Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

I laugh, shaking my head. “Damn. When you say it, it sounds kinda dumb.”

“That’s because it is dumb. I think anyone lookin’ in from the outside would see what I do. That y’all had this intense, crazy month together where you hid from the world and—er—hung out a lot. I don’t doubt the things you shared and felt together were real. I don’t doubt they were earth shattering.”

“I hate euphemisms,” I say glumly, tapping ash onto the blacktop.

“I hate you,” Luke shoots back. “At least I do when you’re bein’ an idiot like you are right now. Listen. Y’all had this amazing month, but it was still just a month. Thirty one days. Asking someone to commit to you after such a short time is fuckin’ wild, man. Even for you. You gotta give this girl time. You gotta make sure you want her for the right reasons, E. Honestly? I think we both know you’re clearly still grappling with the fallout from The Jam closing.” When I open my mouth to protest, he holds up a hand. “Don’t bullshit me. We been friends forever. I know you’re hurting. You just won’t admit it.”

I feel a rush of emotion. It rises through my throat and lands in my eyes.

I close them, pulling at them with my thumb and finger. I’m starting to feel dizzy from the cigar. When was the last time I ate? I can’t remember.

“What should I do?” I say quietly.

Luke puts a hand on my shoulder. “I want you to face this thing. It’s time, E. We’re all here to help you through it. And when you’re ready—when you’ve learned to get back up on your own, without using other people as a crutch—that’s when you go after your girl. Not a damn second before, you hear me? Because then you won’t need her to move in with you to feel good about yourself. You’ll be feelin’ good all on your own. And that right there is the basis of a healthy relationship.”

Tears are spilling out of my eyes now. I’m too tired to care. I let Luke see them, wiping them on my rumpled white chef’s jacket.

Luke is right. Usually is. You wouldn’t think a manwhore baseball player-slash-gardener would have much self-awareness. But my boy has it in spades.

I think about what he’s saying. I asked—practically begged—Olivia to allow herself to be vulnerable with me. But I didn’t allow myself to return the favor. To be vulnerable with her. And that, more than anything else, is what hurt our relationship.

I hate myself for letting it go so far.

“I’ll try,” I say. Then I scoff. “’Cause I’m not hurtin’ enough as it is.”

He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You are stronger than you think, chef. It’ll be worth it in the end. I promise. Think about it this way: you’re gonna become the man Olivia deserves.”

I nod, blinking. I want to ask him how I do this thing. How I begin the process of facing my failure and learning to accept it. But I know Luke. He’ll tell me I need to figure it out on my own.

Which I do. I know that.

But I’m terrified.

I look up at the sound of tires crackling on the flinty pavement. A familiar, bright red Jetta zooms into view, coming to a stop a few feet in front of us.

“Is that Gracie?” I say, peering through the gloom.

Luke jumps to his feet, almost making me jump. For the first time, I notice that he’s kinda dressed up.

Well. Dressed up for Luke, anyway. He’s usually in beat up jeans and a dirt stained t-shirt. Unless we’re at a bar, and then he’s in a clean t-shirt. Today he’s wearing nice jeans—dark denim, fitted—and a pristine white button down. A tag sticks out of the collar.

He shifts nervously on his feet as he tamps out his cigar on the side of the building.

I glance from Luke to Grace. Grace to Luke.

“It is Grace,” Luke replies, smoothing his shirt tails. “We’re, uh, meetin’ for some coffee.”

I pin him with a glare. “For fuck’s sake, please tell me that’s not another euphemism.”

“No, not at all. I’m serious, E.” He holds up his hands. “She asked me to try a new Colombian blend she’s been working on.”

“But you don’t drink coffee.”

Luke looks up at Grace and smiles. I look up to see her waving back.

“I do now.”

Lord have mercy.

Luke is a good man. But he’s definitely the love ’em and leave ’em type. The idea of him doing that to my baby sister—

Well. I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit. If Grace is into that kind of thing, then fine. Well, not fine. I don’t want her getting hurt. But she makes the rules. She’s an independent, grown ass woman. She’s smart. Way smarter than I ever was. She can do what she wants.