The Match (It Happened in Charleston 1)

Jake’s eyes land on mine again, and his playful smile dies away. Something is changing in the air, and my body is fully aware of it. He shifts his arm and gently grasps a lock of my damp hair between his fingers. “I’m serious, though, Evie. Thank you. I owe you.” His low voice is rolling over me, and I’m a little worried his finger is going to brush against my neck and feel my hammering pulse.

?

??You’re welcome.”

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, like he’s contemplating something. He looks down at his fingers that are caressing that one lock of my hair and then back up to my eyes. I’m holding my breath, and I don’t dare move. This moment can go from nothing to something in a split second, and I’m just waiting to see what it will be.

And now he’s leaning forward…oh my gosh, he’s leaning forward, and he’s going to kiss me. “Evie,” he whispers, and I can feel his minty breath on my lips. He said my name as both a statement and a question. What he means is, Evie, can I kiss you?

To which I’m responding with a YES by leaning forward too. His hand leaves my hair and moves to cup my neck, and now I’m certain he can feel my racing pulse. He’s moving so slowly toward my mouth, and I’m dying. It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed—and NEVER have I been kissed by a man like Jake. I want to fist the front of his shirt and drag his mouth to mine as quick as possible, but I’m being a lady about it and letting him come to me. No one wants to look desperate.

And then, I close my eyes and finally feel his warm lips press against mine in the lightest, most feather-soft motion. I inhale deeply and skim my hands up his shoulders to tentatively rest them on the back of his neck. I want to sink in and live inside this kiss for the rest of my life, but I can’t because suddenly there’s a KNOCK KNOCK at my door, and I swear I’m going to murder whoever is on the other side.

Jake and I both forget we are grown adults and catapult apart on my loveseat so fast you would think we just got caught making out in a closet during a Sunday school class.

Chapter Seventeen

JAKE

While Evie is walking to answer the door, I lean over to rest my elbows on my knees and scrape my hands through my hair. What the heck was I thinking kissing her tonight? I know it looks bad, but that’s definitely not why I came over here. I was really only intending to give her the invitation and run. Just your friendly neighborhood postman.

But no. I saw her, and my body suddenly had other plans. Plans to kiss her, apparently.

What now? I wanted to move slowly. S-L-O-W. This little action just changed things. Now I have a conversation on the horizon that I’m not at all prepared for.

Well, I’m a little prepared for it. The more time I spend with Evie, the more I can’t imagine not dating her. But I don’t know if I can trust myself. I’ve made a poor decision concerning a woman before and look how that turned out. Although, I know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone…so I’ll have to face my fears at some point. Looks like that point is now.

I hear Evie open the door, and then she gasps. Her gasp has me looking toward the door just in time to hear her say, “Mama. Daddy. What are you doing here?”

Oh, super.

I shoot up from the couch, and in a split second—because Evie’s apartment is made for ants—I’m standing beside her at the door. Her mom’s eyes are wide as they look from me to Evie and then slowly down Evie’s body in the same way one might look at a prostitute they’ve just encountered on the sidewalk.

I don’t know why I suddenly have the urge to defend myself. SHE’S WEARING SHORTS! I’m a grown man. Evie’s a grown woman. But Evie’s mom has the look of a woman about to rail on her daughter. Instinctively, I move to shield Evie. “Hi,” I say, sticking my hand out toward her dad first. “I’m Jacob Broaden.”

He shakes my hand with the same gusto of a dead fish and cocks one eyebrow. “Harold Jones.”

Wait a second. I pause mid-handshake. Harold Jones? As in, the Harold Jones from the long line of Joneses that have made up the majority of our city’s wealth for generations? I knew Evie’s last name was Jones, but I guess I never thought to ask her if there was any connection because she just seems so…normal.

I slide my wide eyes to Mrs. Jones, and she rolls her eyes at Evie.

“I can see you haven’t told him who your relatives are.” The woman sounds like she’s never been more bored in her life. She looks at me again but doesn’t even offer me her hand. “Melony Jones.”

Oh yeah. I know who she is. Everyone in Charleston knows who this woman is. And she’s just as off-putting as I had imagined.

Suddenly, I feel like laughing. Here I was, thinking that Evie would be impressed with my little architectural firm and my 2,000-square-foot house, when she grew up with the leading socialites of Charleston in a 12.5 million dollar home. I know this because I read the magazine article about it last month. I feel a little stupid.

She gave all of that up to live in this shoebox? What am I missing here? I have a whole new appreciation for Evie. Not because she came from money, but because she turned out like this despite her entitled upbringing.

Mrs. Jones turns her sharp eyes to Evie, and apparently, she’s done with me. I’m just a small fly; I’ve been swatted away. “Evelyn Grace, are you going to make us stand out here all night?”

“I’m entertaining right now,” Evie says through her teeth. I’m impressed by her backbone. She’s not cowering under this woman’s haughty glare—and believe me, it’s more than a little intimidating.

“Clearly,” Mrs. Jones says with another accusatory glance at Evie’s bare legs.

I take one more look too because I’m a man and goodness she has good-looking legs.

“But you’ve been taught better than to leave your parents standing out in the heat like this.” Mrs. Jones pushes past both of us and steps into Evie’s house uninvited. It’s shocking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do that before.