Southern Heartbreaker: A Single Dad Romance Page 10

  I just have no clue how this adult dating thing works. Especially when we’re trying to keep things casual. Is the second date too soon for some light dry humping? Where should we draw the line? I don’t want to move too fast. But I can’t seem to help it when it comes to Eva. Maybe because we’ve already done this dating thing once before. We have this built-in familiarity that’s allowed us to skip the getting-to-know-you phase where you’re supposed to be polite and careful.

  If I’m being honest, it’s kind of nice. But I don’t know where that leaves us. I don’t know what’s appropriate.

  I’ll let Eva take the lead. See where we end up.

  I move my palm to the nape of her neck, trailing my thumb over the slope of her shoulder. Trailing it underneath the dark wisps of hair there.

  Her breath catches. My dick takes note.

  “I like the sound of that,” I say.

  The coast is littered with uninhabited barrier islands. I pick the closest one and head in that direction.

  Eva stands when the beach comes into view. It’s small but pristine, the firm stretch of white sand strewn with driftwood. A few intrepid trees rise out of the tall grasses a bit farther back. But otherwise, it’s just water, sand, and Carolina blue sky.

  Couldn’t have picked a better day.

  I cut the engine and anchor twenty or so yards off the beach. The rush of the ocean fills the silence, punctuated every so often by the plunk of the water against the boat.

  “Wow,” Eva says, resting her forearms on the top of the low windshield. “Ford, it’s beautiful out here. And so peaceful.”

  “Very peaceful when you don’t have a four-year-old begging you to put her swimmies on, or play Marco Polo with her,” I say with a smile. “Not that I don’t enjoy Marco Polo. It’s just nice to have some adult company out here for a change.”

  Eva grins, sliding her sunglasses up onto her head. “How about I get lunch started? I need to work a little magic before it’s ready.”

  “You do that, and I’ll take care of the beers. Have a preference? I brought a bunch of stuff from a brewery we opened a while back. IPAs, wheat beers, blondes…”

  She looks at me. Eyes flicking up to my hair. Back to my face.

  “I actually prefer brunettes. But a blonde sounds good.”

  “Now who’s being shameless?”

  “Learned from the best,” she calls over her shoulder as she heads for her bag.

  I put the shade up—it’s really hot in the sun when you’re not moving—and crack open a couple cans of the blonde. The sweating aluminum feels deliciously cold in my hands. I turn to see Eva setting up a little picnic on the table at the back of the boat. Putting her beer in front of her—“Thanks!” she says with a smile—I watch her assemble some scrumptious looking tacos.

  “Fish?” I ask.

  “Yup. My mom actually came up with the idea. She helped me make these corn tortillas from scratch. Aren’t they beautiful?” She sets three small white corn tortillas on each of the paper plates she brought.

  “They look amazing. Your mom really did make the best stuff.”

  “Still does,” Eva replies, opening a handful of plastic containers. She takes a spoon and spreads what looks like guacamole on the tortillas. “We’ll start with a little avocado mashed up with lime, red onion, and salt.”

  I glimpse at the container. “You left the avocado pits in there.”

  “A trick my mom taught me. Helps the avocado stay green longer.”

  “Genius.”

  “Then”—Eva layers blackened filets over the avocado—“I grilled up some tilefish I got from my sister’s local supplier here in town. Kept the seasoning simple. On top of that, let’s try this peach and collard slaw I threw together. Dressed in a simple mayo and lime combo that I thought was pretty delicious. Another squeeze of fresh lime, and that’s it.”

  My stomach rumbles audibly.

  “Eva, this looks insane.”

  “We’ll see. I feel very confident about my meat, but this stuff…” She shrugs, sliding a plate in my direction. “It’s a bit out of my wheelhouse. Here, sit.”

  We tap beer cans, toasting the beautiful weather and even more beautiful tacos, and then we go to town on the food.

  Well. I go to town. Eva eats slowly, sneaking glimpses at me when she thinks I’m not looking.

