this perfect day—not having to dip into my savings.

Another gift from him.

He took my hand and we walked along the darkened streets of Salerno. It was like so many other port cities that we had been in—older buildings painted in bright colors, trees, green vines climbing up walls, clean laundry hanging overhead on clotheslines, filling the air with the smell of detergent, which combined with the salt from the sea.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked.

“The best. Thank you so much. I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate all of it.”

He brought my hand up to his mouth and briefly kissed it. “You don’t know how nervous I was today.”

“Nervous? Why?”

“I wanted everything to be amazing for you. Your own personal movie montage.”

I couldn’t believe he remembered that. He was the absolute sweetest. “It was amazing because you were with me. I’m so happy that I got to share all of this with you,” I said, leaning against his arm.

He kissed the top of my head. “I don’t want it to end. Do you want to go back to the yacht or stay here in town tonight?”

“Stay,” I immediately responded. “Someplace nice.”

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