Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

“And we’ll be on our best behavior.” Gwen nods. “If tonight’s important to you and Gracie, it’s important to us. We’re just happy to be a part of it.”

Gracie, being the awesome, thoughtful human being she is, somehow managed to remember my mamas in the midst of her chaotic week. She called Mama and personally invited her and Gwen to the opening.

Now it’s my job to make sure Gracie doesn’t regret that decision.

“We’re happy for you,” Mama says. “I could tell there was somethin’ different about you ever since we ran into Gracie down at the farm the other night. You’ve been…”

“Smiling more.”

“Laughing.”

“You’re happy,” Gwen says. “You’ve always been a kind, easygoing soul, Luke. But we can see it in your eyes, son—you’re downright joyful.”

They’re right.

I know they’re right. Everyone’s commented on the change. Eli picked up on it first thing Monday when I made my delivery to The Pearl. Even the guy at the carwash asked me what I was smoking and if he could buy any.

Hanging a left onto Morrison, I take a deep breath. Let it out.

I’m being stupid. Letting some random nerves ruin my night. This is gonna be fine.

Gracie and I are gonna be fine.Chapter Twenty-EightLukeFlowers in hand, I hold the door for my mamas. Then I step into Holy City Roasters behind them.

My heart seizes inside my chest. For a second I can’t breathe.

“My word,” Gwen says. “Would you look at this place?”

Mama’s got her head tilted back, admiring the star-shaped glass pendants hanging from the ceiling.

“It’s magical. You know who would like this?”

Gwen thinks on it for a minute. “Elena and Stefan.”

“Yes!” Mama exclaims. “Can’t you just see them slow dancing underneath these lights?”

“Until Damon comes and ruins everything.”

“Ugh, I love when Damon ruins things.”

Sliding my free hand into my front pocket, I can’t help but smile. “Don’t hate on Damon. He’s one of my favorite characters from Vampire Diaries.”

Gwen grins. “You always did love that show.”

“You know I got a thing for vampires.”

We’re early, but people are already starting to fill the shop. Mama was right—it is magical. At least twice its original size, it’s a classy, sexy, cozy spot. You wouldn’t know that, forty-eight hours ago, Gracie was running around in tears because the painters accidentally painted the brick wall that was supposed to remain exposed.

It’s a big space, done in light, bright whites and wood tones. The new counter stretches the length of the building, the pastry case beside it filled with all kinds of amazing looking goodies. I spot the cupcakes Gracie brought over—the ones with the rhubarb frosting. Guess she put them on the main menu.

I feel a happy nudge in my chest.

There are cocktail tables spread out across the room, with a bar back by the windows. A flurry of men and women in white chef’s jackets stream in and out of the kitchen door, setting dishes on what looks like some kind of buffet table perpendicular to the bar.

It’s a success.

The opening hasn’t even happened yet, and already this party—this place—is a goddamn success. Because it’s so Gracie. I see her everywhere. In the funky decor. The cafe tables that are big enough for her laptop-loving customers to spread out on. The smiles on the faces of everyone I see.

The detail. Nothing overlooked. Not a thing out of place or out of touch.

Still can’t breathe.

I am so damn proud of my girl I cannot fucking breathe.

Gwen slips her arm through mine.

“She’s a keeper,” she whispers. “Don’t let this one go.”

“Should we get a drink?” Mama asks, motioning to the bar.

I follow them across the room, looking for Gracie.

I find her by the far side of the counter. Giving instructions to someone wearing a Holy City Roasters apron.

I don’t want to interrupt. So my mamas and I sip on the evening’s signature cocktail while I wait for Gracie to finish.

I don’t rightly know what a signature cocktail is, but I do know it’s delicious—an espresso-infused bourbon milk punch.

When Gracie does finish, she immediately looks around the room.

She’s looking for someone.

Her whole face lights up when she finds me.

She greets the three of us with a dimply Hey, y’all!, thanking my mamas for coming. She’s gracious and beautiful and for several heartbeats I can only look at her, wondering what good deed I did in this life to deserve someone like her.

She’s wearing a blue sequin skirt and heels. This skintight black tank-top thing that makes her tits look great and shows off her proud, strong shoulders.

She’s laughing at a melon joke Mama made.

Maybe I don’t deserve her.

Can’t help but think it as I watch her move.

I have never been mesmerized by the way someone moves in the world before.

But here I am, transfixed. Standing like an idiot with my flowers and my stupid scrunchy hair.

My fingers itch for my hat.