Southern Charmer

by Jessica Peterson

  Luke gives her a gentle nudge.

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “Maybe my brother quite possibly would like to have a potential conversation with you. But only if you want to, too.”

  I look from Luke to Grace and back again. They stare at me expectantly, like I’m supposed to know what the hell they’re asking me to do.

  “Right,” I say at last. “I’ll go find him.”

  I get stopped by a few people on their way out of the shop.

  They open the door. And I catch a glimpse of a broad-shouldered figure in the parking lot. I see the end of a cigar light up. An ember in the darkness. A beat later, I’m hit by the earthy scent of tobacco.

  I nearly sag with relief. I didn’t miss him. Eli is still here.

  “Louise,” I call over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t hurry!” she replies.

  I can hear the smile in her voice.

  I step onto the porch and quietly make my way down the front steps. The parking lot is dark. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust.

  And then he’s there. Enormous man standing beside an equally enormous pickup truck. The smoke from his cigar creates a haze between us.

  I feel his eyes on me. My nipples prickle to life.

  Crossing my arms, I move toward him, the gravel crunching beneath my boots. I stop a few feet away, scared that I’ll reach for him if I get any closer. And I have no idea where we stand. Or if he still feels for me what I feel for him.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” I say. “You’re the anonymous fan who told everyone about my book and bought extra copies for me to sign.”

  The tip of his cigar lights up again as he pulls on it. His eyes are pools of green. So translucent they seem to glow.

  My God he looks so handsome. Standing beside his truck. Dark hair, plaid shirt. Juicy lips and beard and intelligent eyes.

  My knees begin to wobble with a familiar weakness.

  “I didn’t force anyone to come,” he says. “People just trust my taste. They know I read a lot. So when they asked me what great books I’ve read lately, I mentioned yours.”

  I bite my lip. “You also mentioned the signing.”

  His lips curl into a smirk. “Well, yeah. I had to mention the signing. Your book’s so good that I told them they’d want a signed copy. I said I had the pleasure of reading a first draft and that it was one of the best romances I’ve read. And I’ve read a lot of romance.”

  His eyes flick over my body, once.

  The space between us thrums.

  My eyes fill with tears as a laugh escapes my lips. “Of course you have.”

  “Olivia.”

  Eli puts his cigar on the edge of the truck bed and takes a step toward me. My body leaps at the tidy determination of his movements. I have to look up as he approaches, tears spilling out of my eyes.

  His sneakers catch in the gravel. “Please don’t cry.”

  He searches my eyes. He’s so close. So, so close. I’m overwhelmed by the need to touch him. To be held by him.

  “I miss you,” he says, words thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you so damn much. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Olivia. Not for a minute. I’m still so fucking in love with you it hurts. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. I’m even sorrier about the way I behaved that day in the bathroom. You were right. I was feeling insecure after fucking up with The Jam. I was using you to kind of soothe that sting, and that wasn’t fair, and it definitely wasn’t right. I’m really sorry I didn’t trust you. I pushed you when I should have respected your wish for more time. I have no excuse—”

  He doesn’t get to finish.

  He doesn’t finish, because I’m stepping into Elijah. I’m taking his face in my hands and bringing his mouth down on mine. Hungry and hot and salty with his tears.

  He kisses me. With all that pent up passion I adore. That light and intention.

  And oh, that tongue.

  My knees give out. He catches me, curling an arm around my waist and pulling me close. And then the kiss becomes his. He kisses me so hard and so well I see fireworks behind my closed eyelids.

  I fist the fabric of his shirt in my hands. The joy of touching him again after not knowing I ever would is exquisite. My mind clears and my body throbs.

  I feel weak with relief.

  “Oh, baby,” he says, breaking the kiss. He wipes away my tears with his thumbs. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for your apology,” I say. “It means a lot.”

  He nods. “I learned that I needed time, too. Time to process all the shit that went down at my restaurant. So I’ve spent the past four months trying my best to face my failures head on by myself.”