  I grin, wolfing down my second taco in two enormous bites. The combination of the light fish with the hearty avocado and tangy, sweet slaw, all wrapped in the toothsome tortilla, is out of this world good. No doubt I have avocado all over my face. Dressing drips down my arm. I could care less.

  Although I guess I know where Bryce gets her messy eating from.

  “You’re nervous,” I say, catching the dressing with a napkin.

  Eva chews her bite. Swallows. Grabs a sip of beer. “Well, yeah. I’ve talked to you a lot about my food. But now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever made anything for you. I definitely haven’t eaten my food with you before. Especially this kind of stuff—food that’s not, you know, some form of barbecued meat.”

  “Don’t be. Nervous, I mean.” I gather my third taco in my hand. “Eva, this is fucking ridiculous. I’ve had fish tacos before, but never like this. The homemade tortilla, the local fish, the collard slaw—it’s delicious. And different.”

  She smiles, her eyes lighting up as she scrunches her nose. “Thanks. I really appreciate that. Not gonna lie, I prepped this recipe thinking I might test it for the new cookbook. The one I can’t start for the life of me. My mom and dad and Alex are trying to help—”

  “Please tell your sister I said hi. How is she doing, by the way?” I always got along with Eva’s family. I remember Alex being hilariously inappropriate and always upbeat. She really looked up to her older sister and had a lot of respect for her intelligence. Her ambition, too. I thought that was pretty cool.

  Eva’s smile grows. “She’s good. She bitches and moans a lot these days, but that’s because I think she’s in love with one of her clients. But yeah, I’ll definitely tell her you said hello.” She takes another sip of beer. “Anyway. She and my mom seem to think trying some new stuff—out of the box ideas—might jump start my creative muse.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Me? Tough to say.” She trails the edge of her first finger up her beer can, gathering the condensation in the crook of her knuckle. “I enjoyed making all this. Mostly because I got to do it with Mom and Alex. It was fun to be in my parents’ kitchen with other people instead of standing in front of a smoker alone. But I’m known for being a pit master. I do meat. Smokers. Whole hog shit and beer can chicken on the grill. This—handmade tortillas, fish—it’s not the kind of food people expect from me.”

  I chew thoughtfully for a minute.

  “You make food that brings people together. Think about it, Eva. When you’re smoking a pork shoulder, you’re doing it for a crowd. Same as when you’re making a big batch of this ridiculous slaw. You’re making food for the moments we all crave the most. The ones we get to share with our friends and families. The people we love.”

  She pulls back, surprised. “I’ve actually never thought about it like that before.”

  “It’s true.” I reach for the tortillas and slaw. “By the way, mind if I help myself to another? Would you like one?”

  “Oh! Yes, help yourself. I’m good for now,” she replies, her smile radiating with quiet pride. “So you think this isn’t totally random? Food like this?”

  “I’d have to do a little more research on your brand before I can answer that definitively. Yeah, this food is different. I think it’s important we acknowledge that. But I also think it can still fit in nicely with your story if we spin it right. Bridge the connection between your first book and this one by applying your unique skills as a pit master to food not typically associated with that kind of cooking.”

  “Wow.” She cocks a brow. “The businessman in you is really coming out.”

 
“Turn off?”

  “No. No, not at all. A turn on, as a matter of fact. I always thought your smart was sexy. Competence porn is a real thing.”

  “Competence porn,” I say. “That sounds fun.”

  “It’s a term I learned reading romance. Which, by the way, I’m obsessed with these days. Basically refers to finding someone sexy because she or he is really, really good at what they do.”

  We lock eyes. My heart skips a beat. Body warms despite the shade and the breeze.

  “Welp. You’re a walking, talking version of that kind of porn,” I say, taking a bite of taco, and she laughs. “I like porn.”

  “I know,” she replies, and I think about the porn we’d watch together in my dorm room bed. “I do, too.”

  I grin, despite the ominous rush of blood to my groin. “I remember.”

  “By the way, you kept saying ‘we’ just then.”

