I see her, and she sees me.
Julia sinks, slow and steady, onto my cock. Swallowing me to the root.
Her blue eyes locked on mine—that cute little belly pressed against mine—heart so full—
For so long I was in hell.
But now, for no reason at all other than that I love and am loved, I’m in heaven.
This is heaven.
Julia rolls her hips, and I rock into her. She’s tight and bare and mine, and I could shout with gratitude.
I play with her pussy the way she likes. The way she needs. Thumbing her clit. Sucking on her nipples.
The scent of her skin surrounds me.
I actually do shout when she comes and I come, too. Our orgasms separated by a handful of heartbeats.
There’s an extra heartbeat between us now. One that we created.
One that we’ll love and raise together.
Being together—that really is everything, isn’t it?
Julia collapses against me, burying her head in the crook of my neck.
“No cigarette this time,” she says. “What should we do instead?”
I kiss her temple. “I’ll reschedule with Luke. How about a super cheesy dance party, followed by dinner, ice cream, and Always Be My Maybe? That’s another good one about family.”
She laughs. Kisses me.
“Sounds perfect.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Julia
“Y’all, where are we going?” I ask, peering out the window.
Olivia just grins, taking a turn onto 17 South. “You’ll see.”
I turn to look at Gracie in the backseat.
“But I thought the shower was at Holy City Roasters.”
She shakes her head. She’s wearing the same secretive, knowing smile Olivia is.
“We had a change of venue,” she replies.
My heart skips a beat. “Wait a second. Wait. Does Greyson have anything to do with this?”
Gracie makes a zipping motion across her lips. “I know nothing.”
“How about some music?” Olivia turns the knob on her Honda’s stereo. “Ah, Gucci Mane. This will get us in the baby shower mood.”
Eva shimmies beside Gracie in the backseat. “Hey, I’m a fan.”
We listen to “Freaky Gurl” as we make our way out of the city. Twenty minutes and many early 2000s R&B hits later, we cross onto Wadmalaw Island.
I smile.
I know exactly where we’re headed.
Grey definitely had a hand in this. I remember what he texted me the day we made up—that he was meeting with Luke at the barn to discuss something non-work related.
This had to have been it.
I smile harder. Things have been good with us. We moved in together about a month ago—I’m living at his place while we search for a new home together. He’s working a lot less, just like he promised. He’s home most nights and weekends, and has really stepped up to do his fair share of life and baby stuff. He cooks a lot, and helps clean up when I’m too tired or too sore to stand at the sink (the baby is putting a lot of pressure on my pelvic floor these days.) We show up to doctor’s appointments on time. He’s helped me pack my bag for the hospital, and together we’ve done way too much research on college savings accounts and co-sleeping and pediatricians. It’s a lot of work, but we dork out over it. That stuff can be kinda-sorta fun when you have someone to do it with.
Olivia takes a turn onto a familiar dirt driveway, and my pulse takes off at a sprint.
She pulls into the lot beside the Rodgers’ Farms barn. I see a familiar figure waiting beside the barn door.
Greyson breaks out in a smile when he sees us. He hustles over to the car and opens my door, helping me out.
I’m grinning ear to ear.
“Don’t you look gorgeous,” he says, a familiar spark of heat igniting in his eyes as he takes in my floral dress and sandals.
I’m getting huge—thirty-four weeks yesterday—so my wardrobe options were limited. I’m big and unwieldy, but Greyson still manages to make me feel sexy.
“No tuxedo dick pants this time?” I say.
He ducks his head to plant a quick kiss on my mouth. “Saving that for later. I think my mom might faint if, you know, she saw it. Them. The whole thing.”
“Right. Good call.” I glance at the barn. “So this was your idea, huh?”
Grey nods. “I wanted to show off your work, for starters. Let all your friends see just how amazingly talented you are. I also wanted to be involved. And yeah, maybe I’m getting sentimental in my old age. Seemed right to host your shower where our story—yours, mine, and Charlie Brown’s—began.”
