“I do. It’s a nice reminder that happily ever after exists. That it’s possible, no matter how shitty your situation is.”
“Exactly.” Olivia’s throat moves as she swallows. “I love the variety of happily ever afters. It showed me there are a million different kinds of happy endings for women. Not just the ones I saw in my own life.”
This piques my interest. She hasn’t talked much about her life before.
“What kind of endings were you seeing?”
She shrugs. “All of my friends back home, my family—well. None of them have ever really pursued any kind of interest or passion. Which has always been kind of difficult, because I do have this thing I’m really passionate about. I mean, I know not everyone is going to be a weirdo who binge reads romance and wishes Mr. Darcy was a real person who really looks like Colin Firth. But I just—living where I’m from made me think actually pursuing my passion was silly, because I’d never seen it done before. Then I read about a heroine who was passionate about justice, so she became this kickass FBI agent who takes down all these bad guys. Or the heroine whose happily ever after was running a taco truck with the boyfriend she felt no need to marry or have babies with.”
“So romance gave you the go ahead to be who you are,” I say. “To seek out your own version of happily ever after.”
“Kind of,” she replies, eyes flicking to meet mine. “I’m still figuring that part out. Seeing that kind of passion at work in real life is definitely helping.”
I step around the counter and stand next to her. I can’t help it. She’s magnetic when she talks like this. Full of heat and truth and excitement.
“Oh yeah?” I sit on the stool beside her. Our elbows brush. My blood jumps when she doesn’t pull away. “Where are you seeing that kind of passion?”
Olivia’s eyes are still on mine. They radiate heat. Want.
“Right here.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “In this kitchen. In the kitchen at The Pearl. You’re clearly yourself when you’re working. You’re doing something you love, something that lights you up. I want to be lit up like that.”
Her praise—her belief in me—fills me up. It’s fucking nice to hear someone still has faith in what I do and who I am. I’ve been plagued with so much doubt lately. Doubt about my future. My ability. My path. In my darkest moments, I doubt my ability to provide for a girl like Olivia. She deserves the world. But what if I can’t give that to her?
Now, though, her confidence makes me feel confident. In her eyes, I’m still the capable, successful chef I’ve worked my whole life to become.
Makes me want her so bad I’m sick with it.
“You wanna find your happily ever after,” I say, “so do it. Start looking.”
We’re sitting close. Real close. She’s looking at me like that. Eyes flicking to my lips.
Do it, I silently beg. For the love of God, kiss me.
For half a heartbeat, I actually think she’s going to. She leans in, just a little, her pupils dilating until her eyes are more black than blue.
Her mouth looks ripe and soft. Like a fresh peach.
Is she that soft between her legs, too?
I don’t lean in, but I don’t pull back, either. Can’t spook her.
We meet eyes. Understanding, lightning quick and hot, passes between us.
Want.
Olivia draws a sharp breath, blinking.
Then she falls back and puts her palm on my chest. She wants to keep me away.
I’m crushed.
Fucking crushed.
I can’t take it anymore.
“Olivia—”
“I should go,” she says, standing. “I’m sorry, Eli.”
I can’t even formulate a response. I just watch her set her mug down and shove her hands in her pockets and turn to leave.
Spearing a hand through my hair, I let out a long, low breath.
For chrissakes, why won’t this woman let me in?
Chapter Seventeen
Olivia
I’m shaking when I get back to the carriage house. I close the door behind me and pace in the tiny kitchen, unable to stand still.
I almost just kissed Eli.
I wanted to, more than I wanted my next breath. That mouth of his. It’s juicy. Infinitely kissable. And the way he was looking at me—the way he was asking such intelligent, interesting questions about romance and happy endings—
I grab onto the back of a stool. Oh God, I’m an idiot. I totally should have kissed him.
It would’ve been just a kiss.
Who am I kidding? It would’ve been so much more than that. It would’ve been a leap. A choice that changed everything.
