Southern Heartbreaker: A Charleston Heat Novel

by Peterson, Jessica

  “This is delicious,” he begins. “So good, Eva. Seriously. You should put this recipe in your cookbook, too.”

  “I just might do that.”

  He’s still looking at me. “So I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Our breakup. Or, rather, me breaking up with you on graduation day.” He does this half smile, half wince thing that has my stomach doing a backflip. “I know we’ve talked about it already. But I want you to know just how sorry I am. The way I handled it—Eva, I seriously, seriously regret everything about the way that day went down. Not that it’s any excuse, but I was putting a ton of pressure on myself to build this big, successful career right out of the gate. I loved you. So damn much. But everyone was so focused on their futures—all the job offers they had, the money they’d be making—that I got caught up in the bullshit. I said some really awful things, and I’m truly sorry.”

  I give him a tight smile. “I appreciate you saying that. Thank you.”

  His gaze is imploring. “I’m sorry I broke up with you, and I’m sorry I was such a dick about it. You were always true to who you were then, just like you’ve stayed true to yourself in the decade since. I should’ve worshipped that about you—I get how rare it is now, how special—but instead, I derided you for it, and that was wrong. I hope I’ve made you understand just how much I admire you for having the balls to go after your dreams, and go after them fearlessly. I’m trying to adopt more of that free spirit you have into my own life again. The way I did when we first met.”

  My entire being is smiling now. No tightness. Just joy.

  “You’ve made your admiration pretty clear lately, yeah,” I say.

  “Eva, I hope can you forgive me.”

  Mercy, this man.

  “Thank you for the apology,” I say, leaning forward to glide my hand up his thigh. The nubby fabric of his sweats feels soft and warm beneath my palm. “And thank you for adoring me just as I am. That is rare, and I’m not gonna lie, I love the way you make me feel. Another thing I won’t lie about—the way you broke up with me the first time? That really, really hurt. But do I wish things had gone down differently? Honestly, I’m not sure. Because I’m thinking that, without all that awfulness, maybe we wouldn’t have ended up here. Together again. Older and wiser and happier. And, in your case, changed for the better. Maybe this is the way our story was supposed to go all along.”

  “I love that idea.” His brows curve upward, softening his expression. “It’s not my place to ask you to change your mind, E.” He grabs my hand, curling his fingers around my palm against his thigh. “But this is a hell of a lot more than just fun for me. I want to be around you. All the time. I want you to get to know my daughter. I want you to be here for breakfast every Sunday morning. Eva, I want to share my life with you. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear…”

  His words wrap around my heart. My throat. Squeezing my windpipe.

  He wants to share his life with me.

  My God, how did we go from dance floor dry humping to that in a matter of weeks?

  I feel a smile tugging the corners of my mouth, even as I struggle to catch my runaway heart rate. I love the idea of sitting at this table every Sunday. I love the idea of being with Ford, and getting to know his daughter, and being a part of his big, beautiful life.

  But is this kind of life—the family life—for me?

  “No more apologies. There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for. You’ve been a total sweetheart this entire time. It’s more than just fun for me, too.” My heart is pounding. “I’ll be honest, everything you’re offering sounds really nice. I want to be with you, Ford. Just—let me figure out how, okay? I need to figure that out. It’s more than just us now, you know? Your daughter is in the picture. So I want to be one hundred percent certain—well, as certain as I can be—that this is the right move. I’m getting there, mentally. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. But I’m still not at one hundred percent.”

  “I appreciate you being honest.” He reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Take all the time you need. Not forever. Please, God, not that long. But I’m willing to be patient. And I promise—Eva, I promise I’ll keep your heart safe this time. Out of all the things you’re worried about, that shouldn’t be one of them. Okay?”

  I nod, swallowing for what feels like the hundredth time today. “Okay. And I want you to know that you’re not the one doing the asking. I am. This is on me. I want to change, because—” Because I’m in love with you. “Well. I still can’t promise anything. But know I’m asking the question.”

  Ford nods. His eyes are glassy. “Thank you for that. And thanks for breakfast. And the orgasms.”

  “So many orgasms,” I say, laughing. “The ones I give you are pretty damn great, though, right?”

  “Now who’s being cocky?”

  “You’re rubbing off on me.”

  His foot finds mine underneath the countertop. “I’d like to rub up on you again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Eva

  I’m in love with a man who’s offering me a life that absolutely terrifies me.

  It’s a beautiful life. But it’s the kind of life that, until very recently, I was certain would crowd me into a corner, and force me to make compromises I swore I’d never consider.

  Here I am, though. Considering. The compromises are different, but the idea is the same. Am I willing to risk my freedom to be with Ford and try this parenthood thing on?

  Is motherhood really the trap—the end of the road—that I’ve believed it to be?

  Or is it a beginning? Because while my head is demanding that I be smart, and that I stick to the plan I’ve always had, my heart is telling a different story these days.

  It feels tender and achy. Open.

  I am open to new possibilities in a way I wasn’t before. I just don’t know how to let go. How do you pull the trigger when you’re still so afraid?

  How do you make a choice when there are so many unknowns you can’t control?

