Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

It has been hard. Really fucking hard.

Even harder to pretend I’m okay when deep down, I know I’m not.

I remember what Emma said back at Beau’s—that I’m braver than I think. What did she mean by that? That I’m brave enough to do what? Face the facts?

Brave enough to be honest with myself about how much losing the man I loved hurts? And how he was the last person who knew the real me because I’ve been too scared to let anyone in since?

“But how?” I manage. “How do I let it hurt without drowning in the pain?”

“I wish I could answer that for you. I think you start with the idea that acknowledging the truth welcomes awful, awful pain. But it can also welcome an incredible kind of love too. The kind maybe you’re looking for with your internet lover. Or Emma. Or both.”

“And if Emma isn’t looking for that? Not with me, anyway. She says she wants to keep things professional.”

Milly grins. “I think y’all blew right on past that when you hooked up.”

“What?” My eyes bulge, a welcome relief from the burn there. “We—uh—”

She pats my leg. “You and Beau must think we’re all blind or something. You don’t look at a girl the way you looked at Emma if you don’t have, shall we say, carnal knowledge of her.”

“Cool. Well, not cool, but I have no idea what the fuck else to say.” I tap my hand against the steering wheel. “So I’m gonna kick you out of my truck now because that is not my story to tell. If there was a story, I mean.”

“I’m offended y’all think I’m such an idiot. Night, Samuel.” Milly opens the door. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Milly.”

I drive home alone in the dark. Windows rolled down, nighttime breeze in my face. I put the truck in park in my driveway and turn off the ignition and sit in silence. Just me and the truth.

I think back to the darkest time of my life. The day they told us Dad had committed suicide after a years-long battle with a degenerative brain disease. That moment when I looked into my mother’s eyes and saw stark, agonizing pain. When I watched my incredibly strong sister crumple in shock. When I realized I’d never again be able to look into someone else’s eyes and allow myself to be completely, compassionately understood.

The day I felt betrayal that eclipsed sadness because Dad had left us.

Left me.

“Why?” I shake my head. “Why’d you go? I hate that you fucking left me.”

The burn in my chest makes my eyes smart.

I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be alone anymore.

It’s time to make some changes.

“This was you, wasn’t it?”

I look up from my laptop. Emma is carrying the lemon scone and coffee I set on her desk when I got in this morning.

Biting back a grin, I turn back to my computer. “Why, yes, Emma, I did bring you breakfast. Being thoughtful and kind is a crime, I know, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“But you already made me dinner. And lunch. And dinner tonight too.”

“Eat it.”

“What if I already ate?”

I glance back up. “We’ve been over this. Consider it a token of my appreciation for helping out with Beau and Annabel.” Over the weekend, the two of them had a date night at The Barn Door. Emma helped create a special tasting menu for their dinner. “Now eat some real food and get back to work, dammit.”

A pause. My skin prickles with awareness the way it always does when I’m around Emma. I’m not looking at her, but I mentally revisit the outfit she’s wearing. My favorite skirt—it’s black, tightly fitted, the kind of sophisticated sexy Samantha would definitely approve of—and a black blouse that’s just the right amount of see-through. She looks like a French businesswoman intent to bend you over the table in the boardroom and have her way with you.

And Lord, does it work for her.

It works for me too.

“Fine,” she sniffs. “Don’t you dare do this again.”

“Fine. Actually, not fine. I’m going to do it again tomorrow just to piss you off. Or feed you because real food matters.”

“You’re the worst. Also, the best.” She lowers her voice. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

“Your family is great, by the way. I’d kill to have that kind of relationship with mine. You know that’s rare, right?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Oh! I meant to ask. Are you taking any time off this weekend?”

I settle my elbows on the table. “I was going to ask if you’d cover for me on Friday.”

“I was actually going to take Friday off too.” She frowns. “Shoot.”

“You have a hot date or something?”

She grins. “I do, actually.”

I have a date too, so I have absolutely no right to be jealous. But I am. The kind of jealous that makes you inappropriately curious. It’s all I can do not to play a game of twenty questions with her about this asshole she’s going to see.