I just don’t want to hurt anyone. And if I kiss Eli, I’ll be hurting Ted. I’ll be disappointing everyone I know in New York.
But sparing Ted meant hurting Eli. The look in his eyes when I pulled away just now—that was hurt, raw and real.
I’m hurting the guy who’s been nothing but wonderful to me.
I can’t keep doing this to him. I need to make my choice already. I know that.
I just wish I had more time.
I just wish I wanted him less.
Eli
Yoga usually clears my mind. But after an especially intense hour and a half class later that afternoon courtesy of Peter, I still can’t stop thinking about Olivia.
I’m dying for this girl. I can’t remember the last time I wanted someone so bad.
I want her body, yeah.
But I also want inside her head, too. Want to know what’s got her all twisted up.
Want to know what private parts of her inspire such passion.
She’s hurting. I’m doing everything I can to help her feel better. But until she tells me the whole story—not just parts of it, not just what she wants me to know—there’s only so much I can do.
Olivia is just so fucking hot. Everything about her is hot. Her body. Her eyes. The way she’s chasing down this dream of hers to write a novel.
She burns.
Damn it, I want to burn with her. I miss burning like that. I’ve been so wrapped up in the business of food that I’ve forgotten the joy of just creating.
Lines from My Enemy the Earl swim across my thoughts.
The devil in Gunnar wanted more, wanted to peel back the layers of Cate’s clothes and make her bloom with his hands and his body…
Cate’s belly muscles tightened beneath Gunnar’s palms, her body winding tight, curling into his caress…
That night Cate lay awake in her bed, touching herself. She imagined Gunnar doing it, his fingers on and inside her body…
I can’t help but wonder—foolishly—if Olivia is writing about us. About me doing those things to her. Cate and Gunnar are fictional. But Olivia’s admitted to mining her own experience for inspiration.
Was she thinking about me when she wrote about Cate touching herself?
Aw, fuck, I’m hard.
I’m so turned on—so lost in thought—that I almost run someone over when I turn onto Longitude Lane without looking.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, spearing a hand through my soaking wet hair.
I need some relief. Right now. Before someone gets hurt.
Inside my house, I turn the knob in my shower all the way to cold. But the water does nothing to calm my raging hard on.
What in the world are you doing to me, Yankee girl?
My skin is throbbing as I lather up. Every inch of my body feels overly sensitive. Needy.
Turning away from the shower head, I draw a sharp breath through my teeth when my palm brushes the head of my dick. Instinctively I thrust into my waiting hand.
I see fucking stars.
The soap provides just enough lubrication to let me slide easily in and out of my grip. My balls tighten; already sensation is gathering in my head, threatening to explode.
I shut my eyes. Take a shaking breath through my nose. I’m on the edge. And just the thought of Olivia is enough to pus
h me over into the abyss.
I imagine it’s her pussy that’s gripping me tight and warm. I imagine her opening her mind and her legs to me, trusting me.
I want this girl to trust me already. I don’t know why, but I need it.
Tightening my hand around my cock, I thumb the seam on the underside of the head. Water beats down on my neck. The blades of my shoulders.
Would Olivia take charge in bed? Or would she melt into heat and softness?
Soft thighs and soft noises and soft, swollen, perfect cunt.
Heaven. Help me.
I start pumping my hand, hard, messy, jerking strokes that would make my fifteen year old self roll his eyes at how artless they are.
But I don’t care. I am desperate for relief. Any way I can get it.
My hips surge forward, thrusting my dick into my tight grip one last time, and then I come.
I come so hard it’s painful. I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut against pulse after pulse of sensation.
I’m in deep with this woman. But she won’t let me in. I don’t know what else to do to scale her walls. Bring them down.
I am a patient man. You have to be if you want to climb the ladder in the restaurant business.
But then I meet this woman, and suddenly I am a greedy, desperate shitbag, insatiable and impatient and indescribably horny.
