Pierced Hearts (Southern Charmers Book 1)

by Ahren Sanders

“Dad, you’re looking a little pale.” Cole places the back of his hand on my forehead.

  “I’m good, buddy.”

  “Why don’t we give your teachers their gifts so your dad can get out of this hot auditorium?” Connie gently pulls the kids away to give me air.

  I yank the bags off the ground, ready to get the hell out of here.

  It’s then I spy it, the black card with the iridescent blue scroll. Dots, swirls, and the perfectly slanted initials DG lay in the middle of it all.

  The emblem, the brand, the unforgettable blue.

  My throat burns, my head spins, and my gut rolls over so quickly the coffee from earlier threatens to come up. The memory of the first time I saw this design assaults me.

  Darby’s spring break, senior year. She was lying on a lounge chair by the pool, and I was ready to pounce, to drag her back to our room until we left the next day. She started flipping through a notebook, and the picture caught my eye.

  I grabbed the notebook, turned back to the page, and raised an eyebrow in question.

  “It’s a sketch. I may need a brand one day,” she explained casually.

  “And the blue?”

  “That’s not just any blue. It’s a specialized blue. The kind of color that took layering and perfecting and is so unique it can’t be duplicated.”

  “Why so perfected?”

  “Because it’s the color of your eyes.”

  That was it. I’d known for a while it was going to happen, but that was when I told her. She was going to marry me.

  I swallow hard, staring at the business card until I have my thoughts remotely under control.

  “Hey, what’d y’all get your teachers this year?” Cole and Maya look at their mom for answers.

  “I picked up some of these new chocolates my boss has been raving about. They sell them at the shop by the office.”

  I jump to my feet, ripping the card, and tearing the delicate ribbons with it. “You need some cash?”

  “Are you actually offering?”

  “You usually have no problem taking my money. How much?” I try to sound normal, but the acid in my voice gives me away.

  She goes back to glaring, and I feel like a dick with my kids as witnesses. I pull a few hundred-dollar-bills out of my wallet, fold them in half, and step closer to slide the money in her hand. “Do something nice for yourself this weekend while I have the kids, Connie. Thank you for picking up the end of the year gifts.” My focus goes back to Maya and Cole. “We’ll grill with Uncle Miller tonight.”

  There are murmurs of approval as I say goodbye and ignore Connie’s inquisitive scowl.

  When I get to my truck, my adrenaline is pumping so hard I’m light-headed. The card still tucked in my hand is like a burning poker on the skin. The fucking smell fills the cab of my truck, and I know she had her hands on those packages.

  Chocolate was her specialty. That was twelve years ago.

  I haven’t touched a piece of chocolate since.

  •—•—•—•—•

  “Where are you?” Miller’s shout is amplified throughout my truck.

  “Going to be late.”

  “Why am I not fucking surprised? I thought you were going to leave this alone.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You agreed Friday night to let this shit lie.”

  “No, I drank beer and let you rant on about how this was nothing but a coincidence and trying to find her would be like opening a fatal war wound.”

  “I didn’t get through to you at all. Waste of my damn breath.”

  “Miller, this is Darby we’re talking about here.”

  Just saying her name sends a pang to my chest.

  “Nothing has ever been just Darby to you. That’s why I’m concerned. You’ve never had a clear head when it came to that chick.”

  “You used to love ‘that chick’.”

  “Loved her and then loathed her. That bitch nearly destroyed you. Leave her in the past.”

  “You ever go to the depths of hell, you’ll understand where I’m coming from. Until then, you need to back the fuck off and let me do what I need to do. If she’s in this town, I deserve to know.”

  “And then what? Chase her down like the twenty-three-year-old pussy-whipped idiot that took the abuse the first time?”

  Anger boils in my blood, and I swerve into the small parking lot to stop from turning around and heading back to the office to kick my brother’s sorry ass.

  “You’re a fucking dick.”

