Southern Heartbreaker: A Charleston Heat Novel

by Peterson, Jessica

  I cut him a look. “It’s mostly seeing our perfectly beautiful babies meet for the first time. But yeah, maybe it’s a little bit Eva, too. More than a little bit.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “It’s not supposed to be.”

  We stop in front of a pair of vending machines. Grey jangles some change in the pocket of his very tight sweatpants.

  “Dude,” I say. “I thought we talked about the tight pants. You scared everyone at that wedding with your whole…situation.”

  A couple months back, Grey got some new suits made. He was going for a more tailored look, but ended up with pants that were so tailored they were basically plastered to his junk. You could see everything. And I mean everything.

  Same as you can see quite a lot in these sweats right now.

  Grey just shrugs. “Julia likes ’em. And when the woman who carried my son for nine months like the rock star she is says she likes something, she gets it. Hence today’s sweatpants selection.”

  “Just—pull your shirt down or something. I’ll take a Coke, by the way.”

  My brother thumbs a bunch of quarters into the machine. “So what’s up with Eva and why does she have you all bent out of shape?”

  “That’s just it.” The machine thumps, and I bend down to retrieve our Cokes, handing one to Grey. “I feel like she’s bending me back into shape. If that makes, like, any sense at all.”

  “It does.” Grey cracks his can open with a hiss. “Still need you to explain.”

  “It’s like she’s reconnecting me to parts of myself that have fallen by the wayside over the past few years. Parts of me that I’ve missed.”

  He arches a brow. “One part in particular?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Right. You obviously don’t have to tell me, but…yeah, you’re blushing. Which means y’all are definitely bumping uglies. Aw, I’m happy for you. You’re using condoms, though, right?”

  Rolling my eyes, I take a long pull of Coke. Please God let the caffeine take effect soon.

  “Didn’t seem to work for y’all,” I say. “Then again—maybe it did.”

  Baby Parker was a big surprise for Julia and Grey. He claims they were using condoms at the time the baby was conceived, which I actually believe. The two of them weren’t exactly getting along back then; I’d even go so far as to say they were kind of sworn enemies on the Rodgers’ Farms job site.

  “I like my life, but with a kid, a full time job, and a house to run all on my own, I’ve kind of forgotten how to have fun. I haven’t taken time for myself. To, you know, blow off some steam or whatever. And that’s what I do with Eva. I don’t have to be daddy or the boss when I’m with her.”

  Grey cocks a brow, gaze flicking to the tattoo that peeks out from my cuffed sleeve. “You sure Eva doesn’t call you daddy?”

  My lips twitch. “Haven’t gotten there yet.”

  “You have time,” he says with a nod.

  “But I can just be myself with her. Grey, we have the best time together. It’s like I never want our dates to end—they go by way too quickly. We dance, we talk. She makes me laugh.” I make her come. Lord, was that satisfying. “I fucking adore this girl.”

  “So what’s the rub?”

  I tug a hand across my face. “In a nutshell? I have a daughter. And Eva doesn’t want kids at all. She said she’d give it some thought, but…I mean, that would be a pretty big change of heart. And it’s not my place to sway her mind either way.”

  I haven’t really processed that thought until I said it out loud just now. It’s true. It’s not like Eva is considering a compromise on, say, whether or not she would date a “suit and tie” like me—someone corporate. She wouldn’t be compromising on what we do on our dates, or where we go to dinner.

  She’d be compromising on a major life decision. Stuff like that doesn’t happen overnight.

  A lot of the time, it doesn’t happen at all.

  The thought makes my chest deflate.

  “Wow. Y’all got pretty serious pretty fast there for an afternoon out on the water.”

  “The conversation did, yeah. She’s being open and upfront, which is cool. Part of me knows I’m playing with fire here. But two dates with her—two freaking dates, Grey—and I think I’m addicted. What we have…it feels too rare and too good to give up on. My head is telling me to be smart, but my gut is telling me that Eva and I have something special. That maybe we’re meant to be, despite our differences.”

