Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

Right. I’m here to clear my mind. Not check out hot shirtless southerners.

I do my best to keep my drishti on my mat. Even so, I’m aware of Eli moving beside me. His practice really is beautiful. Patient.

I find myself moving patiently too, breathing through the tight pull in my hamstrings and the fire in my quads as Peter leads us through an interminably long series of chair poses. I’m not graceful. But moving more slowly allows me to arrive in every pose and stay there for as long as Peter cues us to.

Once, during a chair twist, I twist the wrong way, and Eli and I end up facing each other. His eyes are kind when they meet mine. My eyebrows go up when I realize my mistake. He grins.

I find myself grinning back, despite the way my legs have started to shake.

His hotness is becoming less intimidating. Probably has something to do with this generous, down-to-earth charm of his.

By the grace of God I make it through class without embarrassing myself. I even attempt side crow pose—something I’ve never done before—and manage to fly for approximately half a second. Of course Eli held the pose for what had to be ten minutes. Sitting in my sumo squat, I watched the thick veins and sinews pop against the backs of his hands as he balanced his legs on his triceps.

I imagine what those hands would feel like on me.

Stop. I need to stop thinking about him like this. This fantasy goes nowhere.

Eli and I walk out of the studio together when class is over.

“How good did that feel?” he says, opening the front door for me.

I step out into the sunshine. This heat is unreal.

“Pretty damn good. I needed to work off those grits from yesterday,” I reply. I nod at the bike rack, where Julia’s tricked out bike awaits. “That’s me.”

“You biked here? Good for you. I didn’t have the time this morning. Gotta be at the restaurant in half an hour.”

“Oh?” I slide my sunglasses onto my face. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

He tucks his mat underneath his arm and looks at me, one eye screwed up against the sun. “Why don’t you come find out?”

I flush with pleasure at the invitation. “I did some reading up on you yesterday.”

“Uh oh.”

“Only the good articles,” I tease. “But everyone says The Pearl is the hardest reservation to get in town—that you have to book it months in advance. It’s gotta be too late to get one for tonight.”

Eli just grins, shaking his head. “Olivia, you just gotta say the word and I’ll get you in anytime, at any hour.”

I tell myself he’s just being neighborly. It’s too exciting—too bewildering—to think there’s something more behind his kindness.

I cannot think there is something more between us.

“Okay,” I say. “I’d like that. I’m—I’m pretty much free all night, so…whenever you can fit me in is great.”

“How about seven?” he says. “That’s the seating for the chef’s tasting.”

“Chef’s tasting?”

“The Pearl seats eighty. But every night, we select ten guests at random to do the chef’s tasting. You sit at a big communal table right next to the kitchen, and we feed you five courses of whatever the hell we feel like cooking that day. It’s an experience you don’t wanna miss.”

My stomach dips. In a good way.

“Sounds fancy,” I say.

“It’s not,” he replies. “But the food is fuckin’ ridiculous. My best work.”

“Better than the grits bowl?”

Eli laughs at that. “If I blew your mind then…well, I just might push you over the edge tonight.”

We’re standing close.

Were we always standing this close? I can smell the sweat on his skin. Salt. That woodsy, smoky cologne.

I swallow. Manage a smile. “Seven it is. Thank you very much for the invite—I’ve never done a chef’s tasting before.”

The sunlight catches on his eyes, turning them into translucent pools of green.

“I don’t wanna make a joke about popping your cherry, because we just met and all, but…”

It’s my turn to laugh. It brings a lightness to my chest I haven’t felt in a long time.

“It’s been a while since I had a cherry popped,” I say. “I could use a little excitement.”

“Happy to do the job.”

He’s smiling, and I’m smiling, and we look at each other for a beat too long.

Shit.

“So,” I say at last, blinking. “Tonight at seven.”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand up the back of his head. “Seven o’clock. You like wine?”

I roll my eyes teasingly. “Do I like wine.”

“Then I’ll put you down for the wine pairing, too. My sommelier is a crack shot. She always knows how to make the meal come together.”

Jesus Christ, he is relentless. In the best way.

“Sounds great,” I say. “See you tonight.”

“See you tonight, Olivia.” His gaze is steady as it holds mine. “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

Then he heads for the parking lot behind the studio.