Southern Seducer: A Best Friends to Lovers Romance
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Southern Seducer
A North Carolina Highlands Novel
Jessica Peterson
Contents
Also by Jessica Peterson
Follow Me, Y’all!
Email
1. Annabel
Email
2. Annabel
3. Beau
Email
4. Annabel
5. Beau
6. Beau
Email
7. Annabel
8. Annabel
9. Beau
Email
10. Annabel
Email
11. Beau
12. Annabel
Email
13. Annabel
14. Beau
15. Annabel
Email
16. Beau
17. Beau
18. Beau
Email
19. Annabel
20. Annabel
21. Beau
Email
22. Annabel
23. Annabel
24. Beau
Email
25. Beau
26. Annabel
27. Beau
Email
28. Beau
29. Annabel
30. Beau
Email
31. Annabel
32. Beau
33. Beau
Email
34. Annabel
35. Beau
36. Annabel
37. Beau
38. Beau
Email
39. Annabel
Epilogue
Afterword
Southern Charmer Excerpt
Also by Jessica Peterson
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Jessica Peterson
THE CHARLESTON HEAT SERIES
The Weather’s Not the Only Thing Steamy Down South…
Available for FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat #1)
Southern Player (Charleston Heat #2)
Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat #3)
Southern Heartbreaker (Charleston Heat #4)
THE FLINGS WITH KINGS SERIES
Royal. Ridiculously Hot. Totally Off Limits…
Available for FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Royal Ruin (Flings With Kings #1)
Royal Rebel (Flings With Kings #2)
Royal Rogue (Flings With Kings #3)
THE STUDY ABROAD SERIES
Studying Abroad Just Got a Whole Lot Sexier…
A Series of Sexy Interconnected Standalone Romances
Read Them All for FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Lessons in Love (Study Abroad #1)
Lessons in Gravity (Study Abroad #2)
Lessons in Letting Go (Study Abroad #3)
Lessons in Losing It (Study Abroad #4)
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Published by Peterson Paperbacks, LLC
Copyright 2020 by Peterson Paperbacks, LLC
Cover by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs
Photographer: David Wagner
Cover Model: Alex Prange
Editor: Marion Archer
Line Editor: Taryn Lawson
Copy Editor: Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies
Proofreader: Karen Lawson
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at jessicapauthor@jessicapeterson.com.
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
www.jessicapeterson.com
Created with Vellum
For Grace
And for Dr. R., who pulled me aside and told me a truth I needed to hear but didn’t want to. That was a hard day, but it was the day I began the journey back to myself. Thank you.
To: Annabel Rhodes (ARhodes@unc.edu)
From: John Riley Beauregard (JRBeauregard@unc.edu)
August 22, 2003 3:01 AM EST
Subject: Nice meeting you
Hi Annabel,
This is Beau, the guy you met at the football party tonight. Like a jerk, I forgot to ask for your number. So I looked up your email in the student directory, and now I’m emailing you at 3 AM because 1) I can’t sleep, 2) Chapel Hill is a big place and I would hate not to see you again, and 3) I really liked talking to you. I hope this doesn’t weird you out. But I figured fuck it, maybe the girl who talks poetry and porn with equal passion will appreciate me being up front. Pretty sure you enjoyed the convo as much as I did. No one can pontificate on Pirates, arguably the best pornography ever made, quite like me. Although, per your request, I’ll try wearing a shirt next time. Or maybe I won’t. Shirts are overrated (fight me).
Also. I’m sorry about your parents’ separation. You only mentioned it in passing, but I get the feeling you’re beat up about it.
So, yeah. Hope you don’t think I’m a stalker, but I’d love to see you again sometime. Maybe without a house full of drunk dudes interrupting us. We could talk more about your family? Or those big dreams you have of changing the world and living that fancy AF life. Or porn. Whatever you want. Name the place and time and I’ll be there. First, though, I’m gonna need that number.
Beau
PS: Sorry you had to see that guy puke in the washing machine.
PPS: Can I borrow the Donna Tartt book you were talking about?
Chapter One
Annabel
Present Day
“I think you’re depressed.”
Meeting the pediatrician’s eyes, the tightness in my throat becomes acute. The baby, squirming in my mom’s arms beside me, lets out a wail.
The tears I’ve been holding back all morning finally spill over.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit. I didn’t want to lose it today. I wanted to keep it together for Maisie’s four-month checkup. Show, well, I don’t know who that I can handle motherhood, and that I love it, the way everyone told me I would.
