Southern Heartbreaker (Charleston Heat 4)

“Were you working at that gorgeous grump’s house again?” Mom asks.

“Oh yeah. And he was extra asshole today.”

I glance at Alex. “Gorgeous grump? Who’s that?”

“He’s Alex’s new client.” Mom grins. “He’s some big shot here in town who looks like—wait, who did you compare him to, mi amor?”

My sister is digging more limes out of the bottom drawer of Mom’s refrigerator. “He looks like Chris Evans but growls like Tom Hardy.”

Laughing, I say, “Sounds like a solid combo to me.”

Alex shoves the drawer shut with her knee. “Strongly disagree with you there. He’s a total nightmare to cook for. Aside from being an all-around prick, he has the palate of a toddler. He won’t even try seafood, and claims he doesn’t like onions.”

My mother gasps. I smile.

“But you still call him gorgeous.”

“Not my type,” my sister replies, grabbing a knife and slicing open a lime with more force than necessary. I take the half and juice it into the cocktail shaker. “Honestly, I can’t stand the guy.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” I reply.

She points her knife at me. “The lady doth need to get laid so she might mindeth her own business.”

While Alex hasn’t brought a ton of significant others home—neither of us have—the ones I have met have been handsome, athletic, gregarious.

This guy sounds different. Which makes me take note, as Alex hasn’t kept the others around.

“Speaking of getting laid,” she continues. “Mom was telling me that Julia and Greyson’s baby shower is co-ed. You think Ford’s going to be there?”

My gut twists at the mention of that name. I’m helping to host a baby shower for my friend Julia Lassiter in a few weeks. She’s having a baby with Greyson Montgomery, who just so happens to be brothers with Ford, the guy I dated back in college.

Ford was my first everything. First boyfriend. First love. First guy I slept with.

He was also my first real heartbreak. The kind that doesn’t leave you. Took me years to get over him.

I’m hoping—hoping—he won’t be there. But Julia said he and his brother are tight, so my prospects aren’t looking good.

“I’m not sure,” I say carefully. “Not like it matters. I’m not holding a torch for the guy or anything—it’s been, what, almost a decade since—” Since he ripped my heart out.

Alex arches a brow. “Whatever you say.”

I shake up a pitcher of strong, tart margaritas while Alex helps Mom assemble the rest of the Pastel Azteca. Dad emerges from the bedroom in fresh clothes, and together the four of us sit down to eat.

Dinner is delicious. We linger over the table for an hour. The conversation is pleasant. Alex, being a chef, offers up some ideas for my book. So does Dad.

My parents are laughing, dad pouring margaritas, mom shoveling seconds onto our plates that we happily devour. They don’t directly interact with each other all that much, but they chat plenty with my sister and I. I feel my heart swelling with gratitude.

This is the family I know and love. This is what I’ve been missing.

Still, Mom’s words haunt me on the drive home. Give an inch, and all of a sudden those inches turn into miles.

I don’t know what I’m going to do about my cookbook.

I don’t know what I’m going to do if I see Ford at the baby shower.

I definitely don’t know what I’m going to do about my parents. They’re clearly on the brink, and my mom is clearly suffering.

Seeing her hurt like that—ugh, it’s like my heart’s been tossed out a car window to skid across hot pavement. It’s physically painful.

One thing I do know? I don’t want to have kids or become a mother myself.

On a rational level, I know that I won’t necessarily end up like my mom if I have a baby one day. I’m sure there are plenty of women—men, too—who are genuinely fulfilled by parenthood. Who genuinely enjoy it, and who haven’t had to sacrifice their freedom and personal happiness to keep their families afloat.

But why risk it? Especially if I’m content with my life as it is?

It’s not only that my mom has had to give up her dreams to have kids. But becoming a parent has also trapped her in this relationship with my dad that is definitely not a happy one. She’s stuck.

And I never, ever want to be stuck like that.

Like mom said, parenthood forces you to give inches, and make sacrifices, that eventually lead to you giving up your dreams.

Giving up your shot at happily ever after.Chapter TwoEvaMy heart skips a beat when my friend Gracie parks her Jetta in front of a gorgeous red barn half an hour’s drive outside Charleston. Glancing out the window, I run my palms down my thighs.

To be honest, I haven’t thought all that much about the possibility of running into Ford at the shower today. I’ve been too busy either freaking out about my complete lack of progress on my cookbook or lending a helping hand to my mom. Whenever I have a free morning or afternoon, I try to spend it with her. Keep her occupied in the hope that having a good time will take her mind off things at home.