by T. K. Leigh
“I didn’t take you for someone who cared about that kind of thing,” she remarks somewhat harshly. “Hell, you almost married Brooklyn, despite the fact she’s not some trust fund debutante. I thought that’s what you wanted. Someone real.”
“And I do. Thanks to you.”
She blinks, leaning back a little. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Before you dated Nick, you were desperate for Mom to accept you. Participated in those pageants you hated. Did the debutante thing. Went to Wesleyan because it’s where she wanted you to go, even though you would have much rather gone to culinary school. If you hadn’t gotten together with Nick, I doubt you would have felt like you were enough. Doubt you would have spread your wings, grown the backbone you have now, and pretty much told Mom to suck it. So when I saw you finally stand up for what you wanted… I don’t know. It gave me hope, too, Jules. Hope that I could be happy. That I could have something real, like you have with Nick.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, a pensive expression on her face as a gentle breeze blows around us, picking up the familiar aroma of wildflowers and raw earth.
“What is it?” I press.
She lifts her gaze to mine, lips parted, a response on the tip of her tongue. Then she clamps her mouth shut, looking forward. “It’s nothing.”
A silence passes over us. I can’t shake the feeling she’s hiding something from me, which is unlike her. She usually tells me everything. We may not have always gotten along when we were teenagers, but in the past several years, especially once I moved back to Atlanta, we’ve become close.
“Jules, you know—”
“So if you say you want something real,” she interrupts before I can push the issue, “why don’t you go after it? I know what I saw, Wes. Know what I felt. There’s something real between Londyn and you.”
“I know how it will end, Jules. I’ve already been there.”
“With Brooklyn?” she asks hesitantly.
I nod. “You know how hurt I was after she broke things off.”
“You moved your entire world to be near her.”
My chest squeezes at the memory of everything I did for it all to come crashing down at the eleventh hour. I’m not bitter, though. Not anymore. Like I told myself in the months to follow, like I still remind myself on occasion, it was better I learned she didn’t love me like she needed before we made that lifelong commitment to each other. I thought if I loved her with everything I had, it would be enough. But I’ve learned you can’t force someone to love you if their heart isn’t in it. And Brooklyn’s heart wasn’t in it. Not all of it anyway.
“She broke my damn heart, Jules. And think about it. Brooklyn… Londyn…” I give her a knowing look. “A bit of a coincidence that they’re both named after cities, don’t you think? If that’s not an omen this is history repeating itself, I don’t know what is.” My jaw twitches as I shake my head. “No. I’d rather not go through that again. Especially when it will never work.”
“Why? Because your mother won’t approve?” she sneers.
It doesn’t escape my notice she doesn’t refer to her as our mother. She hasn’t in years. Instead, she calls her Lydia, her subtle reminder that the woman never acted as a mother to her, that she only adopted her to appear charitable to her friends. But the second we were no longer in public, she treated her like a nuisance.
“That woman will only approve of someone for her darling Weston if she comes with the right pedigree.”
“I don’t care about her approval. Not anymore. If I did, I wouldn’t have dated Brooklyn. And because of Brooklyn, I’m painfully aware that there’s only so much a person is willing to put up with when it comes to that woman. And if you thought she was horrible to Brooklyn, imagine how she’d treat Londyn. At least Brooklyn was white.”
Julia is more than aware how our parents would react to the idea of me dating anyone who isn’t rich, white, and possesses the proper last name. If we didn’t have Gampy’s and Meemaw’s influence, we probably would have thought it normal to judge someone because of their skin color, ethnicity, or socioeconomic status, as everyone else in our lives did back then. Hell, as nearly everyone in my life still does.
“I guarantee there’s only so much Londyn would be willing to put up with once she got a taste of the life we’ve always known.”
“That you’ve always known.” She pauses before asking her next question, one I’m sure she’s wanted to ask for years. “But is this really the life you want? Schmoozing clients? Playing their game? Not following your heart because you’re worried about what people will say?”