Seeing my tears, Dr. Yates gently cups my elbow. “I was waiting for those tears to happen. Come with me, Mom. Let’s talk.”
I feel my mom’s eyes follow me as the doctor takes me into an empty conference room at the back of the office. She leaves the door open, and we sit beside each other at a corner of the table.
Somewhere in the office, a baby is screaming. Younger than mine by the delicate, mewling sound of it.
My stomach clenches. I’m no longer sore from Maisie’s birth, but the weird numbness there reminds me of just how drastically my life—my body and my mind—has changed since my baby was born in November.
More tears.
“I think you’re right,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. I don’t know what will happen if I totally surrender to the overwhelm. “I don’t feel great. But I also don’t feel like, you know, I’m going to hurt my baby or hurt my
self.”
“Those aren’t the only signs of postpartum depression.” A fresh wave of tears hits me at that word. Depression. Dr. Yates hands me a tissue. “Other signs are irritability. Feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. Feeling hopeless.”
I mentally check each of those boxes. Yup, YUP, yup.
I nod. Swallowing hard, I hold the balled-up tissue against my right eye and take a breath. Then another.
“But isn’t that just…I don’t know, motherhood? Isn’t it supposed to be exhausting and overwhelming?” And awful, I silently add.
“Have you felt worse as time has passed?”
I nod again.
Dr. Yates hands me another tissue. “Then no. No, you’re not supposed to feel that way. Medication can make a world of difference for you, Annabel. It’s something you should consider.”
“I didn’t want to be the girl who got postpartum.” Just like I didn’t want to be the girl who had an emergency C-section.
So far, nothing about parenthood has gone to plan. Which, for a perfectionist like me, has been a bitter pill to swallow.
“A lot of new moms experience it,” Dr. Yates says. “The statistics tell us ten to twenty percent have clinical depression, but I’d say that number is higher. You are not alone in how you’re feeling. I want you to get the help you need.”
My throat loosens. Just the tiniest bit.
“I do want to be a good mom. I’m grateful Maisie is healthy and growing. We’re lucky in so many ways, I just—I’m trying. So, so hard. And I still feel like I’m drowning.”
“Of course you are. Let’s not forget you’re a single parent, Annabel. But that’s not the only reason you should get help. You should do it for you, too, because how you feel matters. Becoming a mother doesn’t change that.”
Ugh, more tears.
“I know you’re right.” My voice is thick. “But that’s not the message we’re given. As mothers, I mean.”
Dr. Yates gives me a wry look. “You too? You’re struggling to be the perfect mom the world tells us we’re supposed to be? I mean, c’mon. How the hell are we supposed to exclusively breastfeed our kids while working out around the clock to bounce back supermodel style while also leaning into our fulfilling careers?”
I laugh. It feels good, and the tears start to slow.
“No wonder women feel bad about themselves,” I say.
“No kidding. The expectations put on us—”
“That we put on ourselves, too.”
“Right. They’re ridiculous. I know you feel like you’re doing everything wrong at the moment, but my gut feeling is you’re probably not. Try really hard not to believe the lies you’re telling yourself, because given how healthy Maisie is, you’re obviously doing something very, very right. And no one will ever be able to love your baby girl as well as you do. But to take care of Maisie, you need to take care of yourself first. Give your OB a call and get those meds. Definitely worth talking to a therapist as well. I promise that it gets better. I had two colicky infants who are now ten and thirteen. For the first few months, I thought I was going to die. Seriously, it was that bad. But by the fourth month, we were on the upswing, and at five and six months, it was actually fun. You’ll get there. Shoot me a message in a couple of weeks to let me know how you’re doing, okay?”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you. Sincerely.”
“And don’t be afraid to lean on your support network. Family, friends—anyone who can help and who makes you happy, keep them around. You don’t need me to tell you that being a single parent isn’t easy. But maybe I do need to tell you not to be afraid to ask for help. The people who love you will be more than happy to lend a hand.”
I think of my mom and send up a silent prayer of thanks that I have her. When I decided to have a baby on my own at thirty-five, she didn’t bat an eye. She’s been by my side from the start. My dad has, too, even though I’m not nearly as close with him.
I think of my good girlfriends here in Charlotte. Namely Mandy and Shannon, who have not only provided tons of helpful mom advice but also a shoulder to cry on when things get really tough. When Maisie was born, they brought me food, wine, and vitamin E oil for my C-section scar, and for that, I will be forever grateful.