  I chew over these questions for the next several days. It’s time to make a decision. I can’t keep Ford waiting like this. But I also don’t want to rush such a big move. With so many hearts on the line, I want to make sure I’ve considered every angle.

  Work provides a much needed escape. Keeps my thoughts from circling the drain too quickly, too often. I promised my agent I’d send him fifty or so completed pages of the book by the end of the week, so it’s off to the races.

  I blog a lot, too, and get in some pretty great interaction with my readers. It’s clear they are very excited about the concept for this book.

  Doesn’t hurt that my post-orgasmic glow is providing unreal inspiration in the kitchen. I spend my days at the stove, whipping up new ideas and new recipes with a ferocity I’ve never experienced before. At night, thousands of words pour out of my fingers as I type like a lunatic on my laptop.

  “What the hell are you humming?” Alex asks one afternoon when she stops by for lunch. “Wait, is that—holy shit, it’s ‘I Wanna Sex You Up,’ isn’t it? Wow. Just…wow. You’re definitely swapping more than spit with Ford Montgomery.”

  I tilt my head and grin, giving my lemon and dijon mustard vinaigrette one last whisk before pouring it over the salad I threw together.

  “Aw, yeah,” she continues. “Evie, you’re…I mean, you’re radiant.”

  Radiant, and torn. Which is why I find myself on Julia’s front porch on Wednesday afternoon, a bowl of freshly made pozole in my arms.

  If anyone can help untangle the mess in my head, it’s Julia. College lit professor, devourer of romance, and a newly minted mother herself.

  As instructed, I let myself in. I find Julia sitting on a sofa in the living room, one eye screwed up as a tiny infant appears to munch down on her nipple.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she says, answering my unspoken question. “But my God does breastfeeding hurt like a bitch.
At least at first. One of the many lovely things no one tells you about having a newborn.”

  One of the many lovely things about Julia is her honesty. Girl’s never been afraid of the truth. I’ve always admired that about her.

  “Anything I can do?”

  “There should be a bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge. Pour yourself a glass of that and pour me some water if you don’t mind. Then come sit! I’m going a little stir crazy—so happy to have company. And real food.”

  I wag my eyebrows. “Pozole. I know it’s your favorite.”

  “Your mom’s recipe? Hell yes.” She grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’re the best. Thank you, friend.”

  “Anytime. I told you I’m more than happy to cook for y’all.”

  I put the bowl in the fridge and emerge from the kitchen with wine in one hand and water in the other. Julia takes a big gulp of water and closes her eyes, letting out an equally long sigh.

  It hits me how tired she looks. Tired but happy. Dark circles underneath her eyes, but a small smile on her lips.

  “Breastfeeding makes me so thirsty.” She nods at my wine. “Although I wish I were drinking that right now.”

  I nod at the baby. “How’re things?”

  “They’re going.” Julia takes another sip of water before setting it on the coffee table. “I was warned that the first month or two are terrible. Physically, I feel like I’m finally turning a corner. My vagina is still a scary place, but it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. My nipples though?” She winces. “The pain is real. I was just telling Grey how they look like ground taco meat.”

  “That sounds terrifying.”

  “It is. But this little guy is pretty damn cute”—she takes him off her boob and holds him up, smiling—“so I don’t mind it quite as much.” He opens his mouth and lets out a wail. “Except when he does that. That, I do mind.”

  “Grey doing okay?”

  Julia grins, guiding her boob back into Parker’s mouth. “Grey is doing great. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had several meltdowns over the past couple weeks. Newborns are hard on your relationship. If anyone tells you otherwise, they’re full of shit. But overall, he’s been awesome. It makes my heart happy to see him with the baby. Never would’ve guessed the grumpy guy I first met would take to fatherhood so well.” She grabs her water glass and takes another sip. “Speaking of the Montgomerys—last time we chatted, you had, and I quote, ‘hung out once or twice’ with Ford. What’s the latest on that? Still ‘just a summer fling?’”

  I roll my fingertips up the stem of my wine glass. “That’s actually part of the reason why I wanted to come over. I need your advice.”

  “Ah. So more than a fling, then.”

  “Much more.”

  “Uh-oh. I thought you weren’t going to let him break your heart again.”

  I take a breath. Take a sip of wine. “That was the plan. But then we dry humped to Biggie and had orgasms on his boat. Ford’s boat, not Biggie’s. He not only helped jumpstart my cooking muse, but also hosted a tasting for our families and friends so I could get feedback on some new recipes I’m trying out. He makes me feel like I can do anything. Get through anything. He’s excellent, and I’m pretty sure he’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  “So what’s the issue?”

  “Well.” I let out a breath. “Committing to him would be committing to his daughter, too.”

  Julia’s eyes light up with understanding. “Right. He and Bryce are a package deal. And you don’t want children.”

  “See, that’s just it. I’m not sure that’s the case anymore. I definitely know I want to be with Ford. But what’s surprising me is how much I enjoy spending time with Bryce.”

  Julia grins. “She is a cutie, isn’t she?”