I put my palms on the tile, cool to the touch, and lean my weight into my arms, hanging my head. Letting the cold water course down my back as I try to catch my breath.
Catch my feelings before they run away with Olivia again.
I need a drink.
Many drinks. Good thing I have the night off.
Luke and I have our traditions. Among them getting banged up when we’re having girl problems. Nothing like Fireball and fried food to clear the mind. I don’t necessarily approve of blacking out. But if blacking out means forgetting Olivia for a minute, a second, an hour—means making a light bulb go off that might help me win her over…
Well.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
The bartender, Jake, pours Luke and I a shot of Fireball. Then he pours one for himself and holds it up.
“Thanks for stopping by tonight, Chef,” he says.
I pick up my shot glass and touch it to his. “Thanks for helping us get fucked up.”
“It’s an honor,” Jake says solemnly. He knocks back his shot.
I do the same. It’s been a while since I had Fireball. It’s somehow way worse and way better than I remember. The sticky sweet cinnamon liquor burns its way down my throat, leaving an astringent, slightly spicy trail of warmth in its wake.
I cover my mouth with my fist to hide a gag.
“Oh, God,” Luke says, wincing. “We’re too old for this shit.”
“Yeah, but that means we’re old enough to know the lyrics to almost every damn song those guys’re gonna play.” I gesture to Buns ’n Roses, a band of middle aged, man-bunned dudes who are setting up on the other side of the patio. Best eighties cover band in town, hands down.
It’s one of the reasons we chose to come to the The Spotted Wolf tonight, my favorite dive bar downtown. Granted, it’s gotten less dive-y as of late. But the crowd, the drinks, and the music are still on the right side of skeevy, and the patio is the best in town. It’s actually the hollowed out basement of an ancient mansion that used to occupy the site. Original brick arches are open to the night sky; strands of Edison bulbs form a kind of open-air ceiling.
“Fingers crossed they play some MJ.” Luke gestures to a tall blonde in a far corner. “Ten bucks says that girl gets down to ‘Billie Jean’.”
I hold out my hand. “I’ll take that bet.”
“Done.” Luke shakes my hand, then nods at Jake for another round.
The second shot goes down easier than the first. I roll back my shoulders. Roll my head, releasing the tension in my neck. I catch a woman, cute and busty, checking me out. She smiles.
I blink, waiting for the familiar tingle of interest.
None comes.
I turn back to Luke, bewildered. Been a long ass time since one girl ruined me for all the others.
“So, Olivia,” Luke says. Man’s got an uncanny ability to read my thoughts. “I take it you haven’t figured out her story yet.”
Grabbing the Bud Light Jake slides across the bar, I take a long pull.
“Nope,” I say. “Not for lack of tryin’.”
Luke sips his beer and meets my eyes. “Ever consider that maybe she’s just not that into you? Meanin’ no offense.”
I raise one shoulder in a half shrug. “Could be. But I just get this feeling about her. The way she looks at me. Smiles at me. The way she writes—”
“She writes?”
“Yep. Romance. Smart, sexy, hot romance.”
Luke takes a swallow of beer, eyes suddenly wide. “Go on.”
“I could go on for hours,” I reply. “But suffice it to say I fuckin’ love her writing. Writing that she’s sharing with me. No one else. Just yesterday she came over, and we talked for pretty much the whole goddamn morning about her book, about other books, her life. I swear to God she was gonna kiss me at the end. I could see it in her eyes—how bad she wanted to do it.”
“But she didn’t,” Luke says, furrowing his brow.
I shake my head, taking another pull from my bottle. “Nope. It’s like—almost like she’s holding back. Fighting it.”
“And you made it clear you wanted her to plant one on you,” he says.
“Just short of puckerin’ up, hell yeah. I was looking into her eyes. She’s got these gorgeous blue eyes, Luke.” I shake my head again. “She called me a friend. But I want to be more than that, and I think she does, too.”