  “I may be a dick, but I care about you. Sometimes, the truth hurts, and you telling me about this may be the only thing that saves you from spiraling down the black hole we dragged you out of.”

  That stings. Everything about this situation slices me up inside. He doesn’t need to remind me of the past; I lived through it. I fucked up big time, and not a day goes by I’m not reminded of that. Lucky for me, I have two great kids that help ease the regret from mistakes that should have been avoided.

  “You know what she meant to me and what we went through,” I point out, grinding my teeth to keep from losing my cool.

  “Just text me when you’re on your way to a job site. I have some papers that need your signature.” The line goes dead.

  Having my older brother jump my ass is another fucking notch to add to an already shitty Monday. All weekend, my head was swimming with questions about Darby. Focus was impossible. For the first time ever, I asked Connie if I could drop the kids off early last night, lying about an early morning meeting that couldn’t be rescheduled. It was another dick move because the kids were already in bad moods. Cole didn’t like losing his video games, and Maya didn’t like getting a lecture from her dad about respecting her mom. In order to try to cover my ass, we went shopping, and I stocked Connie’s house with enough groceries to last a month.

  One look at her when she opened the door proved she didn’t believe my excuse, but she didn’t push the issue. When I got home, I grabbed the scotch, opened my computer, and spent the next four hours glued to the internet. Then I sat staring into space, drinking more than I should have, thinking about what the hell I should do.

  Every sensible thought told me to let this go. Self-preservation was at the top of the list. But my heart had other plans, and when I woke up this morning, the decision was made.

  The reminder on my phone dings, and at the same time, an older man appears at the window of the storefront, unlocking the door and propping it open for the few customers waiting outside.

  I’d hoped to be in the store alone so I could question the owner, but it looks like that’s not going to happen. The combination of curious energy and caffeine overload has my nerves jacked up when I walk in.

  Connie asked me to meet her here once for lunch at the deli tucked in the corner. That’s a small portion of the interior. The rest is floor to ceiling shelves displaying local merchandise. Anything from handmade glassware to local artwork can be found here—not my kind of place.

  It’s impossible to miss the large display cooler next to the register. Candies and treats of all kinds line the top with samples set out in front of them. My heart hammers in my chest, setting my blood rushing faster at the items in the cooler. Small, delicate, beautifully decorated petit fours are stacked thick across an entire shelf.

  My hands tingle with phantom cramps, thinking about the night Darby insisted I help her make those fucking petit fours for my mom’s fiftieth birthday party. They were a pain in my ass, and I swore I’d never do that again.

  “Can I help you?” A perky, upbeat voice slices through my thoughts, and I find a woman peering through the display at me.

  “Just browsing. My kids mentioned your new selection of chocolate. We gave them to their teachers last week.”

  “We started carrying them ten days ago. The manager cleared out this whole display after last week’s popularity. By Friday morning, we had a line out the door. It was crazy!”

  “Must be good stuff.”


  “Would you like a sample?”

  “Nah, I’m not a huge chocolate person.”

  Her eyes bulge at my statement, and it’s a full two seconds before she shakes her head in disbelief. “That’s too bad. It’s not like regular chocolate. The baker has a specialty truffle that is flying off the shelves. We got a new delivery this morning.”

  At the mention of truffle, my heart actually stops beating. The words feel like sandpaper on my throat when I force myself to ask, “Does it have a name?”

  “Funny you should ask. I figure it’s something to do with the dark chocolate. It’s Darose.”

  “Darose,” I repeat.

  Darby Rose… the name I chose the night she created it.

  “Yes, if you ever change your mind, you should try a sample. We keep them back here.”

  “I’ll remember that. How about a few of these cookies for my kids.” I don’t even know what I point to, but she nods and gets to work.

  “You can check out at the end of the counter.” She gestures to where the man who opened the door is working a register.

  “Great choice,” he says cheerfully, taking my money.

