Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

Then it’s just us ladies—well, and Liam too—which I don’t mind one bit. I love being surrounded by women. I think because I was raised by them, but also because I miss the woman I loved more than anyone else in the world. The woman who would enjoy the hell out of a party like this.

I dig my fingers into my chest, a fruitless attempt to ease the pain that suddenly jumps there. I always seem to miss my mom the most when I’m having a good time. Grandma Rose says it’s because I get my sense of fun from my mother. She also says I shouldn’t feel guilty when I have fun.

I don’t. I just miss my mom, and I wish she could be here.

I wish she were here to tell me what to do. I fell fast and hard for Rhett, and now I’m falling fast and hard for his family too. How do I keep heartbreak from meeting me on the other side of all this? Is it inevitable? Or is there a way for us to find some semblance of happiness together?

I don’t see it. Not yet.

Startling at the touch on my neck, I glance up to see Rhett standing behind me, brow furrowed. “You look hungry. C’mon inside, A. We’ll get you fed.”

“Y’all don’t rush on my account,” I say.

Hank sticks his head through the doors and smiles. “No rush—food’s ready. There’s a lot of it, so I hope you brought your appetite.”

“We don’t let anyone go hungry here on the farm,” Junie says, taking my hand and giving it a quick, tight squeeze. “I’ll make you a plate.”

I offer to help Rhett with Liam, but he waves me away with strict instructions to sit.

So I sit at the giant farm table in Hank’s kitchen. Rhett’s siblings and their significant others jockey for the seats on either side of me, Beau and Hank coming out the winners. I dig into the plate Junie made me, piled high with more food than I usually eat in a week: smoked chicken thighs smothered in Alabama white sauce; succotash made with sweet white corn; a watermelon, arugula, and feta salad that’s out-of-this-world delicious. There are chive-and-cheddar biscuits with sour cream butter. Swiss chard sautéed with bacon and sugar. Roasted sweet potatoes. I wash it all down with a crisp, Italian chardonnay Emma recommends, and more than once, I wish I’d Ubered so I could keep drinking it. It’s that good.

I plow through everything, keeping an eye on Rhett as he puts Liam in his lap and feeds him dinner. Rhett gets flustered when Liam refuses to let him put on his bib and again when Liam chucks his sippy cup onto the floor. But once Rhett offers him food—pieces of chicken he carefully cut into tiny chunks—things start to go much more smoothly. Rhett helps Liam dig his little blue plastic spoon into the potatoes, and together they bring it to Liam’s mouth.

“Mmmm!” Liam says, kicking his legs against the table in delight.

Junie claps while the rest of us laugh.

“Kid likes his food,” Rhett says.

Samuel pats Rhett’s belly. “Just like his daddy.”

“You’re the one with the beer gut.”

Samuel smiles and pats his stomach proudly. “It’s a wine gut, thank you very much. My lady here”—he wraps an arm around Emma—“happens to like it.”

“Do you really?” Rhett asks, casting a disbelieving glance in her direction.

“I do,” Emma says with a grin.

“Ew, y’all,” Milly says.

“Don’t hate on love,” Beau teases.

Junie smiles. “Lovers, let them love.”

“Just not too loudly.” Milly points her knife at Hank and Stevie. “I’m talking about y’all.”

“Sorry,” Stevie says.

“I’m not,” Hank shoots back.

“More,” Liam says, glancing up at his daddy. Rhett patiently spoons another scoop of potatoes onto his plate. This time Liam doesn’t bother with the spoon; he just digs both hands in, smiling when we laugh as he shoves giant handfuls into his mouth.

When Liam finishes that, Rhett spins his plate so the chicken pieces are front and center. Rhett pops one into his mouth, making exaggerated Cookie Monster noises as he chews. Liam pops chicken into his mouth and does the same thing. He doesn’t eat a ton of chicken, but he eats enough to count.

Using the wet paper towels he set beside his plate, Rhett wipes Liam’s hands when he’s done. He offers him his sippy cup, and this time the little guy actually drinks out of it in big, audible gulps.

“There you go.” Rhett unscrews the top to the sippy cup and refills it from his own water glass. “Gotta stay hydrated, buddy.”

That’s when I realize it’s quiet at the table.

The Beauregards are never quiet.

I glance around to see we’re all watching Rhett and Liam. Scratch that. We’re watching Rhett with Liam. And we’re witnessing firsthand how good he is with his son.