Southern Heartbreaker (Charleston Heat 4)

He looks at me. “I see what you’re saying. But just so you know, having kids doesn’t mean you have to give up your dreams. I didn’t. I mean, isn’t having a kid a dream in and of itself for some people? As tough as being a parent can be sometimes, I’ll admit I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m always struggling to find some semblance of work/life balance. I’m not saying it’s easy. And again, I have a lot of really great help. But it is possible—to make your dreams and your family’s dreams happen. Sometimes they’re one and the same.”

I chew over that for a minute. It’s a new perspective. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Worth considering, though.

Something else I haven’t considered? The fact that, despite the challenges, despite the fact that he lost a wife and is raising a kid all on his own, Ford is happy. That much is obvious. The guy practically beams whenever his daughter comes up.

Maybe a part of me needs to see that. A parent who loves, well, being a parent. Loves his life. Because that is not what I’ve seen in my own family.

Don’t give an inch, because you’ll end up giving a mile.

“You have a lot to be proud of, Ford. Especially when it comes to being a father.”

“Just doing my best, like everybody else.”

He’s being modest. Because that’s just who he is. But I feel the pride radiating off him.

In that moment, I know in my gut that Ford really has changed since college. In such a great way. Doesn’t mean we’ll end up together. But it does mean I can stop waiting for the jackass to show up.

It’s a quick drive to the marina. My mood lifts at the sight of the water. The early afternoon sunshine glints off its surface, blinding us as we head out onto the dock. Ford carries the cooler, and I get everything else. The marshy, salty smell of the ocean is heavy here; alternating stretches of water and marsh grasses stretch toward the horizon.

The sun is hot on my shoulders.

There are all kinds of boats docked at the marina. Little sailboats bobbing happily in their slips. Huge fishing boats with pristine white hulls. Yachts that are four, five stories tall, flags waving from their balconies.

With each boat we approach, I wonder if it belongs to Ford. I have fun imagining what kind of boat he’ll have. Judging by his fancy yet family-friendly car, he’ll have a pricey yet practical piece of watercraft (wow, look at me and this alliteration—Ford is rubbing off on me).

Ford sets the cooler down in front of a gorgeous, classic looking boat. It’s big but not obnoxious, impeccably clean and shiny. Chrome everywhere. The hull is black, and it matches the small pirate flag waving off the back of the boat.

I smile. It’s just so…him.

I help him take the canvas cover off the back. Sweat glistens on his temples. I resist the urge to lick my lips when he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe it away, revealing a taut tummy and a dark happy trail that arrows into the waistband of his board shorts.

The heat between my legs grows acute.

Ford loads up the boat with the cooler and my bags. Then he turns and offers me his hand.

“Ready?”

I look at him. Sweat rolling down his forehead, breeze ruffling his hair. That proud smile on his lips. Makes him appear boyish.

Fucking adorable.

I am so not ready for whatever it is Ford’s offering me.

But I take his hand and leap onto his boat anyway.

Reveling in the feeling of being away. Away from real life. My parents. My thoughts and anxieties and general bullshit.

It feels delightful.Chapter TwelveFordI guide the boat out into the harbor. It’s a Sunday, so it’s busy, the water a little choppy on account of all the traffic. The farther out we get, though, the smoother the water. So I hit the throttle and just go.

The breeze feels delicious. Cools me off in a matter of minutes, wicking the sweat from my skin.

Eva sits on the vinyl bench beside me. I’m standing—easier to see this way—giving me a bird’s eye view of both the harbor and her bare thighs. Her shirt whips around her torso, every so often giving me a glimpse of the teeny tiny black string bikini underneath. She’s wearing her hair tied up at the top of her head, but wisps of hair keep escaping the knot.

I hit the throttle harder. I haven’t decided where I’m taking her yet, but if she does happen to request, say, a more private beach, we’ll have to go out a ways to get there.

Just being prepared is all.

I take us by Fort Sumter, where the first shots of the Civil War were fired. Eva stands to get a better look, even though all that’s left of the fort is some battle-scarred rubble. She was a huge history buff in college. Figured she’d enjoy this little detour.