  “After this?” I hold up the mangled remains of my fourth taco. “There is absolutely a ‘we’ going on here. Whatever you need from me, count me in. I can be your taste tester, your kitchen helper. Your sexy, competence-porny businessman muse who inspires you to make your very best comfort food.”

  Eva’s eyes light up. “Comfort food. Yes. That’s exactly how I feel when I eat stuff like this—comforted. Like everything is going to be okay.”

  “Like all is right in the world and life is good. In that moment, at least. And sometimes that’s all you need to get through a rough patch. I know I relied on my parents’ cooking a lot when Bryce was a baby and I had just lost Rebecca.”

  Eva looks at me, expression growing serious. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

  “Not at all.” I shake my head, finishing my bite. “Rebecca had cancer. Got diagnosed when she was pregnant with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It was aggressive, and she had to deliver Bryce early so she could get treatment. Unfortunately, it was a case of too little, too late. We lost her when Bryce was four months old.”

  “Oh my God.” She swallows. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to say except that that is really awful, and I’m really sorry. You’re an absolute rock star for not only making it through, but for being so strong for your daughter. I imagine that was tough—having to put your grief aside to take care of Bryce.”

  “Toughest thing I’ve ever done. Part of me wanted to give in to the bitterness that came with the grief. It seemed so unfair, you know? But in a way, Bryce saved me. She kept me from spiraling. From giving up. For a while, being her daddy was the only good thing in my life. And I clung to that until the grief didn’t hurt so bad. I’m her rock, but she’s mine, too.”

  Eva reaches across the table and takes my hand. Gives it a quick but firm squeeze. A squeeze I feel in my chest. I haven’t talked to another woman—one I’m dating—about Rebecca. Feels good to share this part of my story.

  Feels even better to share it with Eva. She doesn’t offer empty platitudes. Doesn’t judge or shy away.

  She just listens.

  I resist the urge to take her face in my hands and kiss her. More than ever, I feel like a fucking idiot not only for breaking up with Eva, but also for breaking up with her the way that I did. People like her—real, heartfelt, crazy intelligent people—are rare. I should’ve never let her go.

  Now it’s too late for us to be together. For a hot second I thought I might get a second chance, but now that I know she doesn’t want kids, clearly that’s not in the cards. It’s not my place to change her mind. Not on something like that.

  But damn, do I wish things were different. It hurts, knowing I fucked up the one shot I had.

  Doesn’t mean I can’t be there for Eva as a friend. Help her out with her cookbook. And if sex gets thrown into the mix—well, we’re not lovesick teenagers anymore. We can separate feelings from fucking.

  I hope we can separate the two, anyway. I’m out of practice when it comes to these things.

  “Let’s get back to this idea of comfort food,” I say. “I really like the concept for your book.”

  Eva nods. “You know, yesterday my mom actually made that grits casserole you mentioned. I felt the exact same way you described eating it—like all was right in the world. For that hour, at least.” Pulling away, she reaches for her bag and digs out her phone. “How the hell did I not think of this before? I gotta write it down. You’re right—I like the comfort food concept too. Maybe my book can be my own take on the comfort food I grew up on. The unglamorous stuff my mom made day in and day out. The stuff I now crave as an adult. More, even, than any fancy pants meal I can get at a nice restaurant. Because I have an emotional connection to this kind of food. It’s not just a meal, it’s a memory. A way of connecting with my family and friends. It’s not fancy, and it’s definitely not complicated, but it’s satisfying and filling. It fills you up in more ways than one. Wow that’s good! Jesus, Ford, you’re making lightbulbs go off left and right.”

  I wipe my hands on my napkin, yet again trying to rein in the impulse to reach for her. She’s burning with passion, with excitement, and it’s almost too much to take.

  Do I really think I can keep my feelings at bay here?

  “Lightbulbs were already going off. I’m just alerting you to the fact that they’re there, and that you should pay attention to them.”

  “Thank you.” She looks up from her phone, her thumbs hovering above the screen. “Sincerely. For talking to me about this stuff. For still being you. That’s rare too, you know. Being who you genuinely are in spite of—hell, because of—the curveballs life slings your way. You’ve changed since college, sure, but deep down, you’re still the same. Right down to the Shakespeare and the porn.”