I peer into the distance, unsure how to explain the love-hate relationship I have with my current position as the head of the firm. I’ve always been passionate about how things were made. Ever since I was a little boy and helped Gampy build the stables on this property, I knew I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps and design buildings.
But I wasn’t prepared for the political side of running the business. If it weren’t for the charities I founded in order to give back to those who can’t afford adequate housing, I’m not sure it would be worth it. Truthfully, that’s the only thing that’s kept me going. Every time I sign a huge contract to build another monstrous highrise in Dubai or a new casino in Vegas, I don’t see the bonuses the executive board will receive. I see all the modest houses I can build for those living in shelters after losing their homes in a hurricane or tornado.
“I thought it was when I lived in Boston,” I admit finally. “When I was so far away from everything and in my own little bubble.”
“But now that you’re back with all these people, it’s not what you thought it would be.”
“It’s not what I remember it to be.”
Nodding, Julia shifts her eyes forward, a smile tugging on her lips as she watches Imogene swing on an old tire hanging from a large branch, Zeus lying in the shade beneath the tree, acting the part of her dutiful protector.
“Do you remember what Meemaw used to say?”
“Meemaw used to say a lot of things,” I joke.
She narrows her gaze on me. With that one look, I know what she’s talking about. The one piece of advice I’ll always carry with me. That we’ll both carry with us.
“Sometimes the right path isn’t the easiest.”
“Exactly,” Julia replies, resting her head on my shoulder. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it won’t work out. But maybe Londyn is your right path. Your key to finally being happy again. You’ll never know if you talk yourself out of that first step before you have a chance to take it.”
Chapter Seven
Londyn
“How was it?” Hazel asks as she bursts through the door of my condo without knocking.
At this point, I’m used to it. I may rent the second unit of the multi-family house Hazel owns with her husband, Diego, but after I took the self-defense class she teaches and we bonded over our tragic pasts, Hazel’s become more like family to me. She’s the only person in the world I trust. And that says a lot, considering I didn’t think I’d ever trust again.
I look up from my laptop, having spent all afternoon going down the proverbial Pinterest rabbit hole, finding idea after idea for the country house, as I’ve begun calling Gampy and Meemaw’s house.
Meeting her brown eyes as she makes herself comfortable beside me on the couch, I beam. “Incredible. It’s just…” I exhale, struggling to find my words. “Everything about it was amazing. It’s in the middle of nowhere. I’m not even sure where the downtown area is, since I didn’t see anything remotely resembling civilization. Although I did pass about a dozen churches.” I snort a laugh. “Pretty sure there are more churches than schools in that part of the state.”
Hazel rolls her eyes. “Haven’t you learned by now, especially considering you grew up as the daughter of a pastor and were also married to one at one point?” Her voice oozes sarcasm as she continues. “Religion is much more important than education. Just pray and ever
ything will be A-okay.”
I give her a half-hearted smile. I don’t share the same animosity toward organized religion as Hazel does, although I do struggle with it. Have since my mother died when a disturbed gunman shot up a church. Where was God when that happened? How could that have been part of His plan?
Shrugging off the past, I bring up the album containing the photos I’d captured and shift my laptop toward her. “Check out some of these pictures.”
She inhales deeply, staring in awe at the exterior of the house that looks like it’s straight out of a history book.
“Pretty incredible, right?”
“Most people would say it looks like a shithole, but I know you better than that.” She laughs.
“It just needs a little TLC. They don’t make homes like this anymore. Nowadays, most houses are cookie-cutter replicas of each other. There’s no character. No story. But here…” I run my finger along the screen at the closeup shot of the stained-glass window over the front door. “There’s history in those walls. I could feel it.” I lower my hand, looking at Hazel. “And I know it sounds crazy, but the second I stepped inside that house, I sensed I was about to be part of something greater than merely designing a home. And I didn’t even tell you the best part.”