  I just look at him.

  “That must’ve sucked,” I say, breathless.

  He laughs. “It’s been the suckiest time in my life. For a lot of reasons. But you know what? It’s supposed to be. The fact that it hurts so much is a testament to how much I love what I’m doin’ with my life. Failure’s awful. But it’s also taught me a lot. Mostly that it doesn’t last forever. And that it won’t kill me. Although it will turn me into a bourbon soaked Post Malone fanboy.”

  “Post Malone?” I say, smiling.

  Eli licks his lips, shaking his head. “Long story. My point is, I’m workin’ on being a better man, and I want to be that better man for you. I love you, Olivia Wilson. I wanna be the partner you deserve. I wanna make you breakfast and edit your books and roll out my mat next to yours for the rest of my life.”

  “Elijah,” I whisper.

  “I’m not asking you to move in with me,” he continues. “I mean, of course I’m still open to that idea. Always will be. But if you’re not ready yet, I’m totally cool with that. I just wanna be with you. Whatever that looks like. Whenever you’re ready to be with me—I’m ready, baby. I’m ready to live out our own version of happily ever after.”

  My heart is stumbling around in my chest. Punch drunk on love. I rise up onto my toes and kiss Eli’s jaw, his chin. His mouth. Still bewildered that I’m in his arms again.

  I inhale his scent. I inhale the knowledge that he’s changed. Not just for me. But for himself, too.

  I don’t need to think about my answer. I’m certain. As certain about this man, and this new life, as I was uncertain about my previous life in New York. My gut is screaming yes. My head is screaming yes.

  So is my heart.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  He smiles, a devastatingly beautiful flash of white teeth.

  “Was hopin’ you’d say that.”

  “I’ve done a lot of thinking. A lot of writing. Every thought I’ve had is about you, truly. Every hero I write—Eli, I want him to be just like you.”

  “Selfish and scruffy?” he says, a shadow of a smile playing at his lips.

  “Smart and sexy,” I reply. “They’ll like to cook, and they’ll have dogs with human names. How’s Billy, by the way?”

  “Miserable without you.” He bends down to kiss my neck. His scruff catches on my skin. “He’s gonna lose his fuckin’ mind when he sees you’re back. Although I plan to keep you to myself for a little bit here.”

  A beat of familiar heat unfurls low in my belly. I squeeze my legs together. I’m already getting wet.

  Really, really wet.

  Guess that’s what four months of longing for this man will do. I feel like I’m going to go up in flames at any moment. I need relief.

  I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

  “Do you have to work tonight?” I murmur.

  Eli’s hands slide to my ass, and he gently presses me into his groin.

  My clit throbs. He’s hard as a fucking tree.

  “Nope.”

  I turn my head to glance at his pickup truck. He takes the opportunity to nip at my earlobe.

  “Let’s go for a drive,” I say.

  The ridged bed of Eli’s truck digs into my bac
k. The air is chilly; I can just barely see my breath.

  But I couldn’t care less. We’re parked in the middle of nowhere. It’s quiet. The sky is wide open, strewn with stars and a big, heavy moon. The clean, crisp scent of pine trees fills my head.

  And Eli is reaching up my dress and pulling my thong down. He guides it over my legs, kissing the inside of my thighs, my knees, my shins.

  I squirm, the cool air soothing against my throbbing sex.

  I am dying for him.

  He plays his old trick and hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, spreading me wide. Then he looks up at me from between my legs.

  “I can smell you,” he says, voice barely above a growl. “You smell so sweet, baby. So fucking sweet.”

  He ducks his head and licks me. Parts my folds with his tongue. Up and down. Up and down. He groans; I cry out.

  He takes my clit in his lips and sucks, nipping at me, and I buck against him, digging my hand into his hair.

  “I’m close,” I manage. “I want you inside me when I come.”