  “I like Eva. A lot. But are you sure this isn’t just you, I don’t know, wanting to relive your carefree days as a college kid? No worries, no responsibilities? Even for a night? That can’t last, Ford.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not like that. She’s more than just a flash in the pan. I can feel it. I just don’t know what to do about this enormous chasm between us. We connect on everything else. Literally everything else, except this one big issue.”

  “Not gonna lie, brother, that’s a bummer.” Grey puts a hand on my shoulder. “The kid thing is big. I don’t think it’s something you should have to bend on, either. Whether or not you want kids, that’s fine—no explanation needed.”

  I nod, something sticking in my throat. I gulp my Coke.

  “I’m no expert when it comes to love. But I did luck out with Julia. She taught me that keeping an open mind and being patient with myself—with her, too—leads to good things. So be patient. Keep doing whatever y’all are doing that’s making you blush and putting such a big smile on your face. Follow that and see where it leads. No need to be this, like, bleeding heart Romeo—”

  “Wow—a Shakespeare reference. I’m impressed.”

  “Julia’s turned me on to some really good shit. Virginia Woolf, Jane Austen. Nora Roberts. I’ll never be as well read as you, you big nerd—”

  “Hey. Eva happens to like this nerd.”

  “—But love will find a way if it’s meant to be. Give Eva the time and space she needs to make her choice. I know it’s not what you want to hear right now. You’re giving off very strong ‘I want to jet off to the Pacific and marry this girl on a beach somewhere’ vibes. But y’all are adults now. You have responsibilities. Full lives. Jetting off isn’t an option. Being patient is.”

  Grey is right. This isn’t what I want to hear. Not one fucking bit. I haven’t felt this way about a woman in years, and I’m ready to make my goddamn move already.

  But he’s also right to tell me to pump the brakes a little. Take a breath. I can still enjoy Eva’s company. Still take her out and touch her.

  Maybe then I can keep some of these feelings in check.

  Keep myself from getting hurt again. Because after losing my wife, my marriage, practically my whole life four years ago—

  How much more hurt can I take?

  How much more of myself am I willing to risk?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eva

  Tugging on his riding gloves, Edward was hit by a very clear, very explicit memory from the evening before.

  It was Sophie’s face. Brow furrowed, an enormous smile on her lips as she climaxed around his manhood. She’d been lost to pleasure, lost to him, and in that moment, he’d been lost to her too.

  His gut clenched as he wrapped the reins more tightly around his knuckles. He would not let it happen again.

  Could not let it happen again.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  He startled, nearly falling off his horse when the woman in question appeared at his elbow astride a chestnut mare. Looking more delectable than ever in a red velvet riding habit and smart little hat, Ophelia trotting merrily beside her.

  Damn her.

  She grabbed him by the elbow, steadying him in the saddle. “You’re awfully jumpy, aren’t you, my Lord?”

  He cleared his throat. “I ride alone.”

  “But you cannot race alone. And racing is far more fun than merely riding.” Her eyes flashed. “Except—”

  “Except in bed.
I may be jumpy, but you, my Lady, are indecent.”

  “And you like it. One of the many reasons why I shall continue my indecency until further notice.”

  He looked at her. She looked back. Challenging him.

  When was the last time someone looked at him this way? He was used to people wanting something from him. Used to flattery, to empty chit chat, to calculating stares from across the room.

  But this? A woman looking at him not with calculation but with genuine heat and mischief?

  “First one to that fence out there”—he pointed—“gets to bend the other one over it.”

  And then he took off.

  Her laughter rippled through the air as she followed him, the thunder of her mare’s hooves echoing inside his chest. Glancing to his right, they met eyes. She smiled.

  Dash it all, so did he.

  She wasn’t using him.

  Wasn’t using his kindness toward her as a weapon or bargaining chip.

  She was just laughing with him. Enjoying a rare sunny September morning, the two of them hurtling through his fields like they were naught but careless children.

  Is this what love was supposed to feel like? Not foolishness, not a game, but freedom and fresh air?

