Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

“You know that in romance, villains usually don’t help out. They definitely don’t do dishes.”

Fuck, I’m smiling.

I’m gripped by the wild thought that I’d just have to lean down to kiss her. On the mouth this time. Tilt my head and go in for the kill.

“What do they usually do?”

“Break hearts.”

And just like that, the spell is shattered. Reality crashing through the happy haze of the moment.

Bound to happen anyway. Doing one woman one favor doesn’t erase the very bad things I’ve done to others.

I finish the dishes in silence. When the dishwasher is loaded and the table wiped down, Julia leads me to the front door.

“Thanks again for dinner,” she says. “I really enjoyed it.”

I manage a tight smile in reply. Shove my hands in my pockets. I know I need to keep my distance. But there is no way in hell I’m letting this woman deal with this pregnancy alone now that I know how difficult it’s been.

“Let’s check in with each other more often, okay?” I say. “I won’t bother you too much, but I do want to know how you’re doing.”

She looks at me. I look back.

“Okay,” she says.

“And you come to me if you need anything, all right? Even if it’s just a resupply of Topo Chico.”

“Got it.”

“I want you to mean that.”

“I do. I’ll keep in touch.”

She’s still looking at me.

I’m still looking at her.

Get. The fuck. Out of here.

But my feet won’t move.

The space between Julia and I thrums. Tightens, somehow, despite the bubble of feels expanding inside my torso.

Before I know what she’s doing, Julia’s going up on her tiptoes and curling her arms around my neck.

I stay very still, trying my damndest to ignore the fireworks exploding in my groin, my chest, my head.

She feels so good against me.

So damn good. Soft and vulnerable and warm.

“This pregnancy thing is hard. And very heavy,” she murmurs against my shoulder. “But you’ve made it feel lighter for a little while. Which helps. More than you know. Thank you, Greyson.”

Carefully—carefully, one or both of us will break if I move too fast, or squeeze too hard—I curl my arms around her waist. Close my eyes as I let myself hold her.

Just for a minute, I tell myself.

Just for right now.

Her hair tickles my nose. I resist the urge to inhale a deep lungful of her. Scent and sweetness.

My body electrifies at the feel of hers.

I like this.

This, whatever this is. The satisfaction of knowing I did a good thing?

The knowledge that she’s trusting me—touching me—making me feel alive in a way I haven’t in a long, long time?

“Some of the best things in life are the ones you have to work hardest for,” I say. “Maybe this baby is one of them.”

I let her go, even though it kills me.

The cigarette I smoke on the ride home does nothing to calm me down.

I don’t think anything will when it comes to Julia.Chapter ElevenJuliaGreyson: midday check-in

Greyson: Go.

Julia: Is this a thing now? You checked in this morning.

Greyson: And you were feeling like shit post-coffee. Any better?

Julia: Actually, yes. Starting to feel better on the whole. My Bumpin’ app tells me my symptoms could start to abate now that I’m inching toward the second trimester. Still have a few weeks to go though.

Greyson: Praise David Bowie

Greyson: just downloaded the app. It thinks I’m the one who’s pregnant. I’m 8 weeks and two days, and I may be starting to show.

Julia: Nausea? Tender breasts?

Greyson: Oh yeah. I honestly don’t know how you’ve been doing this for so long.

Julia: Totally sucks. Not going to sugar coat that.

Greyson: Don’t. I like your honesty.

Greyson: So your dad was an architect. Did you learn design from him?

Julia: You’re being nice again.

Greyson: Amuse me

Julia: Yes. He was a big fan of preservation. His specialty was restoring historic homes. You have him to thank for my appreciation of timeless design with a twist.

Greyson: Your expensive taste you mean

Julia: Don’t tell me you’re not obsessed with how Rodgers’ Farms is turning out. I see that twinkle of appreciation in your eye when we’re out there.

Greyson: Julia. It’s beautiful. but you don’t need me to tell you that

Julia: I don’t. Still nice to hear though. Are werewolves too bashful to give praise in person?

Greyson: Baby steps.

Greyson: Where should I pick you up tomorrow for our doctor’s appointment?

Julia: I can drive.

Greyson: So can I. Let me hep

Greyson: *help

Julia: I’ll be at my office on campus. 23 Coming Street. Yellow building that’s leaning to the side. Can’t miss it.

Greyson: always thought it was funny how all the sorority houses are on Coming Street.

Julia: The irony right? The only time I came in college was with my vibrator. See you at 2.* * *I’m starting to have good days again.

Don’t get me wrong, the bad days are still there. The exhaustion is real, as is the anxiety. But the depression that’s plagued me for weeks has started to lift. I’ll get whole hours of energy and clarity, the fog that’s clouded my brain thinning just enough for me to get decent work done.