I take a big swig out of my wine glass as I watch Bawdy mix the pasta ingredients in the bowl. He's splashing ingredients all over the counter, and the people next to us in the class are judging up tremendously. But I almost don't care with how much fun I'm having.

To celebrate Valentine's day and my birthday weekend, Bawdy brought me to Italy for one of the most romantic trips I've had in my life. We just got here late last night, but I already know this will surpass any vacation experience I've had before.

I at least wanted to go to my classes on Wednesday, even if it meant not getting here until the evening on Valentine's Day. I told Bawdy that I didn't care if we celebrated on the actual holiday or the day after, but he insisted that it's important to him. I honestly don't think he's done a true Valentine's Day with a girl before, because he really got me all of the basic things: chocolates, roses, even stuffed animals, but also with his enhanced touch of being able to fly us to another country.

My birthday is tomorrow on Friday, and I'm used to celebrating the holidays together since they're so close to one another. Bawdy was insistent that we keep both days separate, because I deserve way more celebration that anyone has even given me before. No one has ever asked me how I feel on the subject, and I honestly feel like I've just settled with lumping them together. I deserve to have both celebrations if I want to.

I appreciate Bawdy reminding me that I am special.

I've been feeling off wondering if my family is going to text my on my birthday. It's not something I should even be anxious about, but I've avoided contact since I told them I got here safely. While they make me worry about their interactions, I don't need them to worry about my well being. Even though they were the ones who took such a mental toll on me at the end of last semester.

Bawdy keeps trying to tell me that worrying about it isn't going to influence the outcome, and I'm trying my best to make myself believe it.

Being distracted by Bawdy with sticky pasta dough on his fingers is also helping to repress my hypotheticals.

Our instructor of the group class comes over to our station. He eyes the consistency of our dough skeptically. "How much water and flower did you add?"

Bawdy's response makes the chef's eyes widen, and I can tell he is suppressing a laugh. "Well, that would be the issue. Looks like your measurements were a bit off." He brings it upon himself to help us remake our dough, while no one else struggles.

"What numbers were you even reading?" I ask with a laugh.

Bawdy asks the chef a question instead of replying to me. "Could we also get another bottle?"

"Sure, I'll get that for you in a minute," the chef responds slowly. The speedy drinking might be contributing to Bawdy's inability to follow a recipe properly.

That and the fact that we are two of the worst cooks on this planet. Maybe that's a bit extreme, but we're definitely the worst in this class.

But it's not taking away from how much fun we're having. We can't keep our eyes off one another, which might be another reason why we aren't paying attention to the pasta string lengths coming out of our pasta maker.

I mean, long is always better.

In terms of pasta.

Among other things.

I become conscious of Bawdy's hand on my back, and he slowly moves his hand to my hip, pulling me closer towards him to kiss me. The romance really is in the air here. And in Bawdy's pants.

He is hidden by an apron, but for some reason I imagine what he would look like wearing just the apron with nothing underneath. He could be a chef and I could be his Sui-chef in this fantasy, but his restaurant would certainly be shut down quickly due to things not being edible.

"I got this part," I say going to add the pasta strands to the boiling water. Did putting the water on to boil before making the pasta from scratch mean that it was actually boiling when I needed it? Yes, and it felt so good not to feel impatience towards the water molecules.

"Look at my little chef," he smirks, and I feel my cheeks warm. "I'll cook up the sauce."

We're standing next to one another by the burner, but I can't take my eyes off of Bawdy stirring that sauce. I never see him doing anything domestic. And between this and the cookies, I'm liking what I'm seeing a bit too much.

I bet if I hurt his ego enough about not being able to cook, he would actually learn how to. But, I'm not actually that mean, so I never would. It's just fun to think about how badly he wants to make me happy.

His words, not mine.

I don't think that highly of my self, and I still have a hard time applying his statements to my own self.

My gaze drifts up and meets Bawdy's, and our eyes are being way to scandalous for a cooking class. At least it's a couples cooking class. Statistically speaking, the probably of fucking the day after Valentine's Day in Italy is very likely.

Bawdy's eyes go wide, and confusion hits my face only moments before he cusses out, "Fuck!"

Eyes are on us, and the chef scurries over to examine the red hot tomato sauce that splashed out of the sauce pan that Bawdy was using. Apparently, he was supposed to use a pot on low simmer. He was using a sauce pan on high. Max actually.

After he wipes it off and ensures that he doesn't have any second degree burns, he's determined to try this again the right way. "I think I'm better at cooking and following directions than you," I say as I carry the pot over to the sink to strain it.

It's a bit heavy, and Bawdy sees me about to struggle to tip it over, and he secures the strainer. He senses that the other one of us is now at risk of getting burned as well, so he grabs the pot as I secure the strainer.

There's something so wholesome about cooking together and taking on a task tandem. Although, Bawdy's next comment corrupts the wholesome atmosphere. "You do follow my directions very well," Bawdy taunts.

This time, my cheeks burn fully red as heat rushes to them. I suppress a giggle. I know he's referring to how well I followed his commands last night.

It's conflicting to feel embarrassed for some of my own actions while wanting to experience them all over again. Sometimes I can't even believe the things that I do with him.

We ate our meal that the chef helped out with a majority of and were decently wine drunk when we stumbled back into our suite overlooking the canal.

I can tell that we're both trying to restrain from pouncing on one another. Much to my dismay, and Bawdy's based on his facial expression, he gets a call from his manager, and then another when he ignores the first, and another after that. Bawdy decides to answer it, even though his whole team was told to fuck off while he's on vacation.

His words that he sent in an email to everyone who works for him.

I take this time to change into another one of my Valentine's Day surprises that I got for Bawdy: a very sexy little lingerie set. I was going to put it on last night, but we got a bit carried away before I could think about it.

Now, he's going to expect something like this even less since it's the day after. I have to thank him somehow for bringing me on such a trip. I'm going to try to do at least one thing a day just for him. And then he can use up the other 95% of the time to please me (again, his words, not mine, since it's also my birthday weekend).

I personally love my birthday and am really try to let myself enjoy being spoiled. As the minutes tick by, I'm realizing how much more annoyed I am that it usually gets overshadowed by Valentine's Day.

Multiple times, people have not been able to do things on my actual birthday since they're doing their Valentine's Day celebrating two days after the holiday, especially when the holiday falls on a weekend and not a week night, just like this year.

Until Bawdy did all of this for me, I would have assumed the same sort of thing would have happened again this year. Kennedy and David have really been hitting it off lately and are doing a not-an-actual-Valentine's-Day-date date tonight. She claims that she's not going to let things get too serious, since she needs to focus on school.

David seems to respect that, so I respect that of him.

Meanwhile, Iris was on her "I hate men" mindset until she met someone a few weekends ago. Now, she's squealing with excitement over voice notes telling us about her dates with him.

It's been hard not being able to talk to them as much on the phone given the time change and some wild schedule days I have when Bawdy has a show.

As I'm staring at myself in the full length mirror in the room, Bawdy walks in, rubbing his fingers through his hair. He's looking downwards at his phone still, grumbling under his breath.

"Sorry that took so long," he starts to say as he looks up. "Well, fuck," is all he's able to articulate when his vision perceives me.

His phone dings, and he groans. "Give me like four minutes," he says with a desperate look.

I cross my arms across my front, knowing that my boobs are getting squeezed up in the process. I want to watch him sweat.

"Alright, make it two." Bawdy uses his free hand to jokingly block me out from his vision. I love how he can't resist me.