  His eyes meet mine.

  “And I want to be inside you bare. That gonna be a problem?”

  My heart softens, even as my desire skyrockets.

  “I’m clean,” I say. “And I’m on the pill.”

  Those eyes of his flash. Darken. I’m trusting him. He’s trusting me.

  We’re as vulnerable as we’ll ever be right now.

  “Good.” He gets up on his knees and unbuttons his fly. “I’m clean, too. I don’t want anything between us anymore.”

  My lips part when he takes himself in his hand. He gives himself a lazy tug, curling his palm over the head.

  He’s huge. Bigger than I remember.

  Leaning down, he brackets my head between his forearms. Kisses me. Then he reaches down and notches himself at my entrance.

  “I’m yours,” he says.

  And then he sinks inside me. One slow, deep thrust that buries him to the hilt.

  It feels so good to be filled by him like this. So good to be raw and open and shaking like this, on the precipice of something huge and beautiful.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he moans. “You feel—”

  But his voice thickens. He loses himself in the moment. The trust. The completeness of it all.

  I reach down, and all it takes is one quick flick of my finger against my clit. I come, tears spilling out of my eyes, and Eli kisses them away. Every one of them.

  He moves over me with his usual athletic, rolling sensuality. I love it.

  “I love you,” I say.

  “Always,” he says. “I’ll always love you, Olivia.”

  He comes a heartbeat later.

  Curled up in the warmth of Eli’s body, I press a kiss to his cheek.

  He turns his head. Reaches over to tuck my hair behind my ear.

  Kisses my mouth. A long, lazy post-coital kiss.

  I pull back to laugh.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head against the ball of his shoulder. “Just when I was driving into Charleston last September, I heard this song—it was about a guy making out with his girlfriend in the back of his pickup truck. I remember thinking how nice that would be. And now here I am, making out with you in the back of your pickup truck.”

  Eli looks at me intently.

  “Do you like it?”

  I grin. “Hate it. Totally the worst.”

  He pulls me closer. “Welp. I think you’re officially a southerner now. You eat grits. You know the locals. And now you get naked in pickup trucks. I’ve taught you well.”

  “I hardly recognize myself anymore,” I say, laughing again.

  “I recognize you.” Eli’s still looking at me. Eyes searching mine. “The real you. That woman is satisfied and happy. Hopeful, too. I’m lucky as all get out to be your friend.”

  “More than that.”

  He smirks. “Way more than that, Yankee girl.”

  A beat of contented silence passes. My heart feels so full it’s about to burst.

  “But then I’m not Yankee girl anymore, am I?”

  “Guess you’re not. What would you like me to call you?”

  I think about it for a second.

  “Just Olivia,” I reply. “When you say it, it sounds brand new. Just like me. Just like us.”

  “Just like us.” He smiles. “All right, Olivia. You gonna let me make you some biscuits tomorrow or what?”

  I bite my lip, then lean forward to kiss him.

  “I’d like that,” I say. “Speaking of biscuits…”

  I reach around and pinch his butt. He laughs.

  Then he rolls on top of me.

  From then on out, it’s just his mouth and the stars and the wild feeling of being free.

  Not a bad way to begin again.

  Epilogue

  Eli

  Six Months Later

  * * *

  Three parts bourbon, two parts lemon juice, one part sweet potato simple syrup.

  I measure the ingredients and pour them into a cocktail shaker. Clamping the lid on, I give it a good shake over ice. The cocktail is just the tiniest bit foamy when I pour it into a rocks glass.

  “Whatcha makin’?” Luke says, sidling up to the bar.

  “My own version of a whiskey sour.” I take a sip. Damn, that’s good. “Thought I’d make a signature cocktail for the party today. I’m calling it The Olivia.”

  Luke grins. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

  “It is her birthday. Here, try it.”