  When she drew up before the fence half a pace ahead of him, she shot him that enormous smile of hers over her shoulder. He felt a sharp pain in his chest.

  Oh, he wanted this woman. Her body, yes. But her smile, too. Her indecency.

  He wanted her in every way imaginable.

  “You,” she nodded, breathless, at the fence. “Bend over. I’ve got some ideas.”

  He couldn’t help it. He laughed. A big, deep belly laugh.

  I listen to My Marriage to the Marquess on the ride home from Julia and Grey’s house. I stopped by to meet their new baby boy, Parker, and to drop off some food—recipe testing means I’ve got a lot of extra yumminess to share.

  Grabbing a parking spot on the street, I shoot Ford a text. Listening to Lord Edward and Lady Sophie’s story always makes me think about him.

  Eva: A couple things. First, I’m going to pass on this romance I’m reading. It’s so good, and I think you’ll like it.

  Ford: Can’t wait to read it! It’s euphemism free I hope?

  Eva: Yes. Second, did you get to meet baby Parker yet? I just left Julia and Grey’s house and can’t stop smiling. THEY ARE PARENTS HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?!

  Ford: I know right? Crazy to think how far they’ve come. I’m so happy for them. That baby is perfect.

  Ford: Speaking of. Do you mind if I bring Bryce to the tasting on Saturday? No worries if not. I was just counting on my parents to babysit, but now they really want to come too. I don’t think I’m the only one in my family with a raging crush on you.

  Eva: Of course you can bring Bryce. The more the merrier! I just know you said you were really careful about bringing her around women you’re…you know, “seeing.”

  Ford: You’re an author and a master of meat and a business owner. I want Bryce to be around women like you as much as possible. Strong female role models for the win! [Oprah GIF][Ellen GIF][Mulan GIF]

  Eva: I’m smiling so big right now.

  Eva: Thank you. I take pride in my meat handling skills.

  Ford: As you should. They are excellent.

  Ford: BTW. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you ignored my comment about how I’m crushing on you. Am I making you uncomfortable?

  Eva: No. The opposite, actually. Which maybe scares me even more.

  I spend all week either in the kitchen—both the tiny one in my rental and the one at my parents’ house—or at the smokers at dad’s restaurant, experimenting. Trying to bring these two worlds, my two worlds, together. Inspiration has struck, thanks to Mom’s tortillas and Ford’s ideas, praise, and penis, and I am not about to waste it.

  At night, I write stories about my favorite memories at my family’s dinner table. Jot down ideas for how I can put my own twist on the recipes I loved as a kid. I want to pay homage to my childhood, to my mom and my grandmother especially, without stealing their thunder. So I add a delicious smoked Boston butt to one of Mom’s rice dishes, and use one of her spice combos as a jumping off point to create a new rub for everything from ribs to beer can chicken.

  In a way, I’m starting to think this book is a love letter to the women in my family. The unsung heroes I think we all have in our lives. The people who do the unglamorous work of feeding us breakfast every morning, making sure we have clean clothes to wear to school, who comfort us when we’re sick or hurting or lost.

  I think I’m finally able to write this love letter because there’s a lightness to my interactions with Mom that wasn’t there before. Granted, I know it has something to do with the fact that my muse has finally caught fire after an alarming period of dormancy. The relief I feel knowing it hasn’t abandoned me altogether, the excitement over feeling good about what I’m doing, is pretty damn incredible.

  But I can’t help but think that lightness, that joy, is there because I am trying my best to enjoy her company without giving in to the impulse to rescue her. To make her happy.

  I just focus on my own shit, and what I need to get done. I admit that part of me still feels selfish for putting down the burden of being everyone’s savior. But a larger part feels relieved. I hadn’t realized how damn heavy that weight was until I stopped carrying it.

  Amazing how much better you feel when you recognize that loving your family doesn’t mean having to fix their problems.

