Immediately flavor explodes in my mouth. The buttery-ness of the rice against the smoky-sweet flavor of the sausage is insane. Chicken is perfectly done, salty and juicy. Veggies are melt-in-your mouth amazing. Even the salad, simple baby greens lightly dressed in Greyson’s white balsamic vinaigrette, is restaurant quality.

It’s delicious and satisfying in a way I can’t quite describe.

“You’re doing it again,” he says.

“Doing what?”

His gaze slips to my mouth. “Making noises while you eat.”

“I can’t help it. This is fucking insane, Greyson. Like, the best thing I’ve eaten since I found out I was pregnant.”

He scoffs, shoveling a huge forkful of rice into his mouth. “I wouldn’t go that far. But thank you.”

Thunder rumbles overhead.

“Seriously.” I nudge him with my elbow. “You’re clearly good at this—cooking.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Does it make me sound like a jerk if I am? I always took you for the kind of guy who lived off raw kale and the souls of innocent children.”

He shoots me a look, sipping his wine. “I mean, yeah, I devour plenty of that stuff, too. But I do like to cook. It’s actually what spurred my decision to get into the hospitality industry.”

I pull back. “Really?”

I’d always assumed Greyson did what he did for the money. The prestige. The excuse to wear thousand dollar suits.

But it’s apparent that I’m quickly becoming the poster child for that adage—the one about assuming making an ass out of you and me.

“Really. I started my career in investment banking. Knew it wasn’t for me, so I went back to business school. Ended up working at a venture capital firm in Silicon Valley after I graduated, which was cool. But it was focused on tech, an industry I wasn’t crazy about. And I always knew I wanted to end up back here in Charleston at some point. Be close to my family and everything. I also knew I loved food. Eating it, mostly, but making it, too. Talking about it, sharing it, doing interesting stuff with it. Those things I am crazy about. So I saved my pennies, worked on building a small stable of investors, and eventually took the leap with Ford to found the firm.”

My heart skips a beat.

So Greyson loves food and family.

Two things I never would’ve guessed. Although the pieces are starting to click together now. Him working with his brother. The pictures of his niece in the hall. His grandmother’s recipe.

Maybe that explains his dedication—often extreme and very often annoying—to his work.

Maybe it’s about family rather than fortune.

And that kind of changes everything, doesn’t it? Who he is.

How I feel about him.

I’m attracted to this man. Have been since we met. But now I’m really, really intrigued by him, too.

I want to know more. Maybe because we’re starting a family together—well, our version of it, anyway—and I am drawn to this idea that he’s a family man at heart.