  I curl my fingers around my beer in a death grip. Keep it together, asshole. We’re having a nice conversation over a very nice lunch. It would not be appropriate to reach across the table and rip off her shirt and lay her down on the bench and bury my face between her legs.

  Not unless she asked me to. If it’s just sex—that’s okay, right?

  I finish my beer in one, two desperate gulps.

  “Another?” I ask, holding up my empty can.

  She sets down her phone. “You know, I think I’ll stick to one for the time being. Want to let all this digest so we can take a dip in a bit. It’s kind of too hot not to be in the water, you know? Plus I can’t remember the last time I went swimming. Least of all in the ocean. I miss it.”

  Eva wants to go swimming.

  Which means she’ll be taking that shirt off.

  She’ll be wearing nothing but that bikini I glimpsed on the ride out here.

  I blink at the sound of the can crumpling in my hand.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ford

  We clean up from lunch and hang out for a bit in the shade. Satisfied that her food has had enough time to digest, Eva stands, reaching for the hem of her shirt.

  “Ready to go for a swim?”

  “Yup,” I lie. “Ready when you are.”

  I mentally prepare myself. Tell my dick to behave. This day is fucking magical, and I don’t want to ruin it with an egregiously visible boner (these goddamn board shorts hide nothing).

  I don’t think I’ll scare Eva away. I just don’t want to make things uncomfortable between us, or suggest, without saying a word, that I’d very much like to do things she may not be comfortable doing.

  Even though I find her irresistible. Her food. Her thighs. How sexy she is when she gets excited or inspired.

  She starts to tug up her shirt, and I catch a slice of tanned lower back.

  It’s enough to make my blood rush hot.

  Too hot.

  I turn and busy myself with my own shirt and flops. Need gathers in my groin nonetheless, filling me with an ache that grips me and won’t let go.

  Shiiiiit I’m getting hard despite my best efforts to keep my body in control.

  And get harder still when I turn around and see Eva shucking off her jean shorts. She’s in nothing but that black bik
ini that’s just a bunch of strings and a few tiny patches of fabric covering her tits and crotch.

  She looks fucking amazing.

  So damn amazing. Her strong legs, the sweet curve of her ass, the smooth lines of her belly. She has an athletic build, but she’s also curvy in all the right places.

  Speaking of curves. My gaze lands on her breasts. They swell out the sides of her top, and I’m hit by the memory of her dark nipples. Perfectly round. Sensitive.

  I remember she liked it when I took them between my teeth. I could almost make her come from that alone. Run the pads of my fingers over her clit a few times and she’d be writhing underneath me. Surrendering. Lost in the moment.

  I wanna keep getting lost in the moment with her. It happens so effortlessly.

  Eva straightens, and her gaze catches on my bare chest. A spark of lust ignites in her eyes.

  “Like what you see?” I pat my stomach. “Better get your fill now, sweetheart, because I’m not gonna look this way much longer if I keep gorging on your comfort food.”

  Her eyes go to my hand. She swallows audibly, her gaze trailing over my torso.

  From the flicker of heat in her eyes, she likes what she sees. A lot.

  My body goes up in flames. This thing—this pull—between us is effortless and intense. Dirty dancing with her, talking with her over the tacos she made by hand with her family—it’s like breathing the biggest breath of fresh air for me. I feel energized. Alive and present and plugged in.

  I feel like myself for the first time in ages. And that’s powerful stuff.

  Which is why I must. Get in. The water. Before I do something stupid. Like keep spilling my guts. Or tug the knot of her swimsuit top between her shoulder blades loose.

  “There’s a ladder off the back,” I say, clearing my throat. “I can put it down.”

  “I’d actually like to jump if that’s okay?” Eva asks. “Is it deep enough?”

  I glance over my shoulder at the depth finder on the dash. “Yep. Says thirty feet, so you’ve got plenty of room.”