Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

Gracie comes to stand beside me, reaching down to twine those fingers with hers.

“Y’all mind if I steal him for a minute?” She looks up at me. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Go on,” Mama says, waving us off. “We won’t notice if you disappear into the bathroom.”

“Together.”

“In the same stall.”

“Mama.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m tryin’ to behave, I just—it makes me so happy seeing you two together.”

Gracie grins, still looking at me. “Long time coming, no?”

“Oh, I bet there’s coming allr—”

“Goodbye,” I say, steering Gracie away from my mamas and their pervy jokes. “Sorry about that. They promised to quit with the jokes, but—”

“You know I don’t mind it,” Gracie replies easily.

I hold out the flowers. “For you. From Mama’s garden. We agreed you were a peony kinda girl.”

“I am a peony kinda girl. I love them. They’re beautiful.” She takes them in her free hand and gives ’em a sniff. “And they smell delicious. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Dang do I love when she calls me that.

She passes the flowers off to a woman in an apron, telling her to put them in water. Then Gracie gives my hand a tug. “C’mon. I’ve been sitting on this secret all week, and I can’t wait to share it with you.”

I arch a brow. “Secret? What kinda secret?”

“One you’re gonna like.”

She’s got this twinkle in her eye now. Like she’s bubbling over with excitement.

Gracie leads me toward the kitchen door. She stops in front of the buffet table. A chef comes through the door and sets down a tray of gorgeous food in the last remaining square of space on the table.

Everything smells divine.

My pulse skips a beat when I see these little porcelain spoons that are filled with what looks like shrimp and grits. Beside them, there’s bite sized grit cakes topped with chopped tomatoes and a dollop of something creamy. And then shot glasses filled with what looks like some kind of soup—the tented label beside them says Gouda Grits with Creamed Collards and Bacon.

The grits in all the dishes are a particular shade of rich, earthy yellow.

A shade I immediately recognize.

There’s another label in the center of the table. This one is larger, and written in curling blue calligraphy. I pick it up.

Grits and Produce Provided by Luke Rodgers of Rodgers’ Farms

I look at Gracie. Look at the label. Look at the food.

Then look at Gracie again.

Her smile is so big it makes the edges of her eyes crinkle.

My insides contract.

“Gracie.” I keep my voice low. “What did you do?”

“I made a grits bar with your grits. Well. Eli really made the grits. But I came up with the idea.”

I blink. My pulse is thundering so loudly in my ears I feel like I’m going to pass the fuck out.

“I don’t know what to say.”

She squeezes my hand. “Don’t say anything. Your goods will speak for themselves.”

I turn my head to look at her. “Pervy girl.”

I’m in love with you, and I think I’m gonna die from it.

“Learned it from your mamas,” she replies.

Always so quick.

Leaning in to kiss her, I say, “Thank you. This is way too thoughtful. Way too generous, too. Y’all outdid yourselves.”

“You’re welcome,” Gracie says. “I do have one request.”

“Anything.”

Her gaze flicks to the front of my jeans. “Show me the other goods later. After the party. Maybe in the alley behind—”

“Jesus Christ. For real, y’all—I’m gonna go play in traffic if you don’t stop saying shit like that while eye fuckin’ each other in front of me. I know you’re together, but this kinda dirty talkin’ in public is above and beyond.”

Eli has appeared behind the table. Arms crossed. Glowering at us.

“Coming from the guy who’s always pawing his girlfriend in front of everyone,” Gracie teases. Dimples more charming than ever.

I look at Elijah. “You made all this? With my grits?”

“I did. But now you’re making me regret it,” he growls. Nods at Grace. “We’re hopin’ to spread the word about what you’re doing over at Rodgers’ Farms. There’s gonna be a lot of people here tonight. We know you got big plans for your grits. Maybe some of those people can help you make those plans happen.”

My heart pounds. Once. Twice. Emotion rising up in me, clogging my throat.

“I’m overwhelmed,” I manage.

Eli’s expression softens. “You been workin’ hard, brother. Gracie and I really believe in what you’re doin’. I don’t think you’ll have any problem catching some attention with these grits tonight.”

“My biggest investor is going to be here,” Gracie says. “And then a few people from the restaurant group that helped Eli fund the The Pearl. We’ll make sure they get a taste of your goods.”

“Grace,” Eli says.

“Sorry,” she says. Not sounding sorry at all.

“Anyway.” Eli turns back to me. “When you got all these restaurants like mine clamorin’ for locally grown, small batch produce and the like, your plan makes sense. There’s a huge untapped market for grains like yours. No doubt you’ll have investors handin’ you money left and right to make it happen.”