Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

Jane, too, wanted that, didn’t she? Tutoring the children in the village. Allowing those young women access to her father’s small but still impressive library.

Maybe she felt out of place in a ballroom. But that’s not where his life’s work was going to take place. The real work. The work that mattered.

That sort of work would take place in classrooms. Libraries. Small villages like the one just down the road.

All places Jane positively shone.

Their dreams—the big dreams, the ones that mattered—were very much the same.

Max’s hands began to shake as the idea took shape. What if he opened his library, too? Hired tutors to sit with more children from the village a few days each week? Perhaps invite them, along with their families, to sup with him at that ridiculously large table of his? The one upon which Jane had cried out his name and God’s, too, that amorous afternoon not long ago.

What if Jane helped oversee all this? As his partner. His confidante.

His wife.

What a team they would be! Her connections in the village, his in Parliament and beyond.

The difference they could make together.

Yes, it would take work. He’d have to think of ways to make her feel more comfortable amongst his set. Perhaps he might get the more progressive of his friends to help with their charitable efforts. Donations, time. Raising awareness amongst other influential people.

Whatever needed to happen, he’d do it. Because he was miserable without Jane.

Max sat down at his ducal desk. Took out paper. Ink. Quill and sand.

He got to writing. There was not a moment to spare.

Not when the woman he loved was hurting.

I draw a sharp breath. Heart racing as I look up from my dog-eared copy of My Deal With the Duke to glance out the windows opposite my bed.

I like this idea of Max’s. I like it a lot.

And I agree—holy shit I agree—that the coming together of his and Jane’s worlds could actually work.

My heart pops. Blares.

I suddenly see it. Clear as the sunshine streaming through the windows.

How the fuck did I not recognize this before?

There’s a way to mesh my world with Gracie’s. Because the circles in our Venn diagram overlap for way more than just sex.

They overlap for service. Creating community. Comfort.

Wasn’t Elijah just telling me those were the things Gracie was after when she opened Holy City Roasters? Those were the things she cares about, right? The woman raised ten grand at the opening for one of her favorite charities, for crying out loud.

And wasn’t I just telling Gracie that I wanted to create a community around the mill? Bring people back to the farm, gather people together around good food and good conversation?

Gracie and I want the same damn thing.

Of course.

Of course.

I feel like a shithead for not seeing it sooner. I could kick myself. Guess I was too wrapped up in focusing on our differences. Giving my insecurities too much leeway.

But now that that particular light bulb has turned on, it’s causing a chain reaction. One light bulb after another lights up inside my head.

Illuminating the way to our own happy ending.

Obviously that depends on Gracie giving me another chance. I totally get why she wouldn’t. Hell, I get why she wouldn’t even answer my call, much less allow me to make my grand gesture, a la Max the Duke.

Still. I gotta try. Because not only do Gracie and I share the same dream. But together, we could take that dream further—higher—than we ever could by ourselves. Because the things about myself that I thought would hold Gracie back are actually the things that would make us a good team. Elijah was right. There’s no need to compete.

No need to compete because Gracie and I complement each other instead.

She’s got her connections. I’ve got a barn and big plans.

She’s got her education. I’ve got my hands and a strong back.

She’s got coffee. And I’ve got corn.

We’ll get her fancy friends out here to the farm to raise money and awareness for causes we care about. Fill their bellies with grits and their hands with coffee mugs and create our own community made up of people who give and people who receive. One that straddles the line between downtown and down on the farm. Call it—I don’t know. Coffee and Community? Coffee and Grits?

Grits and Coffee Grinds?

That is how I bring our worlds together.

What if I can actually make it happen?

What if Gracie and I actually, truly have a shot at making a difference together?

What if we really do have a shot at the real deal?

I feel a sharp stab inside my chest. I suck in another breath, digging my fingers into the place that hurts just inside my breastbone.

My God, do I want the real deal with Gracie.

I’m just worried I fucked up too bad to make it happen. Because y’all, I fucked up bad.