  I hand him the glass. While he sips, I glance around The Pearl. We closed the restaurant for the party, and even though we’re only serving a fraction of the food we usually do, the place is still bustling. The kitchen is a hive of activity as my cooks prepare the five course meal. My sommelier is in the wine vault, sniffing a glass of what I assume is our very best Malbec—Olivia’s favorite. Busboys are busy setting the enormous family-style table we set up in the middle of the restaurant. We’re expecting quite a few guests tonight; in the short time she’s been in town, Olivia has managed to make a lot of friends. Other writers, other professors, neighbors, chefs—they’ll all be here. I’ve even convinced her parents to fly down as a surprise.

  This is Olivia’s first birthday in Charleston. I want to get it right.

  We’ve got so damn much to celebrate. Her birthday, clearly. But then there’s the success of not only My Enemy the Earl, but also the second book in the series, My Deal with the Duke, too. Olivia is working hard to build her platform, and it shows. Readers are already clamoring for the third book, which she’s having a damn good time writing. Her teaching schedule is also picking up. She’s so popular with students that the department head approved her commercial fiction class, which she’ll be teaching in the fall.

  “Damn,” Luke says, taking another sip before handing the glass back to me. “That is good. I was doubtful about the sweet potato syrup—”

  “Hey,” I shoot back. “I made it with your potatoes.”

  “Probably why it tastes so fuckin’ delicious.”

  “More like it’s my superior mixology skills that make this cocktail so deadly,” I say, holding up the glass.

  “Keep tellin’ yourself that.” Luke reaches behind the bar and grabs a Bud Light, which he pops open on the edge of the counter. “We both know it’s my potatoes.”

  He’s grinning again.

  A big, shit eating grin I haven’t seen on his face in ages. He almost looks like a kid again. Minus the scruff and the beer.

  “Hey,” I say. “What’s going on with you? You look different.”

  Luke takes a long pull of beer and looks away. “Nothin’.”

  He’s looking toward the door now. Like he’s waiting on someone to walk through it.

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “You expectin’ someone?”

  “No,” he says a little too quickly. “When does Olivia make her entrance?”

  I
check my watch. “Seven. Told everyone else to get here a little earlier so she walks into a full house.”

  “I thought this wasn’t a surprise.”

  “It’s not,” I said. “Just feels right havin’ her walk in to see this whole new community she’s built, you know?”

  Luke pins me with a look. “The community you’ve both built. You’re a part of this thing too, Eli.”

  I nod, taking a sip of my Olivia. It’s as delicious as the girl it’s named after.

  “I appreciate that,” I say. “Olivia and I have been really good at that—encouraging each other. Including each other in what we’re doing. I know I feed off her passion, and I’d like to think she does the same with me.”

  Luke’s eyes are still on me. Although there’s this faraway look in them now. His grin contracts.

  “Y’all are really makin’ it work,” he says.

  “Trying to, yeah,” I reply. “She’s what I been lookin’ for all this time. I’m not gonna make the mistake of letting her go again.”

  “Good.” He offers me a tight smile. “I’m happy for y’all.”

  “When am I gonna be happy for you?” I ask.

  Luke shakes his head. “I don’t know, man.”

  He pauses, like he’s going to say more. But then the door opens and we both look up and Olivia’s parents are standing there, looking around the restaurant with barely concealed awe.

  Pushing off the bar, I smile. I may have lost The Jam. But we’re killing it at The Pearl if I do say so myself. We’re packed every night. There’s a two month waiting list for reservations. Being able to focus exclusively on my food here has given me the time and space to experiment in ways I never have before. It’s also allowed me to spend more time with Olivia—we’re heading out to the cabin a lot these days. It’s bliss.

  I won’t lie, the loss of The Jam still stings every once in a while. But knowing people are enjoying my food, and coming back for more, is enough to make me happy right now. Hard to say if I’ll ever get the itch to open another restaurant again. I figure I’ll deal with whatever comes my way. As long as Olivia’s by my side, I can get through anything.