Southern Player

by Jessica Peterson

  She laughs, even as her eyes get wet. She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze.

  “I was the one who almost ran him over, Gracie. Either way, I’d like to think we’re lucky to have found each other.” Her eyes flick to the barn. “Same as you’re about to get lucky in there. Go.”

  “Get lucky?” My internal temperature spikes. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

  “I’ve already said too much. Go.”

  I feel like I’m floating as I head for the barn. This whole thing is surreal.

  Surreal and weirdly wonderful. I’m on the cusp of something. That much I know.

  And this is the breathless before. Before I either take off flying or fall on my face. When nothing is certain and everything is possible.

  It’s bittersweet.

  My pulse is going crazy as I slide the barn door open with a small grunt.

  I step inside.

  I feel a swift, sudden swell of emotion. Breath leaving my lungs as I take in the cavernous space around me.

  It’s rustic. Unpainted and clean. Smelling of—is that more coffee?—and fresh flowers. I inhale, looking around. Looking down to see that the floor is strewn with petals. Pale pink and perfect.

  My pulse slips out from under me. The way a plane slips around in bumpy air. Making my stomach dip.

  I look up. See that the only light in the room is coming from a million flickering candles. They’re everywhere. On the floor in glass hurricane vases. On random ledges in the wall. There’s even a round chandelier of them hung from the ceiling.

  It gives the room a warm, achingly romantic glow.

  My heart is pounding. I can’t catch my breath.

  I turn a little, and see that the barn is mostly empty, save for a round table in the middle of the room. It’s set with candles and flowers. Plates and bowls and mugs.

  I smile when I see bottles of Bud Light set out next to the wine glasses.

  The sweetness of it, the perfectness, pierces my heart.

  Music starts to play. It’s classical—sounds like mostly strings—but something about it snags. I know this song. But from where?

  I’m shaken by it all. The gown and the candles and the flowers.

  I’m—

  I turn, pulse cracking at the sound of footsteps.

  Luke emerges from the shadows, candlelight flickering across his features as he pauses. Hands clasped behind his back.

  Eyes on my face.

  I devour him with my gaze, the breath leaving my lungs.

  He’s dressed—oh, oh my God, he’s dressed in Regency gear. Complete with breeches that his baseball butt fills out real nice. Black knee-high boots, velvet jacket—how is he not dying in this heat right now? although damn does it make his shoulders look broad—and waistcoat. Cravat and quizzing glass.

  Wig.

  The guy is wearing a goddamn wig. From here, it looks like a curly mullet. The kind Luke sported when we first met a decade ago.

  I’m crying.

  How could I not be? Luke looks ridiculous and thrillingly period appropriate and so handsome it hurts.

  He’s hurting me, just standing there. Eyes clear and steady as mine fill with tears.

  Luke bows at the waist.

  “My Lady. Thank you for coming. I may be a Duke, but I ain’t too proud to entertain you in my barn.”

  Wow wow wow. I get it now. This is role play—he’s the Duke, I’m the bluestocking. Wow.

  I want to curtsey. But I can’t move.

  I can’t stop staring at him. Can’t stop feeling all the feelings because even now, even after everything that’s gone down, he’s still making my bucket list dreams come true. One line item at a time.

  “The breeches are great,” I blurt.

  Luke’s lips twitch. He turns to the side, allowing me a better view of his goods.

  “I thought so, too.” His eyes move over my dress. Going soft. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Where’d you get all this?”

  His eyes are squinty now. Smiley. “Easy. I’m a Duke. I can get anything I want.” He scratches his head. “Even a mullet wig.”

  Laughing—crying—I say, “I like the wig.”

  “Thought it might put you at ease. I know how intimidated Lady Jane can be by all of Max’s ducal shit.” He starts walking towards me, and my insides lurch. My God does he make Max’s ducal shit look good. “I owe you an apology. A big one.”

  I nod. Swallowing, hard.

  He comes to stand in front of me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him. That Ivory soap smell filling my head and turning me inside out.