“Huh.” Luke takes a thoughtful sip. “I get that this girl is special. But the fact that you’re wantin’ her to kiss you so bad—that you’re so in your head about this girl—I don’t know. Makes me think it has something to do with your restaurant being in trouble.”
“What?” I pull back, feeling a rush of indignation. “Writing’s been on the wall for a while now at The Jam. You know I’ve made my peace with it.”
Luke cocks an eyebrow. “You really gonna tell me you’re feelin’ just fine about a restaurant you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into failing? Never mind the fuck ton of money y’all are gonna lose. And all those jobs…c’mon, E. This time last year, you stood in this very spot and told me The Jam was the restaurant you’ve always wanted to open.”
“I stand by that statement,” I say hotly, before sucking on my beer like my life depends on it. “Was I upset when I found out The Jam wasn’t the hit The Pearl was? Yes. But I’m still proud of the food we made there. And I still got The Pearl. Which is still makin’ money hand over fist.”
Luke settles his back against the bar and looks me in the eye. “I’m saying this as a friend, E. But maybe you’re ignoring the fact that you’re feelin’ a little lost right now. You gotta give yourself time to mourn The Jam. Part of me thinks you’re wantin’ this girl to kiss you to distract you from the fact that you failed. ’Cause let’s face it, Elijah—you’ve never failed at a damn thing in your life until now. I don’t buy that you’re over it already.”
I set my empty bottle on the bar harder than I mean to. Jake looks up from the glass he’s wiping clean. He nods when I motion for another beer.
I’m angry. Which means Luke is probably right.
Doesn’t mean the things I feel for Olivia aren’t real, though.
Doesn’t make her any less special. So maybe I pump the brakes a little. Let our friendship deepen. But I’m not giving up on her.
Not yet.
I settle my elbow on the bar and let out a sigh. Jake hands me a fresh beer. “Luke, I appreciate the honesty. I don’t disagree with what you’re saying. Maybe I am jumpin’ in a little fast with Olivia. Maybe I am still a little upset about The Jam. But that’s all the more reason to have a good time tonight. I promis
e to slow down, all right?”
Luke opens his mouth to say something when I hear a familiar voice at my elbow.
“Well well well. If it isn’t my long lost brother.”
I look to see my baby sister Grace standing beside me, beer in hand. Smiling, I pull her into a hug.
“Hey Gracie,” I say.
“Hey yourself.” She pulls back to examine my face. “I was this close to filing a missing persons report, Elijah. I haven’t seen you in almost a month.”
I run a hand up the back of my head. Gracie’s got mama’s death stare down pat.
“I’m sorry. I know I been a shit brother lately. But with everything going on at the restaurant—”
“And everything going on with your new friend, Olivia.”
I blink. “How’d you know Olivia and I are…whatever we are?”
“Word travels fast in this town.” Grace smiles. “Also, she talks about you a lot when she comes into the shop. Like, a lot lot.”
My heart skips a beat.
“She does?”
Grace’s smile deepens. “Oh, you got it bad for this girl, don’t you?”
“That’s none of your business.” I sip my beer. “But if you must know, then yes, I would very much like to see more of Olivia.”
Luke steps up beside me.
“Grace,” he says. “You look…great.”
Still smiling, she replies, “Hi, Luke. I haven’t seen you in forever. How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been all right,” he replies. “What about you? I hear you’re killing it over at Holy City Roasters.”
Her smile turns teasing. “Sure am.”
She goes in for a hug. He lets her. When he steps back, he looks at her for a beat too long.
Grace is blushing. Luke is staring.
She only looks away when her phone starts to ring. She glances at the screen.
“Sorry,” she says. “I have to take this.”
Turning around, she moves away from us and brings the phone to her ear.
I take the opportunity to spear Luke with a look.
“What?” he says, sipping nervously at his beer.
“You know what. I saw the way you were looking at her.”
Southern Charmer Page 12
