Southern Heartbreaker (Charleston Heat 4)

Then again, maybe that’s what it comes down to. Making the choice that’s best for you. For some women, that’s the choice to remain childless. For others, it’s the choice to have children.

Either way, it’s the right choice as long as it’s yours.

I was so certain what my choice was going to be. But now?

Now, giggling with Bryce as we pore over pages of my cookbook (I promise to get her an apron in her size after she says she likes the ones I’m wearing in all the pictures), I think I’m changing my mind.

Can I really do the parent thing and not give up my dreams? Eliza did it. Ford is doing it. So is Julia.

Who’s to say I can’t do it, too? What have I missed out on, being scared?

Still. The decision about whether or not to become a parent is a big one. A huge one. Am I a chump for even considering a compromise? I like my life as it is right now without kids.

I also really, really like Ford. And I like his daughter. A lot.

I can see myself ending up with him. With them. As part of their family.

I can also see myself continuing on the path I’m following right now. No kids, and all the freedom in the world to pursue my dreams.

But what if my dreams are changing? What if one of them is having a family of my own?

Then again, things may be great now. But what will happen when shit goes wrong? The way it did with my family? Things were fine until Mom had to sacrifice her career altogether when Alex lost her shit in high school.

Who’s to say the same thing won’t happen to me down the road?

Who’s to say it will? I remember what Ford said—that bit about trusting the universe. What’s the right call here?

So many questions. I’m starting to think I might have the answers. Answers that I wasn’t at all expecting. But I’m still not ready to make that call.

I’m moving toward making a decision. I’m just not ready to pull the trigger quite yet, though.

But I am ready to get Ford alone. Any way that I can.

Maybe working off some of this nervous energy with a backseat quickie will help clear my mind. I want to give him a proper thank you for everything he did to make today so special.

I want to be with him. Because even though all this angst I’m feeling has to do with him, I know he’ll make me feel better.Chapter NineteenFordMy family and I stay behind to help clean up when the tasting is over. Loading up Mr. Lacy’s truck with empty platters, I finally allow myself to admit that I’m probably—most likely—aw, fuck, definitely—in love with Eva Lacy.

Again.

For the same reasons I fell for her the first time, and some new ones, too.

Namely, how fearless she is. And talented. And good with my daughter.

I keep having days like this—fun, careless days where I eat so much and laugh so much my ribs hurt—whenever I’m with Eva.

There’s a pattern here. One I do not want to break.

But it’s gonna have to break. Same as my heart.

God, I hope she doesn’t break my fucking heart. To be fair, it’s only what I deserve after breaking hers. Despite the fact that she’s told me she can’t make any promises, I want her, I want us to be together, I want her in my life.

I want to make the ultimate promise to her.

I shove the back doors shut and the old truck rocks, its axle creaking. Could I be more of an idiot? I’m always so careful in everything that I do. My job is literally to make sound decisions based on thorough research that will lead to desirable outcomes.

Being a freewheeling jerk-off is not in my repertoire.

To my credit, I started the day with the intention to keep things fun, like Eva and I agreed. The intention to be patient, like Grey said. But then I saw her smile and her legs. I saw her beautiful, lovingly crafted food. I saw her nerves and her uncertainty melt into laughter with my daughter at her side.

I saw a spark ignite in Bryce’s eyes when Eva helped her with the glitter, and when she agreed to teach Bryce how to make Mrs. Lacy’s insanely addictive macaroni.

I knew then I was totally, completely fucked.

I knew I wanted to fuck Eva more than I wanted my next breath.

I sink down onto the rust-encrusted bumper, raising my arm to wipe my forehead on my sleeve. I need to take my brother’s advice and cool my jets. As much as I want to see her again, and feel the way I do when I’m around her, someone has to be the adult in the room.

“Ford, baby, is that you? We’re just about finished up inside.” My mom ducks her head around the truck. She furrows her brows when she sees me. “You all right?”