  “Can you tell me more about the baker?” The words slip past my lips before I can stop them.

  “I’ve known her family for years. She’s quite the amazing baker, and having her back—” The statement dies when he glances up, recognition dawning in his eyes. He knows who I am. His movements become flustered as he shoves the box in a bag and hands me my change. “Her website tells all you need to know.” He gazes over my shoulder to the next customer, effectively dismissing me.

  When I get to my truck, I toss the bag in the passenger seat and slam my hand to my steering wheel. Anger builds from the bottom of my soul. I dissected every section and every word on her website at least a dozen times last night. DB Creations.com caters to the business owner interested in carrying the products and the consumer interested in learning more about how to request goods. There are a few snippets of information about Darby’s background and training, never mentioning her by name. There is no personal information and specifically no mention of her leaving Charlotte and relocating her business to Charleston.

  I glared at the ‘contact DB creations’ link for an hour, stewing over sending a message. What would I say? The last time we saw each other, we tore each other apart. It was brutal and savage, her cutting me so deep I couldn’t stop myself from lashing out until we were both broken beyond repair. Then I walked away.

  When I realized my mistake and went back to grovel at her feet, ready to take any form of punishment she could dish out, she was gone.

  I’ll never forget the way her parents looked at me the day I showed up at their house. Pity, sympathy, rage, confusion—all wrapped up together. They told me she’d gone to Charlotte. She left everything—her dreams, her land, her family. More importantly, she left me.

  My pride was shattered, my heart broken, and the anger set in. Instead of going after her, I stayed. Then I fucked up, hurting a lot of people in the process, but was left with no choice but to take responsibility for my actions.

  I never tried to contact her, never apologized for the things I’d said. My life took a new turn, and I forced myself to move on. It hurt like a motherfucker, but day-by-day, I adjusted to a world without Darby.

  After all these years, who would have thought she’d return? But now, I have my definitive answer, which my gut already knew.

  Darby Graham is back.

  Chapter 2

  Darby

  “We have the weirdest parents on the planet.” The dregs of sugar at the bottom of my glass make me gag. “And this is the last glass of sweet tea I drink forever.”

  “Heard both of those statements before.” Evin leans back in his chair, tilting it on two legs and perching his feet on the table in an art he perfected a long time ago. I tried it twice and, both times, landed ass back, embarrassed as hell, and one time with a knot on my head.

  “Why do two people who love each other this much get divorced?”

  It’s the same question I’ve had since I was twenty-five and my parents announced they were getting a divorce. I was in Charlotte and cried for three weeks before my mom and dad showed up together to explain. They never really set me clear, but I had to accept it. Since then, they have continued to not only be best friends and awesome parents, but they grew suspiciously closer. Proof of that is playing out in front of me as Dad guides Mom across the living room floor, holding her close as they dance. He swears it’s the best therapy for her.

  She agrees.

  They talk softly, huddling close, and he holds her injured hip delicately. Edward Graham loves my mother, and she loves him, so why aren’t they still married?

  “I have a bar in the shed. Can we make a run for it?” I whisper.

  “Lead the fucking way.” His chair hits the floor hard, thudding as we stand.

  “Ed, I think our children are trying to get away from us.” Mom tosses her head our way.

  “Let them go. I’ll get you to bed safely.” Dad winks at me.

  I race outside the back door, my brother on my heels. Once we are safely inside the shed, I scream, “Make it stop!!!”

  “Where’s the booze?” is all I get out of him.

  “Everywhere. Full liquor bar set up in the corner, and cold beer and wine are in the fridge.”

  “Where do I start?”

  “How about pouring me a glass of wine? Get what you want.”

  “I’ll open the Pinot if you get this straggler off of me.”

  I notice Runner is now full–up on his hind legs, paws on Evin’s chest, and begging for attention. My poor brother is still in his work slacks and shirt, and my dog’s breathing doggy breath with drool. I can’t help but curl over in hysterics, laughing and clapping until my baby pushes him away and pounces on me.

