Page 63 of Forbidden Professor

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.”

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