The next morning. Hunter and Della set out for the nearby coastal towns. The salty breeze accompanied them as they took a leisurely drive along the roads, the decor shifting from hushed beaches to quaint villages bustling with life.
The first stop was a local seafood market, where the scent of freshly caught fish fused with the briny air. Vendors called out in cheerful voices, offering their catches of the day—starry prawns, succulent crabs, and silvery fish that blazed like jewels.
Hunter led the way, his hand brushing lightly against Della's as they walked from stall to stall. He picked up a lobster, its claws snapping lazily, and turned to her with a smile. "What do you think? Should we try this tonight?"
Della laughed, her cheeks warming. "I'm not sure I know how to cook lobster."
"Good thing I do."
They continued exploring, filling their basket with fresh ingredients. plump scallops, vibrant herbs, and lemons so fragrant. Della found herself drawn to a vendor selling spices and oils, her fingers trailing over jars of saffron and sea salt.
From the market, they wandered into the heart of the town, where cobblestone streets were lined with pastel-coloured shops and cafes. A street musician played a soft melody on his violin, the notes looped through the air like a gentle caress.
As the sun climbed higher, they found a small, family-run restaurant overlooking the water. The aroma of grilled fish and garlic greeted them as they took a seat on the patio, the view stretching out to the endless horizon.
The menu was simple but enticing, and Hunter ordered for them both, his confidence as effortless as ever. "Trust me," he said with a wink.
When the food arrived, Della's mouth watered at the sight of the grilled snapper, served with a side of roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread. The flavours were bold yet comforting, each bite a region's culinary heritage.
"This is amazing," she murmured, her eyes closing briefly to savour the taste.
"I'm glad you're enjoying it."
After their meal, they shared a slice of key lime pie, the tangy sweetness a perfect end to their meal. As they left the restaurant, Hunter stopped at a nearby flower stall, plucking a few wildflowers from the display.
"For you," he said, tying them together with a ribbon.
Della accepted the bouquet, her heart swelling at the simple yet thoughtful gesture.
When they returned to the beach house, the afternoon sun bathed the kitchen in golden light. Hunter rolled up his sleeves, his movements precise and confident as he set out their market finds on the counter.
"Ready to learn how to cook lobster?" he asked, a playful challenge in his tone.
Della hesitated, eyeing the intimidating array of ingredients. "You're assuming I won't ruin it."
Hunter chuckled, his deep voice resonating through the room. "You'll do just fine. Besides, I'm a great teacher."
He began unpacking their market treasures, laying out the seafood—plump scallops, prawns, and the star of the show, a large lobster, along with fragrant herbs, garlic, and fresh vegetables.
"Let's start with the marinade," Hunter instructed, handing her a bunch of parsley and a lemon. "Chop the parsley finely, and I'll handle the garlic."
Della picked up the knife cautiously. "Just don't judge me if it's uneven."
"I won't," he replied, though his smirk said otherwise.
As she chopped, Hunter leaned over to check her progress, his arm brushing against hers. "Perfect," he murmured, his closeness making her pulse quicken. "See? Told you you'd be a natural."
They moved in sync, Della zesting lemons while Hunter crushed garlic and mixed it with butter and herbs. The lobster was next, and Hunter demonstrated how to carefully handle it.
"Hold it here," he said, gently guiding her hands as she followed his instructions. His touch was firm yet careful.
"You're surprisingly patient," Della noted, glancing at him.
"I can be," he replied, his tone soft. "When it's worth it."
As the lobster cooked in the oven, filling the kitchen with its mouthwatering aroma, they moved on to the scallops. Hunter showed Della how to sear them.
"Hot pan, plenty of butter. Don't move them too much; let the crust form."
Della watched the scallops sizzle, their edges caramelizing to a perfect golden brown. She turned to Hunter, her excitement barely contained. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."
"You're doing more than that," he said, his gaze sauntering on her.
They laughed as they plated the scallops, adding the roasted vegetables and salad they had prepared earlier. The kitchen felt warm and alive.
Finally, the lobster was ready, its shell a flamboyant red and its meat tender and succulent. Hunter carefully placed it on a large platter, garnishing it with sprigs of parsley and slices of lemon.
"Voilà," he said with a flourish, stepping back to admire their work.
Della couldn't help but smile. "It looks incredible. I didn't think we'd actually pull this off."
Hunter leaned against the counter, his expression thoughtful. "Cooking isn't just about the food. It's about the moments you create around it. Effort, that's what makes it special."
Della nodded. "I think I get that now."
"Good," he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Now let's hope it tastes as good as it looks."
With the butler's help, they carried their culinary masterpiece to the deck, where the table had been set with candles and elegant linens, the perfect setting for a meal that was as much about the journey as the destination.
Hunter poured champagne into two glasses, as he handed one to Della, his fingers brushing hers.
They clinked glasses, before taking their seats. The meal was a masterpiece, the flavours enhanced by the cool breeze and the soothing sound of the waves.
When they finished, they sauntered on the deck, the moon rising over the sea.
Hunter leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on her. "I'm glad we did this," he said softly.
"So am I," Della replied, her voice barely above a whisper.