Chapter 15:Vows in the Vinegar

The morning sun poured golden light through the windows of La Cucina di Famiglia, warming the countertops and casting a halo on the chalkboard sign that read:

“Couples Class: Italian Sauces & Sweet Surprises”

Amara waddled in first, one hand on her eight-month belly, the other balancing a box of menus and a thermos of chamomile tea.

“God,” she muttered, “this baby’s sitting on my lungs like a loaf of sourdough.”

Luca trailed behind her, humming softly and carrying a tray of mini tiramisù cups. “The little one has great taste, obviously.”

“You bribed it with panna cotta last night.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

She smirked. “Barely.”

He leaned in, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “Today’s the day.”

She blinked. “The day for what?”

But he just smiled and kissed her forehead. “You’ll see.”

Later That Afternoon Class Begins

Twelve couples filed in, buzzing with energy and curiosity. Amara welcomed them as usual, but Luca seemed unusually chipper too chipper. Almost suspiciously chipper.

“Alright,” Luca said, clapping his hands. “Today’s sauce theme is amore. Which means: red wine, garlic, and unexpected confessions.”

He glanced at Amara with a grin.

She narrowed her eyes.

The class went on. Couples whisked and stirred, chopped tomatoes and debated basil-to-parmesan ratios. Amara floated from station to station, offering tips and the occasional sarcastic comment when someone tried to blend a hot sauce with the lid off.

But halfway through, the music changed.

A soft instrumental version of “That’s Amore” trickled through the speakers.

Amara turned. “Luca?”

He stood at the front of the room, flour on his apron, a microphone in one hand, a velvet box in the other.

The room fell silent.

“I know this is a class,” he said, “but we’ve always done things a little backwards, haven’t we?”

Someone gasped. Someone else whispered, “Is he proposing?”

Amara blinked, stunned. “Luca”

He smiled, stepping toward her.

“I never got to ask you the way I wanted. We had fire. We had food. We had flour in our hair and a child between us before rings.”

Laughter bubbled around them, warm and sweet.

“But today, with this baby nearly here and our hearts already full, I need to ask anyway—because waiting doesn’t make sense anymore.”

He knelt, which was impressive considering the slippery floor and his height.

“Amara Hope Daniels… will you marry me? Right now?”

She stared at him, breath caught, heart pounding.

“Wait. What?”

Luca grinned. “I already spoke to Noah. He gave me the green light. The class is actually full of friends and family pretending to be students.”

The couples around her burst into applause—Rosie, Mo and Ivy, Frank and Gloria, even Noah, in a tuxedo apron, waving from the back.

Amara laughed, tears falling fast. “You set me up!”

“You love surprises,” he said, standing. “And I love you.”

She looked around, dazed but glowing.

Then: “Yes. Yes. Let’s get married in garlic-scented air with tomato sauce on the counter and a baby in my belly.”

The crowd cheered.

Noah ran up and hugged them both.

Twenty Minutes Later The “Ceremony”

The cooking stations were pushed aside. A white runner (made of folded tablecloths) lined the center aisle. Rosie officiated, standing on an upside-down crate. Ivy threw flower petals made of basil leaves.

Amara wore a white apron.

Luca wore his usual chef's coat  but with a bowtie.

Their vows were simple:

“I promise to love you even when the bread burns.”

“I promise to choose you, even when life gets messy especially then.”

“I promise to never leave and to always bring dessert.”

They kissed to the sound of spatulas tapping like clinking champagne glasses.

That Evening A Different Kind of Feast

Instead of a fancy reception, they hosted the most Bellwood-Falls wedding dinner ever: build-your-own pasta bowls, cannoli towers, and personalized pizzas.

Noah’s pizza had the words “Best Day Ever” spelled out in olives.

As the stars came out and the last guests left, Amara sat beside Luca on the classroom counter, her bare feet swinging, hand resting on her belly.

“I can’t believe you pulled this off.”

“I’ve been planning for weeks,” he said. “It took five secret meetings, twelve decoy menus, and one very persuasive best man.” He nodded toward Noah, who had passed out on a sack of flour.

Amara smiled, her voice soft. “I didn’t think I’d get this again. A wedding. A family. A real shot at forever.”

He kissed her knuckles. “We’ve got it. Burnt edges, wild baby kicks, and all.”