Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

That’s what happens when you destroy a perfectly good person’s perfect life.

Julia and I are led to another exam room, where we meet with her doctor. We ask a million questions; the doctor assures Julia her symptoms should start to abate once she hits her second trimester in a couple weeks. She tells Julia to keep an eye on her depression and notify the office immediately if it worsens or she has thoughts of hurting herself. We set up our next appointment—12 week ultrasound—which I immediately mark on my Google calendar with the note DO NOT BE LATE!!!!!!!

I’m still lost in my thoughts when I hold the office door open for Julia. I step out into the gloom of the late afternoon behind her. Typical of Charleston in November, the air has a slight bite to it. Crispness finally overpowering the humidity that’s cloaked the city since May like a wet blanket.

We walk side by side, her elbow brushing mine.

“I really am sorry I was late,” I say. “But I told you we’d get those pictures taken.”

She grins. Eyes on her feet. “It’s all right. I’m glad we were both there to see it. The ultrasound, I mean. How cool was that heartbeat?”

“The coolest,” I say, and I mean it.

“So.” She looks up, squinting against the gloom. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Tonight?” I blink. “Not much. I have a couple site visits to do this afternoon, a phone call with an architect, and then I was going to finish up some work at home. Go to bed early.”

She grins. “Your Friday night sounds almost as exciting as mine. Such party animals, you and me.”

“Hashtag adulting sucks. Why do you ask?”

Julia lifts a shoulder, gliding her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “I feel like we should celebrate all this good news. Charlie Brown’s alive. So am I. You and I haven’t stabbed each other yet. Probably our biggest win to date. Not to mention the Rodgers’ Farms project is wrapping up, and we rocked the shit out of that thing.”

I’m grinning, too, as I slow my steps. Meet her eyes.

I should not.

Should not give in to the temptation of basking in this woman’s sunshine a minute longer than I have to. It’s dangerous, this want.

But what am I supposed to do? Let her go home to her empty house by herself? Yeah, I’m sure she’s got friends to call. Gracie. Luke. Olivia.

But this is my baby. This is our good news to celebrate.

I also like the idea of having someone to cook for. I miss it. Opening a bottle of wine and making a fucking mess of my kitchen.

“Why don’t you come over for dinner?” Julia continues. “My treat this time. I don’t cook, but I’m kind of the best at DoorDash, so…”

“I cook,” I reply, making a mental note to call my mom after I drop Julia off. “Come over to my place. Supposed to be shitty weather tonight—we can eat and maybe watch a movie or something.”

Julia runs the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip.

I bite back a groan. Lord, that lip. What I would give to sink my teeth into it. Taste it for the first time.

Stop. It.

“That sounds nice. Really nice. But you have to know that this pregnant woman doesn’t Netflix and chill. Like, chill chill.”

“Please.” Stopping, I spread my legs. Cross my arms. “That shit’s for amateurs. I don’t ‘chill.’ I’d never ask you to ‘hang out.’ I’ll fix you a real meal, pour you a shot glass of really good wine, and put on a movie you pick.”

Her blue eyes dance. “You don’t fuck around, do you, Greyson?”

“Not when it comes to the women I knock up.”

She laughs. The sound making butterflies take flight inside my torso.

Fu-uuuck. Fuck.

Should not.

But Lord help me, I’m in it now.

“All right,” she says. “That sounds great. What can I bring?”

“Just your stretchy pants.”

“Stretchy pants?”

“Yeah. Stretchy pants time is my favorite time. Bring yours. And the ultrasound pictures.” I nod at the folder Julia holds in the crook of her arm. “I’d like to make some copies on my printer.”

“Done.” Her eyes rove over my body. “No offense. But I’m surprised you own stretchy pants. Hell, I’m surprised you own any pants that aren’t perfectly tailored, custom made slacks.”

My lips twitch. “You noticed my pants.”

“I’ve stroked many things of yours. I’m sorry to say your ego will never be one of them.”

I laugh. Flutters erupting inside me.

Fuck these butterflies for life.

I’ve missed them.* * *My mom picks up on the first ring when I call her as I dash from one meeting to the next. I haven’t told her about Julia or the baby yet—timing hasn’t felt right—but that doesn’t mean she’s not excited to hear from me.

“Grey,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Hey, baby. How you doing?”