“That’s the fucking sweetest thing I have ever heard,” Eva says as she passes by with an enormous cake in her arms.
“So sweet,” I say, kissing him back. I twine my fingers through his.
He nods at the barn. “Can I show you what we’ve done?”
“Can’t wait.”
We walk into the barn, and immediately the breath leaves my lungs. The decor is simple but pretty, the space filled with rustic wooden tables set with white flowers and pretty glassware. I laugh when I see that the centerpieces are books. Picture books, more specifically. I move closer to take a peek at the titles.
Pride and Prejudice: The Newborn Edition
My Deal with the Duke, G-Rated Version
Baby’s Guide to Virginia Woolf & The Bloomsbury Group
Olivia appears at my elbow. Arms crossed, still wearing that smile.
I just stare at her.
“You wrote all these, didn’t you?” I ask.
Her smile grows. “I did. And Grey had them illustrated. The whole thing was his idea, actually.”
My head snaps in his direction. “It was?”
Grey shrugs shyly. “I was trying to think of something thoughtful to get you for the shower. I saw firsthand how passionate you are about romance and feminism and history. So I called up Olivia and floated the idea, and then we went and talked to Louise, the owner of Rainbow Row Books. She put us in touch with an illustrator.”
“Needless to say, I loved it,” Olivia replies. “We got to work straightaway. I think they came out beautifully.”
I smile at her. Smile at Grey.
Do my friends know me, or do they know me? One of the five thousand things I adore about them.
One of the five thousand things I adore about Grey.
I loop my arm around her waist and give her a squeeze. “I love them. Thank you both for such a lovely gift. And for hosting this shower. Y’all went above and beyond. This place looks amazing.”
Grey nudges me with his elbow. “Thanks to you.”
“And you.”
“You two make a great team,” Olivia says. “And you’re going to make a beautiful baby, too.”
People start to arrive. A slow trickle at first. Eliza and Monty arrive with Ford and Bryce in tow. She giggles with delight when I hand her a “best big cousin” gift wrapped in giraffe paper. She’s warming up to me, slowly but surely, and I want to keep the momentum going.
“Thank you, Julia,” Ford says when he hugs me.
“No problem. Figured she’d like something to open while we open gifts for the baby.”
He grins. “You know my daughter well. She hates not being the center of attention.”
The flood gates open shortly thereafter. My TA Irene, Hallie and Fiona from yoga class. Luke’s mother and her wife, the two of them cackling over hilariously inappropriate vegetable innuendos.
Grey and I both notice Eva and Ford chatting together in a corner.
Friends, old and new, crowd the barn, chatting over mimosas and small plates of Elijah’s ham and brown sugar biscuits, pimento cheese finger sandwiches, and fried oyster salad. The food is absolutely divine, but then again, Elijah’s food always is.
We also devour Monty’s homemade cupcakes and insane chocolate chip cookies dusted with sea salt. He made enough to feed a small army, but by the
time we’re ready to open presents, everything is gone.
Gracie and Eliza herd Grey and I to the front of the room, where an embarrassingly huge pile of gifts waits for us. Olivia leads the room in a champagne toast to me, Grey, and Charlie Brown.
Grey grabs my hand. I look at him. Look out at all the smiling faces beaming at us. Colleagues. Friends from college. The women I’ve met through yoga, some of them with their babies in their arms.
“This is overwhelming,” I whisper. “The amount of love in this room.”
He grins. “We’re lucky, aren’t we? To have a support system this big and this awesome?”
“So damn lucky,” I say, shaking my head. “Makes me want to help women who aren’t so lucky. I’m new to this mom thing, but I can already tell support is everything.”
He tilts his head. “Let’s do it then. Let’s help those women.”
“You want in?” I ask, smiling. So much freaking smiling these days.
“Of course,” he replies. “Let’s talk about it when we get home.”