  Runner licks, cuddles, and wrestles until I have him half-pinned to the ground, shaking him like a ragdoll. He woofs in approval, lapping his tongue everywhere.

  “He needs finishing school.” Evin stands over me with two glasses of wine, watching with amusement.

  “He has me. I’m as finished as they come.”

  “If you say so. Meet you on the deck.” He steps over us, opening the door and whistling loud. Runner perks up, barely glancing at me for approval, and takes off outside.

  I haul my ass off the floor, grab the bottle, and meet my brother on the deck. My butt hits the seat next to his, and I take the wine glass, almost inhaling the whole thing with the first gulp.

  “Bliss.” I exhale.

  “She’s not stupid,” Evin says.

  “I know, but considering she shouldn’t drink on her meds, I don’t want to rub it in her face. She’s dying for a glass of wine, and Dad has explicitly told me he forbids it. I’m not getting in the middle of it. Plus, if she wants to judge my liquor lifestyle, she can bring her ass down the steps, across the lawn, and into the shed to ask me for a drink.”

  He chuckles, toasting my glass lightly. “Good to have you home.”

  “Thanks.”

  “She is better when you’re here.”

  “That’s questionable since she has critiqued every healthy meal fixed, quaffed at my attempt to do therapeutic yoga, and blown off the spa baths. She only shows appreciation when I bring home all my left-over items from the bakery.”

  “It’s her way.”

  “I do kinda like being around. I’ve missed this place.”

  “It’d be nice if you stuck around.” The good-natured mood of our conversation changes.

  “I’m here for now.”

  “You’re not fooling anyone, Darby. Sneaking out at four-thirty in the morning while it’s still dark to go to work. The bakery is so hidden and non-descript no one knows it exists. Having your supplies delivered here and hauling them into town by yourself. Hiring a different delivery driver that meets you around the corner. Then sneaking back and hiding out with Mom until it’s time for be
d. It’s been three weeks, and you act like a fugitive on the run.”

  “You’re being overly dramatic. I’ve always worked early because most of my deliveries need to be in the stores when they open. All the rest is schematics. It’s called being efficient. And I don’t hide out with Mom. I use my afternoons for my administrative business, and I like having her company. My contracts have specific outlines on my expectations.”

  “That may have been true in Charlotte, but I know for a fact you aren’t signing contracts here. The stores you’re working with have week-by-week agreements. I heard someone in the bank talking about how Mr. Rosen is dying to get your products in his restaurant.”

  “We’ve spoken. I can’t overextend my capabilities right now. He wants daily desserts, and that’s too much of a strain.”

  “Hire someone. Hell, hire two people part-time. You have the business in the pipeline that will justify the additional overhead.”

  “I’m not ready to take that on.”

  “No, you’re not ready to make the commitment, which leads me back to asking, how long are you staying?”

  I swig the rest of my wine, refill it, and try to find a way to answer him diplomatically. “I’m staying as long as Mom needs me.”

  “Mom’s fine, Darby. You knew that the day you blew out of town. Home health was set up, therapy was scheduled, and she has a huge network here.”

  “I felt like she needed me. Why the inquisition? You’re being borderline rude and kinda intrusive into my business.”

  “I’m not intrusive; I’m honest. When you came home, I made the decision to sit back and see how this was going to play out. But I don’t like the way you’ve secluded yourself. It’s not healthy.”

  “It’s fine. No deadlines, no pressure, easy to enjoy lifestyle. This is invigorating.”

  “You’re a fucking liar. Two months ago, you would have gawked at the idea of being a social hermit. Your social life was exhausting.”

  “There you go.” I tip my wine to him to make my point. “I’m no longer exhausted.”

  “Don’t take us for fools. We see right through your charade.”

  “There is no charade. I signed a lease on a bakery space, for God’s sake.”