  It’s all I can do not to whimper.

  I’ve missed that smell. The look and feel of his body near mine.

  My knees have started to wobble.

  “Tell me what happened,” I say.

  “The night of your re-opening,” he begins, still keeping his hands clasped behind his back. Looking regal as all get out. “We were talking with your friends—Elle and Charlie. I saw everything he was doing for her. How he was providin’ meaningful help so she could grow her business. He was helping make her dreams come true. And in that moment, I didn’t see how I could possibly help you with yours. Not the way Charlie was helping Elle. Deep down I knew I was being an idiot. I tried to talk myself off the ledge. But then I saw you with Greyson—”

  “He’s the worst.” I roll my eyes. “And sometimes the best.”

  “—And y’all just looked so right together. Y’all live in the same world. Share the same interests. Want the same things.”

  “But that’s not what I want—the fancy guy with the fancy job,” I reply. “He’s not the man I want.”

  “You did want to open a coffee shop. And he helped you with that. You see why I was feelin’ insecure? ’Cause I knew I could never help you the way he did? I knew I could never look that good and that right on your arm.”

  I run my tongue along my bottom lip. Brow furrowed.

  “I do see. But I need you to recognize that Greyson only helped me because it was his job, Luke. Because of what’s in it for him, which is profit, pure and simple. He’s going to make money if—when—Holy City Roasters succeeds. He didn’t invest in the shop out of the goodness of his heart, or to be a white knight or whatever. He’s a businessman, and he funds companies like mine because that’s what venture capitalists do.” I meet Luke’s eyes. “You have to know I want you. Not Greyson.”

  “I know. And I recognize his interest in you and your business is purely professional.” Luke nods. “I just worried I wasn’t capable of helpin’ you move forward the way he has. I thought I couldn’t help make your dreams come true. I thought our dreams were too different, and I could never ask you to give up yours to be with me. Same as you’d never ask me to give up mine.”

  My throat is so tight I can hardly talk.

  “So what’s changed?”

  Luke holds out his hand. “Let me show you.”

  I take his hand. He leads me over to the table. I didn’t see before that the bowls were full—looks like one of Elijah’s famous breakfast grits bowls. A bed of Luke’s creamy yellow grits topped with succotash, bacon, and a poached egg.

  Luke drops my hand and grabs a silver carafe. Holding the top, he carefully pours steaming coffee into the mugs beside the bowls.

  Setting down the carafe, he looks up at me. Moves so that he’s beside me. Then behind me. Scruff catching on my neck as he leans down to murmur in my left ear.

  “Your coffee.” He moves to murmur in the right one now. “My grits. See, I thought our dreams were so different. But then I realized they aren’t very different at all. For starters, we both clearly got a thing for breakfast.” I scoff at that. He curls his hand around the nape of my neck, straightening. “But more than that, neither of us does what we do for money or recognition or whatever. We do it to bring people comfort. To create community. You didn’t expand your shop because you wanted the accolades or the income. Although t
hose things sure as hell don’t hurt, because they allow you to keep doing what you love. You did it because you give a shit, Gracie. You did it because you love this town and you want to make it better.” He gives my neck a squeeze. “That’s my dream, too, Gracie girl. I want to do the same thing with my grits. I want to make the farm a place where people can gather. Be themselves. Enjoy each other’s company over good food and better coffee. And I got a plan for us to make that happen together, right here in this barn.”

  He moves to stand beside me, his hand still curled around my neck.

  Tears are spilling freely out of my eyes now.

  This idea of his is beautiful.

  Beautifully profound.

  I look at him. So full. Of longing and love and pain.

  This is so lovely it’s painful.

  “You’re right,” I breathe. “Although who’s to say my coffee is better than your grits?”

  Luke grins. “I do.” He gives my neck another squeeze. Voice hoarse when he speaks again. “I fucked up, Grace. And I’m sorry. I assumed way too much. And, well—”

  “Assuming makes an ass out of you and me,” I say, wiping away my tears. Grinning.