  “Oh yeah. Such a fun age. She and I had the best time hanging out together at the tasting the other day.” I smile at the memory of her warm, sticky hand in mine. The pineapple glitter in her hair. The way she lit up eating my food, and how interested she was in my cookbook and my writing. “For the first time ever, I could see myself…you know. Maybe trying on step-parenthood. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately, and it’s time to make a decision. Ford and I…things are getting serious, and I can’t keep stringing him along. But as much as I want to say yes, I’m still struggling to overcome my fear that, if I do try on parenthood, I’ll inevitably end up trapped and unhappy like my mom. She had to sacrifice so damn much for her kids. Her career. Her sense of self-worth.”

  Julia hisses when Parker releases her nipple. She tips her chin toward a stack of folded white fabric on the coffee table. “Mind passing me a burp cloth? I want to get a good burp out of him before he passes out.”

  I drape a cloth over her shoulder and watch as she holds him there, softly patting his back. For several beats I just look at her, shaking my head.

  “I still can’t believe you’re a mom.”

  “You can’t believe it? Eva, I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone half the time. It’s been the most surreal experience of my life. But we’re getting to something juicy here about you and your fears about motherhood. I totally get where you’re coming from, so keep talking.”

  Sitting back down, I run my hands up and down my thighs. “Okay. So, like, witnessing my mom’s experience over the years—seeing how much she’s had to give up, how she’s gotten progressively unhappier—I guess what I picked up from that is motherhood is the place where things like dreams and fulfillment and happiness go to die. No offense.”

  Julia laughs. “None taken.”

  “I want my story to have a different ending than my mom’s, as terrible as that sounds. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a really, really great mom, and I love her dearly. I love her so much that I’ve tried to give her that happy ending myself. But at some point…” I shrug. “I talked to Ford about it, and he made me realize that it’s not my job to make her happy, or change her story. I need to focus on my own story.”

  “Ugh. He’s even more awesome than I thought.”

  “No shit. So I figure the best way to guarantee that I get the ending I want is to not become a mother myself. Not to let myself get trapped that way. Does that make sense? Because becoming a mother leads you to resent your partner, and resent the choices you’ve had to make. And even though I’m really enjoying Bryce right now, I can’t help but wonder what will happen if something goes wrong down the road. I saw my parents’ marriage fall apart after my sister got in trouble, and it was awful. But up until then, things were okay. They were good. Then shit hit the fan. I’m worried the same thing will happen to me. Us. Ford and me and Bryce.”

  Parker burps in reply, a stream of puke trailing down Julia’s arm.

  “So much for the burp cloth,” she says, and I stand up, grabbing another cloth to wipe her down with. “Thanks, friend.”

  “Anytime.”

  “And yes, that totally makes sense. But I want you to consider one important point. Well, a couple of important points. First, we can’t control the future. You’ll never get the guarantee that what happened to your parents won’t happen to you. But you also have to realize that your parents’ experience won’t be your experience.”

  I blink. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that you’re different people, living in different worlds, under enormously different circumstances. To be brutally honest—because I know saying this will make you hurt for your mother—but you’ve been given privileges she never had. A stable home to grow up in. A stellar education. Parents who were actively involved in helping you make your dreams come true. You’ll always have more options than your mom. If something goes wrong, you’ll get help. You have the money and the family and the mobility she didn’t to seek out help so you won’t have to make the sacrifices she did.”

  Pain knifes through my chest.

  “I don’t disagree with you. My parents gave me an incredible life.” I swallow. “But yeah. You’re right. The idea that my mom gave me all
these awesome things she never had—it hurts. Julia, don’t you think that’s…I don’t know, crushing?”

  “Crushing, but beautiful, too. Let’s not forget that women in her generation weren’t always encouraged to follow their dreams the way we are. I know my mother struggled to make herself a priority. Women were taught to always put other people first.”

  “That still happens.”

  “But at least you and I have the ability to choose differently.”

  “That’s so damn unfair. On a lot of levels. Part of me is relieved I have the ability to seek out my own fulfillment and do the stepmom thing—if that’s what I choose. Another part feels really bad for my mom, because she wasn’t given that choice. She wasn’t given many choices at all. She did the best she could with what she had.” I let out a breath. “Jeez, talk about holding two opposing ideas in your head.”

  “Something I certainly encourage.”

  I grin. “As a professor of English, I figured you would.”

  “Look. You can love your mom and admire her but still build a totally different life for yourself. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

  My grin fading, I let out a breath. “I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

  “I won’t try to sway your decision either way,” Julia replies, curling Parker into the crook of her arm. “But I’m a mom now—obviously—and I still intend to teach and take on design projects and travel. Having him isn’t going to stop me from doing the things I love. Having him isn’t some kind of trade, where I get a baby but give up my freedom. Yeah, it’s hard.” It’s her turn to swallow. “Really hard sometimes even just thinking about how I’m going to manage to do it all. But so far, my experience of motherhood has been a pretty good one, all things considered. Perfect? Absolutely not. Would I do it again, taco meat nipples and all? Absolutely. My only advice is if you’re going to do it—then do it all the way. Jump in with both feet.”

  I consider that for a minute. Feeling my gut tighten with the sense of certainty I’ve been searching for.