Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

“Hospitable. Neighborly.” I put my hand on the island and lean into it. “Look. I know you don’t wanna talk about it—because if you did, you would—but I see the pain in your eyes. You’re goin’ through something. Something that hurts. If I can make it hurt a little less by feeding you, makin’ you smile—hell, I’m gonna do it. If it makes you uncomfortable, just tell me to stop. I’ll never bother you again. But I’d like to help out if you’d let me.”

Olivia swallows, the sound audible. She blinks.

“Thanks,” she says at last. “And you don’t need to stop. I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me. The food definitely makes me feel better. I guess…” She shrugs. “I guess I’m not in the habit of accepting help. Can’t help but feel suspicious of it.”

I take a sip of coffee, eyes still locked on hers. “I want to make it clear that I expect nothing in return. Except maybe a few more chapters of My Enemy the Earl if you write them. Which you should.”

Olivia grins, the tension in her expression melting.

“We’re friends then?” she says.

I nod. “Friends with a shared appreciation for grits and good books.”

I don’t mention that I’d like to be more than that. For obvious reasons.

We settle on the stools at the island and dig into the biscuits. In true Olivia fashion, her eyes roll to the back of her head as she eats and she makes these little noises—moans of appreciation—that have me covering my lap with my napkin. I feel like I’m in eighth grade sex ed again, hiding an inconvenient hard-on underneath my desk.

If the fact that she writes passionate, angsty romance didn’t give her away, this does.

Girl’s got a sensual side.

“What is pimiento cheese?” she says, licking at a stray bit with her tongue.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Jesus take me now.

“Everyone’s got their own recipe. But the basics are shredded cheddar cheese, chopped pimiento peppers, and mayo. I add bourbon and a good handful of parmesan to mine and let it sit for a day or two. Let the flavors really meld. Always keep a quart of it on hand at home for just such an occasion.” I nod at our plates.

Olivia has already finished her biscuit sandwich. She’s using the pad of her first finger to dab at the crumbs on her plate.

“Wow,” she says, swallowing. “Eli, just…wow.”

I grab the first chapter of My Enemy the Earl and set it between us. “All right. Enough about the food. Let’s talk about Gunnar and Cate. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t give out compliments easily. I mean it when I say this is fucking good, Olivia. One chapter in, and I’m already hooked.”

“Thanks.” Using both hands, she pulls at her mouth with a napkin. Then she folds it, setting it neatly on the counter. “I’ve rewritten this first chapter a million times. I can’t ever seem to get it just right. In my head, I’m juggling character arcs, themes, symbolism. I’m thinking about what reviewers might think about this word choice or that plot point. It’s paralyzing.”

I pick up my coffee and take a sip, meeting Olivia’s big blue eyes. They’re tired and conflicted and on fucking fire.

“I’ve obviously never written a book,” I reply. “So take this with a grain of salt. But when I’m in the kitchen, whether I’m cookin’ or coming up with new recipes or whatever, I’ve learned to keep things simple. I focus on the food and that’s it. Do I enjoy making it? Do I enjoy eating it? Those are the only questions I ask myself. Everything else is just noise. Noise that I block out so I can tell my story—only I’m tellin’ it with food instead of words.”

Olivia’s eyes are still on mine as she takes this in. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head.

“But how do you block it out like that? You’re one of the few people I’ve met who genuinely doesn’t seem to care what other people think. My whole life—” Her voice catches. “Well. I’ve definitely struggled with being a people pleaser.”

“I noticed you touched on the idea of freedom a lot. The lack of it. The yearning for it.” I open the packet and flip to a passage I underlined.

But as a spinster, Cate had nothing to lose. This—flirting freely behind a mask with Gunnar Danes, like she was pretty and young and he not forbidden, not out of her reach—was fun.

It was fun being someone else, being something other than a proper lady, for a change.

“Yeah,” Olivia says, nodding. “Cate is definitely tied down by society’s rules. She’s a woman, born to a good family, so she’s got to always be ladylike. On top of that, she’s a spinster, and kind of a plain looking one at that. Back then, everyone viewed spinsters as these, like, tragic burdens on their families. So she feels this need to help out as much as possible to make up for the fact that she’s basically a loser in everyone’s eyes. She’s terrified of disappointing people, her parents especially. She tries to be well behaved and quiet and inoffensive. Even though, deep down, she’s anything but.”