  His footsteps scuffle on the floor as Luke shifts to stand in front of me. Eyes locked on mine. The blue reflects the flicker of candles around us.

  “If you’ll have me, Gracie Jackson, I’d like to make our dreams come true. Together. We’d make a good team. I promise to be a good partner. A good man. I promise to be the man you deserve.” He sniffs. “I’m so in love with you, baby. You’re the only one I want ridin’ along with me on my tractor. That throb is reserved just for you. It’s always been just you.”

  Lord above, I have chills.

  This boy.

  He brought me back. To life. To myself.

  Like I could ever say no to that.

  Like I could ever say no to a Duke.

  My body swirls with goodness as, biting my lip, I reach up. Take Luke’s wig off. And then I’m rolling onto my toes and tilting my head and kissing him.

  Tongue. Tears. Everything.

  He takes my head in his hands, pulling at me with his mouth. Kissing me deeply. The way he always does.

  Oh, yes. Oh, yes, this is the one. The kiss.

  The man.

  The dream.

  “Not a fan of the mullet?” he says, sucking on my tongue.

  I bite the corner of his mouth. “I love you just as you are, my Lord. The wig is nice, but totally not necessary.”

  Luke pulls back. Both of us breathing hard as he touches his forehead to mine.

  “I am gonna fuck you, my Lady,” he pants. “But first, I gotta feed you.”

  I grin. “This is your barn, Your Grace. You call the shots here.”

  “It’s your barn, too.” He searches my eyes. “It’s ours.”

  I can’t help it. I press up for another kiss. Quick and wet.

  “I like the sound of that,” I say, falling back.

  Luke looks at me. Lips twitching again.

  He dips a finger inside the neckline of my dress.

  “Tell me something,” he says.

  Y’all. I’m grinning so hard at all these references to My Deal With the Duke. Man really did his homework.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re a city girl who fits right in on a farm. How are you so damn good at it?”

  I tangle my fingers in Luke’s cravat. Fist it, pulling him to me.

  “I just am, Your Grace.”

  His eyes soften. “Just you. Just right.”

  And the way he kisses me then—that’s just right, too.

  THE END

  Epilogue

  Luke

  Three months later

  It’s a gorgeous fall day. Crisp, sleep-with-the-windows-open weather that makes you glad to be alive. Big blue sky above.

  Gravel crunching beneath the tractor’s tires below.

  Gracie’s on my lap. Sunshine catching on her hair, turning it to gold. She’s got the sleeves of my jacket pulled up over her hands.

  A bite mark peeks out over the collar. I grin, body warming at the memory of when I put it there earlier this morning. Her sigh when I turned her onto her stomach and lifted her hips and took her from behind. Arm looped around her middle, her tit in my hand. Curling my body around hers so I could kiss and bite and suck on her neck.

  I lean in and do it again. Soothing the little mark with a quick kiss and a whisper of air.

  Gracie shivers, glancing at me over her shoulder. A big old smile on her lips as she wiggles her hips, grinding down into my groin.

  “You and the love bites,” she says, voice raised above the hum of the tractor.

  “Can’t help it,” I reply. “You’re too delicious. I love you too much. Makes me wanna devour you, baby girl.”

  She leans in and nips at my jaw. Right where it meets with my chin.

  “If I’m delicious, then you’re positively scrumptious. As evidenced by the way I devoured you last night.”

  Girl literally devoured me. Took me to the back of her throat and made me come so hard I saw stars.

  Bless.

  I got one hand on the wheel. I wrap my free arm around her waist and pull her to me. Squeeze her. Bury my face in her hair and inhale the scent of her shampoo.

  Gracie laughs. Then sighs, melting against me.

  Everything swells. Heart and dick and my adoration for this woman.

  We been together for more than a few months now. But I’m just as ravenous for her today as I was that first night we were together. The kind of ravenous that has one or both of us waking each other up in the middle of the night, every night. Unable to go more than a handful of hours without touching.

