Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

The butterflies are back. In my stomach. My chest. My throat as I take in this mostly nude man and his ambitious plan to build a community around his stone ground grits.

I had no idea his plans were this deep. This thoughtful.

This wild.

Wildness—that’s what Luke makes me feel. Wildly adored. Wildly aroused.

Wildly, insanely inspired.

I move to stand beside him. Elbows brushing.

“Luke,” I breathe. “You have to.”

He reaches over and curls a hand around the nape of my neck. “Have to what?”

“Do it. All of it. The retail and the restaurants and the market. I think it’s a fucking amazing idea. No one else is doing it. And there’s nothing in the area like it—a guy milling his own grits from locally grown corn and selling them right on the farm where it all goes down. Like you said, people down here appreciate good food. They appreciate local suppliers and like to support them. I’m all about building community—as you know—and I feel like you got a real shot at it here.” I cross my arms, ideas already starting to percolate. “Maybe you could start with a stand at the Farmer’s Market in Marion Square downtown. That always draws a good crowd. Start getting your name out there. Show up shirtless if you really want to get some attention.”

Luke smiles. “I ain’t too proud.”

I give him a slow, intentional perusal. Up and down. Down and up.

“You’d have a dedicated clientele, that’s for sure. So yeah. You do that for a while with the goal of maybe creating your own farmer’s market out here. You could be open a few mornings a week. Nothing too crazy that you’d have to staff all the time. Just enough to have that face to face interaction with people—do some hand selling. I think that’s why I have such dedicated customers over at Holy City Roasters. I still spend as much time as I can putting in that face time. I genuinely love interacting with people. Getting to know them.”

“Right,” Luke says. “And now they feel like they have this personal connection to you and your business. It’s what sets you apart from, say, a Starbucks.”

I nod. “Exactly. I greet people by name when they come into my store. I think stuff like that goes a long way. And I think you’d be really, really great at it.”

Luke gives my neck a squeeze. Making my blood rush a little hotter. “Dang, girl, you’re an easy sell.”

“You’re not that hard to root for. How can I help?”

“Help?” He raises his brows. “You don’t gotta help me. Like I said before, I just wanted to pick your brain for a bit. You already gave me plenty of good ideas.”

I nudge his side with my elbow. Bare skin against bare skin. He’s so…thick. Solid.

If anyone could move mountains—move literal tons of the world’s best grits in an effort to create a space of gathering, of comfort—it’s this guy.

“You’ve done more than pick my brain,” I tease.

His eyes search mine. “Can you blame me?”

“Let me help you. Any way that I can—I’m here, Luke. Seriously.”

He’s still looking at me. Smell of his skin all around me. Air between us thrumming with hopes and dreams and decisions yet to be made.

Decide.

It’s time to decide.

Although I’m starting to think I made my decision the day Luke told me my crush on him hadn’t been so unrequited after all.

Or maybe I made it the day we met almost a decade ago.

No telling when. How. Where.

All that matters is the why. And this right here—Luke’s patience, his passion—is a pretty damn great why.

“You kiddin’?” he says at last. “Gracie, I’d be honored to have your help. I know you’re fuckin’ great at this stuff. Thank you, baby. It’s way too generous of an offer.”

I lift a shoulder. “After everything you’ve given me? Least I can do. Rodgers’ Farms deserves a real shot, and we’re gonna give it one.”

“I’m workin’ on it.”

But I don’t want him to just work on it. I want him to make it happen.

We have to make this happen.

There are no guarantees when it comes to opening your own business. But my gut is telling me that, given the chance, Luke could turn this place into something really special.

“I see how much care and thought you’ve put into this farm,” I say. “You love it. And for good reason. It’s perfect as it is right now. But if you take it to the next level—Luke, I can already tell it would be spectacular.”

His expression softens. “My touch is that dang powerful, huh?”

“Yes,” I reply matter-of-factly. “I would know.”

Luke’s squeezing my neck again. He groans.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re killin’ me is all. At this rate, we’re never making it to dinner. And I wanna feed you before…” His eyes darken. “Let’s go back to the house. I’ll put a shirt on.”