Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

She grins. “Only if he promises to wear those tux pants.”

It’s obvious my family genuinely enjoys her company, too. They brighten any room. Any mood. But with Julia here, too, that brightness is almost blinding. She’s witty and real and interesting, and they can’t get enough of her thoughts, ideas, stories.

I can’t, either. I just sit and stare like a slack-jawed, lovesick jackass. Soaking up her every word and every expression. The way she puckers her lips and pulls them to the side when she’s thinking about something. How she surrenders to laughter, a whole-being exercise that involves eyes and mouth and belly.

The way her gaze always catches on mine. Like she’s feeling this too.

This.

The stupid happy certainty that you’re exactly where you should be, with exactly the right people.

Your people.

Julia is my person. At least I’d like her to be.

I am downright obsessed with this woman.

Bryce is drooling on Ford’s shoulder by the time Dad brings out a dish of his brown sugar pecan bread pudding. He retired young and took up baking to keep busy. In the years since, he’s become one hell of a scratch baker.

Bryce magically wakes up at the mention of the words ice cream. Dad piles a heaping scoop of vanilla bean onto bowls of the warm bread pudding, making the ice cream nice and melty, and passes them around the table.

Lord have mercy, Julia’s definitely going to make noises while she eats that. And I’m definitely going to spring a very inconvenient boner unless I do something about it.

Shoveling a massive bite of bread pudding into my mouth, I swallow. Clear my throat.

“So. Y’all.” I meet Julia’s eyes across the table. “Julia and I have some news.”

Julia blushes. Ford looks up from wiping regurgitated ice cream off Bryce’s foot. Mom and Dad exchange a glance.

A happy, excited glance.

Lord, please don’t let me get their hopes up just to disappoint them again.

My heart is thumping loud and clear inside my chest.

I’m scared shitless. This is the first time my parents are meeting Julia, for Christ’s sake. First time I’ve brought a girl home in years. And we’re about to announce that we’re having a baby together.

But I’m reaching for Julia’s hand and holding it in mine and doing this fucking thing anyway.

“You want to tell them?” I ask her softly.

She smiles.

Her eyes are wet.

“It’s a bit of a surprise,” she begins. “Trust me when I say no one was more surprised than we were. But Greyson and I are pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

Immediate pandemonium ensues. Mom launches across the table to wrap Julia in a hug. Dad bursts into tears and so does Bryce. She climbs into my arms, sobbing, and tells me she doesn’t want a baby but will be nice to it if I ask her to.

And you know what? As overwhelming and as loud as it all is, it’s pretty wonderful. I’ve never appreciated how non-judgmental my family is more than I do now. Julia and I don’t get any questions about getting married. No sly comments about how fast we’re moving or what idiots we are for not knowing how birth control works.

I wouldn’t blame them if they judged us. Or at least had some hesitation about the suddenness of it all. The choices we’re making.

But my family—my parents and Ford and even baby Bryce in her own way (who’s not much of a baby any more, it kills me)—trust that I’m making the right decision.

Which makes me think—makes me hope—I can trust myself.

Ford pries Bryce off of me and gives me a tight hug.

“Congrats, brother. I don’t know if you deserve Julia”—this makes her laugh—“but you do deserve to be happy.”

I meet Julia’s eyes over Ford’s shoulder. She’s crying and smiling all at once. Holding nothing in—hiding nothing—as usual.

My heart feels like it’s about to burst.

Can I do this?

Do I deserve this?

And why does my mom always ask so many damn questions?

“Oh my God y’all!” Mom is saying. “Oh my God! Bless your heart, Julia, you kept that news in all this while. I don’t know how you did it! How are you feeling? When are you due? Can I host a shower? What do you need? You’ve got to take all the leftovers tonight. Is my son cooking for you as often as he should be? Tell me your favorites, honey, and one of us will make ’em for you.”

Julia laughs, wiping away tears.

She’s glowing. Eating, too—she’s almost finished with her bowl of bread pudding and dessert, a fact my eagle-eyed father doesn’t miss.

He quietly refills her bowl. She thanks him with a smile.

I don’t have answers to my questions. I guess in a way I never will. Life will play out the way it plays out.

But I do know I want this baby. I want a family.