We sit in a pair of chairs and start to open gifts. Eliza records everything in a small pink notebook—we’re all still convinced it’s a girl—while Grey drapes onesies across his chest, and I hold up fuzzy blankets and stuffed animals for everyone to see.
Eliza wants me to open her gift. It’s an adorable grey gingham baby bubble romper. Smocked, just begging for a monogram. As southern and sweet as it gets.
Exactly the kind of thing my Southern mama would get her grand baby.
“Thank you,” I say, eyes welling with tears. “It’s beautiful.”
She pulls me into a tight hug. “We couldn’t be more excited to welcome you and this baby into our family.”
Grey looks on, tears in his eyes, too.
It takes an obscene amount of time to open our obscene amount of gifts. As soon as the last gift is opened and carefully packed back up, a stream of helpers already loading up Grey’s car, he is on his feet and heading for the back of the room.
I notice the tables have been cleared over there, and Ford is crouched beside a pair of speakers, cursing quietly as he tries to plug them into the floor.
Putting my hands on my low back—Lord does it ache—I pad over.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
Ford looks up at me. “If I can ever get these motherfucking speakers figured out, it’s going to be a dance floor. Mr. Boogie Nights over there”—he nods at Grey, who’s pouring himself another glass of champagne—“insisted on having one.”
I smile. Again. For the seven hundredth time today.
“I didn’t know there was dancing at baby showers,” I say.
“Why not? You love it. I love it. Pretty sure Charlie Brown’s going to love it, too,” Grey says breezily, sidling up to me. He clanks his champagne against my flute of OJ. “If there’s any excuse at all to dance, I’m going to take it. I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
Ford shakes his head, grinning. “Y’all are so cute it’s gross, you know that? I love it.”
“We love you,” I say, meeting his eyes. “Seriously. I don’t think we’d be here right now if you hadn’t talked some sense into Grey so he’d let you come back to Montgomery Partners full time. Charlie Brown and I appreciate that more than you know.”
“I appreciate it more than you know,” Grey says. “Thank you, brother.”
Ford waves us away, turning back to the speaker situation. “Y’all are welcome. Just save the dirty dancing for behind closed doors, all right?”
“I make no guarantees. Do you?” I ask Grey.
He takes a sip of his champagne and smacks his lips. “Nope.”
It takes a couple minutes and some help from Greyson, but Ford eventually figures the speakers out. Grey plugs in a laptop, and few seconds later, “Let’s Dance” starts to play.
My heart flutters inside my chest.
There’s no way I could pick a favorite Bowie song. But if I had to, this one would be a top contender.
Grey extends his hand. “Wanna?”
“Like you even need to ask.”
I take his hand, and he sweeps me onto the dance floor. I’m awkward and unwieldy and my center of gravity is God knows where, but Grey doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls out all the moves—lawnmower, sprinkler, shopping cart—and I do my best to keep up, laughing the whole time.
I end up in his arms again. Mine looped around his neck, his looped around my back (they barely reach all the way around me anymore!). My big old belly keeps us farther apart than I’d like, but Grey still bumps and grinds against me like the best of them. Turning me around so my back is to his front.
A pulse of heat moves through me when his hands slip to my ass.
“Inappropriate!” Ford says as he passes by, Bryce on his hip.
Laughing, I turn back around to kiss Grey on the cheek.
As I turn, I see that everyone has joined us on the dance floor. They surround us. Bumping hips, elbows. Faces lifted as we all sing the words to the song.
A swell of joy bowls me over. Here I am, shaking my ass like I’m not eight months pregnant, surrounded by so much love and support and happiness it almost hurts.
I never in a million years would’ve guessed my story and Grey’s would end like this—on such a high, happy note.
But then I realize that this isn’t the end.
It’s the beginning.
The beginning of something bigger than ourselves.
The beginning of a new story.
One that feels so very right.
This won’t be our last joyful moment. Just like we haven’t experienced our last painful one. There are more to come.