  Case in point: I stop rearranging my whole schedule to accommodate my family. When Mom calls to say Dad “blew her off again” for a movie date and asks me to go instead, I feel bad for her. But I don’t offer to fill in for him. In fact, I tell her politely but firmly that she can’t talk to me about her marital problems anymore, and that while I’m sorry Dad blew her off, I’d be spending the evening typing up my recipe notes.

  It’s a small thing. A five minute conversation that, frankly, leaves me feeling more conflicted than I’d like. But I still stick to my guns. Considering the literal lifetime I’ve spent doing the opposite, that is no small thing.

  It also means I’ve been able to really focus on getting the first draft of my cookbook started. By Friday, I’ve got eight solid recipes, all of them touching on themes of comfort food, family, and community. It adds up to well over forty pages of text and proposed pictures.

  The best part? I am so damn proud of it. The concept is definitely a departure for me, but it’s refreshing to create with ingredients I haven’t touched in years. It’s fun being in the kitchen with Mom, listening to her stories about my abuela and how she’d make this very same arroz con pollo for my Tío Jaime’s birthday every year.

  It’s recharging my creative batteries in a way I didn’t know I needed.

  I’m so excited—so proud—I can’t help but share some sneak peeks with my readers on my blog. I even go so far as to promise them a finished book “sooner rather than later”, hinting it will release before next summer.

  If I can make this deadline, and it’s looking like I will, then I will absolutely be able to come through on that promise.

  That being said, I am still nervous as all get out for the tasting on Saturday. I bribe my entire family—Mom, Dad, and Alex—with jalapeño margaritas to help me prep the day before, the four of us dicing and mashing and stirring in my parents’ kitchen while John Cougar Mellencamp plays in the background (Mom’s always had a big thing for him and Rod Stewart).

  Dad takes the next morning off, too. He drives me to Luke’s barn in one of the ancient trucks Lacy’s BBQ owns, the refrigerated cab stuffed to the gills with enough grits casserole, beef brisket, and Pastel Azteca to feed a small army.

  “You think it’s going to go over well?” I say, glancing up at the rearview mirror.

  Dad looks at me and grins.

  “I know it’s going to go well. Better than that. This is the kind of food people love, Evie. Why do you think
I haven’t changed up our menu all that much at Lacy’s all these years? Because my customers always order the same things—pulled pork with a side of something smothered in bacon or cheese. It sticks to your ribs and puts a smile on your face. Same as all that food you made back there,” he says, tilting his head toward the cab.

  I fidget with the hem of my shorts. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. Especially coming from you. That means a lot, Dad.”

  “I’m proud of you. You’re smarter and more talented than I’ll ever be.” The truck gasps when he shifts gears. “I’ll admit I was a little worried about you when you first arrived back in town. You weren’t yourself. But over the past week—you look happy. Really happy. Not to pry, but your mother said you were hanging out with that guy you dated back in college.”

  My lips twitch. “Ford. Yeah. He’s helping me out with the cookbook. We ran into each other at Julia’s baby shower and”—and I think I’m falling in love with him—“he’s the one who arranged this whole thing. The brunch. It was his idea.”

  Dad smiles. A small smile, but a proud one. It’s the same smile Ford wears when he’s talking about Bryce.

  “Y’all just went for it. Evie, I admire that.”

  Swallowing, I grab his hand. He smiles again when I give it a squeeze.

  Dad isn’t perfect. I really hate the way he treats my mom sometimes. But then there are things that I really love about him. Things that make him excellent in a way that few fathers are. I’m lucky to have him, even though he really drives me nuts sometimes.

  Maybe that’s family in a nutshell. The good comes with the bad. And maybe taking a step back from them as an adult, choosing to live your own life on your own terms, allows you to focus more on the good.

  My heart is in my throat as Dad pulls up to Luke’s barn. The big main door is flung open to the muggy morning. I see Gracie and Luke inside, along with a little girl in jean shorts and pink crocs.

  Dad and I are unloading the food at the back of the truck when Ford appears. He takes in the food, practically mummified in yards and yards of plastic wrap, and smiles.