  It’s total insanity. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “You excited?” I ask.

  Gracie nods, glancing over my shoulder at the little wagon we’re towing behind the tractor. We’ve got coffee makers and mugs and, yes, a couple pony kegs of our favorite local beers back there. Folding tables. Outdoor heaters.

  “So excited.” Her eyes are back on me. “I don’t want to jinx our very first event. But I have a good feeling about today.”

  I smile. Lordy, I been smiling nonstop these days.

  “I got a good feeling about us,” I say.

  Gracie bites her lip. “Me too, Luke. A really good feeling.”

  A lot has happened since my Duke convinced Grace’s Lady to give me another chance. Gracie and I have worked hard to create a nice little routine for ourselves. Took some trial and error, and we’re constantly readjusting and reworking it. But we try our best to split our time evenly between downtown and Wadmalaw. A couple nights at her place, a couple at mine.

  I was able to hire some more help on the farm, so I get to take more than my customary afternoon or two off. Gracie’s busier than ever, but to clear her schedule a bit, she promoted Dylan to a chief operating officer position in the newly established Holy City Roasters Group, Inc. Gracie and I make sure to constantly communicate so we can coordinate our free time and days off.

  It’s not a perfect arrangement. Gets exhausting sometimes, driving back and forth. But I can’t stand to be away from my girl for even a single night, so I suck it up and try to catch up on my sleep whenever I can. Nice bonus of all this time we spend together is that our circles are slowly starting to overlap more and more. When I’m downtown, I make a real effort to be around not only Gracie but her friends and colleagues, too. Instead of spending time at the library doing research, I check the books out and bring ’em to Holy City Roasters, where I’ll camp out at a table on the new outdoor patio. Greeting Gracie’s regulars right beside her.

  We’ve done a lot of double dates with her friends at all the hot spots on Upper King Street. I don’t feel so overwhelmed or intimidated doing one-on-one stuff with her people, so that’s what Gracie and I have been doing rather than cocktail parties or larger events. It’s actually fun grabbing a bite and a beer with, say, Elle
and Charlie, or Dylan and whoever her flavor of the week is.

  Baby steps. I did attend a gallery opening with Grace the other week. All things considered, it went really well. I got a glimpse into the art scene here in the low country, and one of the artists actually took me up on my invitation to come paint out on Wadmalaw. She gifted Gracie and I a small canvas depicting the sunset over the water off my dock.

  Gracie has always fit right in here on the farm. But she also makes an effort to connect with the people and the land when she’s here. Chatting up my mamas as the four of us plant beans or pull weeds or roast the acorn squash I just harvested.

  Because she’s excellent, Gracie also set up a meeting for me with Montgomery Partners, Greyson Montgomery’s venture capital firm. Turns out he’s actually a decent guy, and our meeting went really well. So well that I secured seed money for my little milling operation and for the storefront I plan to open at the old barn here on my property. Greyson’s been out here a lot lately. We’ve already hired a contractor, and I insisted we have Julia oversee the design, seeing as she did such an awesome job over at Holy City Roasters. The new space is such a hit that Gracie’s thinking of opening up a second location in the NoMo, or North Morrison Street, area.

  Construction on the barn and mill is due to begin next week. Which is why Gracie and I decided to host our very first breakfast-slash-brunch-slash-beer event today. Get people inside the barn so they can see the “before”—figure it’ll make them all the more excited when they see the “after” at Rodgers’ Farms’ grand opening, which is scheduled for next summer. We’ll be hosting the brunches on the patio at Gracie’s shop in the meantime.

  More than that, though, we’ve been anxious to start building a community together. Never too early to start planting those seeds. Start feeding people who need it.

  The proceeds from today’s event—officially a “Grits ’n Grinds Fundraiser”—will go to a local food bank. Eventually, we’d love to be able to fund some cooking classes in public schools in the area. Maybe even fund scholarships for people wanting to go to culinary or business school.