And then, randomly, I think of Beau. My best friend from college, and the guy I’ve leaned on for years. Career moves, breakups, fuckups—Beau and I have been through it all together. He’s always had my back, and I’d like to think I’ve always had his.
I haven’t talked to him much recently. He came to see Maisie right after she was born four months ago, but ever since, we’ve both been busy. But I suddenly feel a sharp pang. I miss him.
I’ve always been pretty hard on myself. But Beau never judges me for what I do or how I’m feeling.
I could use that kind of medicine right now.
That, and apparently some therapy and antidepressants.
If motherhood has taught me one thing, it’s that it sure as hell isn’t for the faint of heart. Now, more than ever, I need all the help I can get.
A few days later, I text Beau while I’m waiting for my prescription to be filled at the pharmacy.
Annabel: I’m standing beside the condom aisle at Walgreens. Kind of wishing I’d used one right now. Thinking of you. How are things? How’s Gretchen?
Beau: Condoms got you thinking of me? Good or bad thing? Get your mind out of the gutter.
Beau: Just kidding, pls keep it there. Also, why would you use a condom on a turkey baster?
Annabel: Fair point. And you know my mind is always in the gutter.
Beau: Pervs unite. Things here are fine. Dare I ask how you’re doing? Or is staring longingly at condoms in a Walgreens a fair indication of where you’re at?
Annabel: You know me too well.
Beau: I know you best. Talk to me.
Annabel: I’m not here for the condoms, sadly. I’m here to pick up antidepressants. Doc diagnosed me with postpartum depression. Pretty bummed about it.
Immediately my phone starts to ring. I smile at the picture of Beau and me that lights up the screen, which weirdly makes my throat tighten all over again. It was taken after Green Bay won the Super Bowl and he flew his family and me to Disney World. The two of us are wearing Mickey Mouse ears and Pirates of the Caribbean shirts (inside joke). Beau is grinning his handsome grin. But I look like a lunatic: body blurred, mouth wide open, eyes lit up. Beau was making one of his dirty puns, and I can recall with perfect clarity just how ferocious that laugh was.
A bittersweet reminder of better times.
“Hey,” I say, answering his call even though there’s a very good chance I’m going to start crying when I hear his voice.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Bel.”
He’s the only person who calls me that.
The familiar, low rumble of his voice, coupled with the warmth of his Southern accent, makes my heart clench and my eyes burn.
I dart for the chairs that line the wall beside the pharmacy and sit in the one farthest from the counter. Thankfully, the place is empty, but I still cup my hand over the top half of my face to hide my eyes.
“It sucks,” I manage, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, I knew I was struggling. But to be told—just the word—” I inhale sharply, tears leaking down my throat. “I don’t know if I can do this, Beau.”
“Aw,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Aw, Bel, yes you can. We’ll get through this, I promise. You’ve spent your life crushing really hard shit. You’ll crush this, too.”
I shake my head, even as my heart lifts a little. It’s nice to know someone believes in me. “I’m supposed to go back to work next week. How am I going to pull this off while feeling so shitty?”
“Tell me how you feel. Right now.”
“So tired I’m, like, a danger to other drivers on the road. And lost. And suffocated. Like I need to come up for air or something. I’m stuck inside the house with the baby a
ll day. I have no time to myself. I just—I don’t know. I need to get out.” I scoff. “I want to run away.”
“So run away.”
I scoff again. “And what, leave my baby on the front stoop of a firehouse?”
“Take Maisie with you. Why don’t y’all come up to the farm? Maybe a change of scenery will help. We’ll take good care of you—you’ll have as much five-star service as you’ll let me give you. Food, wine, spa. You name it, you got it. My treat.”
“Wait,” I start, wiping at my tears with the flat of my fingers. “Wait. Are you actually inviting me to Blue Mountain Farm? For real? Dude, last time you brought me up there, it was a construction zone.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “I told you, I wanted the resort to be finished before you saw it again. We’ve finally got it to a place we’re happy with. Plus, it’s the perfect time of year to come up to Asheville. Weather is great, and everything’s in bloom.”
“Holy shit.” One of the pharmacists looks up at me from his computer. I shrink in my chair, lowering my voice. “Beau, I’m beside myself with excitement. I wish I could do it. I really do. But work…and there’s no way I can travel with a baby right now. Not alone, especially not when I’m feeling so awful.”