Many, many more. And I get to experience them all, good and bad, with Grey and Charlie Brown. I’ll have them by my side through it all.
We dance until our feet hurt. And then we go home and dance some more.
The behind-closed-doors kind.
Epilogue
Julia
Six Weeks Later
Greyson Parker Montgomery IV—I know, I know, the fourth thing is a little much, but Grey and I loved the idea of continuing a family tradition—came roaring into the world right on time on June twenty-third. Eight pounds, twelve ounces of pure scrumptious baby chunk.
I thought I’d die of shock when the doctor held him up and said, “It’s a boy!”
Greyson looked at the baby. Looked at me. Mouth agape, wide blue eyes welling with tears.
He kissed me, hard, and we both burst into the most gutting, most relieved, happiest sobs ever.
Grey opted not to cut the cord—“I won’t lie, y’all, I think I might pass the fuck out”—and then I held the baby skin to skin on my chest. One hand on Parker (that’s what we’re calling him), the other holding an orange popsicle.
I just stared at him. Shocked that he was a boy. Shocked that I had a baby.
A real live human baby.
Hard to believe this whole thing started nine months ago in the backseat of Grey’s truck.
Now here we are. A family of three.
Wild the turns life can take.
I traced the features of Parker’s face with the tip of my finger. Blue eyes, wrinkly forehead, the Montgomery dimpled chin. Same one Greyson shares with his dad.
My heart was so full in that moment I could barely breathe.
That was magic.
The not so magical parts? The two stitches I had to get after I suffered a second degree tear. How the baby gnawed on my nipples for two days straight after we got home from the hospital.
The pain was unreal. So is the appearance of my nipples.
“They look like taco meat!” I wailed after an especially long and frustrating attempt at nursing.
Greyson, patting the baby’s back on his shoulder, shrugged. “I like tacos.”
“I’m never having sex with you again,” I replied. “Your sperm has superhuman strength, and right now the thought of having another baby makes me want to stab someone.
”
“Hopefully not me,” Grey says cheerfully.
Parker farts. A second later, shit leaks out of his diaper all over Grey’s shirt.
Grey gags. I bite back a laugh.
“That’s what you get for your smart ass reply,” I say. “And for your smart ass sperm!”
We brought the baby home to our new house. After months of searching, we finally found the perfect spot. We moved in a week before Parker was born. It’s a light blue Charleston single not far from Ford’s—we loved the idea of our kids growing up together, although Bryce has yet to warm up to the baby—with plenty of trees in the backyard, a kitchen that needs a lot of work, and tons of character.
The best part? Neither of us has to work like a dog to be able to afford it.
Grey has taken his promise to step back at Montgomery Partners seriously. He’s got his eight weeks of paternity leave, and I have to say I am incredibly grateful we both have the privilege of paid time off. He’s lucky that he had a partner who was willing to cover for him. And I’m lucky I work for an institution that provides excellent benefits.
We’re lucky. Beyond belief. And it’s made us realize that having this time together—having the time to heal and bond with Parker—shouldn’t come down to luck.
We’re even luckier to have the help and support of an incredible village of family and friends. Eliza comes over every day to do laundry, make coffee, and drop off groceries. Monty supplies all the pound cake and cookies I need to satisfy my voracious appetite. Plus, he does the dishes, loads and unloads the dishwasher, and pours us wine without judgment.
Meals arrive in a steady stream. I cry each and every time one is dropped off. Not having to worry about dinner—or lunch the next day, thanks to leftovers—is so, so nice when you’re sleep deprived, bleeding from your vagina and nipples, and so terrified to poop you give yourself stomachaches over it.
I’m sincerely touched by the outpouring of support we get. Meals, gifts, flowers. It’s overwhelming in the best way. And just the vote of confidence I need when my mood or body or both are flagging.
Gracie, Olivia, and Eva come over a week after we leave the hospital. They also bring gifts.
Southern Gentleman: A Charleston Heat Novel Page 26
