Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

I just stare at him. Is he serious?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “My answer is no. I can’t move in with you. Not yet. But if you give me time—”

“You’re always sayin’ you need more time.” He crosses his arms, making the muscles in his arms bulge. “Maybe you need more time because you’ve been planning to go back to him. Maybe you want to wear a ring like that. Be with a man like that—someone who can afford somethin’ so big. I’m sorry, too, but I’m done waitin’ on you. I’ve been nothing but patient, Olivia. But you can’t even find it in yourself to be honest with me. Why didn’t you tell me you kept his ring?”

My gaze flicks to the jewelry box on the counter between us.

“For the hundredth time, I am not going back to Ted. I’m sorry about the ring,” I say, feeling a stab of anger. “If I knew it was going to upset you so much, I would’ve flung the damn thing out the window. That ring is part of my previous life. A life I am going to leave in the past. I didn’t think you needed to know about it because you’re part of my future. A future I chose. Really, Eli, you’re better than this, and you know it.”

“I’m better with you.”

I feel another stab. This one is a stab of hurt.

No one tells you how much being yourself—choosing yourself—hurts sometimes.

“I need time.”

He swallows, making his Adam’s apple bob. A tear slips out of the corner of my eye. I wipe it away.

“So that’s really a no,” he says.

I nod, rolling my lips between my teeth.

He takes a breath, making his big chest barrel out. Then he pushes off the counter, dragging a hand up the back of his head.

“All right,” he says. “I guess that’s that. I should go.”

I nod again, tears spilling out of my eyes with abandon now.

He makes his way out of the bathroom. The sound of his footsteps has an awful finality to it.

My mind races to calm me down as I follow him. You’re standing your ground. You’re being true to yourself. You’re doing the right thing.

But watching Eli clamp the doorknob in his hand for the last time still feels wrong.

His eyes, clear and wet, sweep up to meet mine.

“They say timin’ is everything. Ours clearly sucks,” he says. “Maybe we weren’t meant to be together after all.”

I don’t disagree with that. But it still fucking kills to hear him say it out loud.

“I’m sorry about the ring,” I manage.

His eyes harden. “I’m sorry, too.”

And then he leaves.

For the last time.

I slowly slide down to the floor, clutching the towel to my chest.

I cry until I’m lightheaded.Chapter Thirty-ThreeEliI move through the days in a fog. I know I’m working too much. Drinking too much.

Listening to too much Post Malone.

I just fucking hate everything right now. I came home from The Pearl the other night and saw that Olivia’s car wasn’t in its usual spot in the driveway.

I haven’t seen it since.

Even if I hadn’t noticed her missing car, I would still know she’s gone back to New York early. The air is different. Charleston is suddenly sucked of every color. Every delight. Even the sky has changed. The early October sunshine has given way to an oily cloud cover that blankets the city.

Olivia literally took the light with her. Because taking my heart and my pride wasn’t enough already.

The anger I feel towards this woman burns night and day in my chest. A furnace fueled by embarrassment and regret and self-loathing.

But what was I supposed to do? Was I just supposed to just lay down and roll over after finding another man’s ring in her drawer? I recognize that things moved fast between Olivia and I. But when you know, you know.

I know Olivia is the one. She didn’t feel the same.

End of story.

I need to let her go. It’s stupid, burning up like this over a girl who doesn’t want to commit to me. I just—

I can’t fucking stand coming home to an empty house. Billy is morose. I am an insomniac. I spend my nights smoking and drinking. Watching shitty shows in my ever dwindling Netflix queue. I’m in the yoga studio every day, sometimes twice, grunting my way through class. I’m constantly working, going, doing. Anything to keep me from thinking about her.

To keep me thinking about the things she said. I’m just a distraction to you. You used me.

I drink some more. Stay away from my phone and the internet. The papers, too.

My hands have started to shake when I’m working in The Pearl’s kitchen. My cooks are circumspect enough to not mention it. But I see the way they look at me. Pity in their eyes. I catch Naomi and Maria conferring in hushed tones in the locker room more than once, stopping abruptly when I appear.