Hazel smirks, inwardly laughing at how excited I am over a house. But to me, it’s not just a house. “What’s that?”
“Look.” I scroll through the photos until I find the one I’m looking for. “Pocket doors!”
Hazel bursts out laughing, the sound echoing through the open living space. “Only you would get all hot and bothered by a door.”
“You don’t see stuff like that anymore. There’s even a butler’s pantry. And a few hidden closets behind bookcases. I’m going to turn one of them into a laundry room, since there isn’t one.”
Her eyes widen. “No laundry room?”
“The place was built in the 1850s. Apart from a few updates here and there, not much has been done to bring it into the twentieth century, let alone the twenty-first. So that’s what I plan on doing, while keeping with the original character.”
“So you’re taking the job.”
“I am,” I say, unable to mask the hint of reluctance in my tone.
“What is it?” She pushes a few strands of her chestnut hair behind her ears.
“Nothing,” I answer quickly. “It’s nothing.”
“No. There’s something. A minute ago, you were practically coming in your pants over pocket doors and hidden closets. Now, you don’t seem so…certain.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, unsure what to tell her about Weston. Wes. All week, I’d convinced myself the spark I felt when we first met was because of my near-death experience. But that same electricity was there today. It was even more powerful, if that’s at all possible.
“Come on, Lo.” She rests her hand over mine, her gesture comforting. “You can tell me anything.”
“I know. I just…” I tilt back my head and stare at the ceiling, wracking my brain for the words I need to explain Wes. “Julia, the woman who hired me, well… She has a brother.”
Amusement dances in Hazel’s eyes as a grin lights up her face. “Go on.”
“And I know him.”
“Who is it?” She straightens, brows knitted together. “One of your previous clients? Please tell me it’s not the same prick who came home drunk and thought it was a good idea to try to get you into bed, because I’m still pissed—”
I hold up my hand to cut her off. “No. Not a former client. Nothing like that.”
“Then who?”
“Remember that guy I told you about? The one who saw me slip in the crosswalk and came to my rescue?”
“Weston, right?”
“Yes.” I push out a long breath, running my sweaty palms along my yoga pants. “He’s Julia’s brother. And an architect, so he’ll be quite involved in the renovation and remodel.”
She studies me for several protracted moments, analyzing me in a way I’m sure gives away all my secrets. I hadn’t told her much about Wes. About the way my body lit up, making me want to lower my defenses for the first time in over five years. I’d simply told her what happened, then of the Good Samaritan who came to my aid. Nothing more. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I guess I was wrong.
“Why do I get the sense there’s more here than him simply being the guy who helped you?” she comments just as my ringing cell phone pierces the room.
I dart my gaze to it. My heart ricochets into my throat, my eyes widening when I see Wes’ name pop up on the screen.
Worse, Hazel sees it, too.
“I think that just answered my question,” she taunts.
I feign irritation and stand, swiping my phone off the coffee table and heading into the kitchen area. On a deep inhale, I straighten my spine, trying to subdue the butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
“This is Londyn,” I answer with all the professionalism I can muster.
“Hey, Londyn. It’s Wes.”
“Hi. Is everything okay? Or are you calling to tell me your sister changed her mind and decided to go with another designer?”
“What? No. No way am I letting you slip through my fingers.” He inhales sharply. “I mean, her fingers.”
I fight back my grin as a warmth spreads over my cheeks. I could listen to him speak for hours and not tire of his deep voice and refined Southern drawl.
“Well, good, because I already have so many ideas for the house. I can’t wait to get started.”
“And that’s the perfect segue to the reason for this phone call.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you available Friday evening for dinner?”
“Dinner?” I repeat, his invitation catching me off guard.
“To go over a few ideas,” he explains. “That’s all.” He pushes out a nervous laugh. I picture him combing his long fingers through his dark hair, as he did a few times during our brief interactions. “It’s not a date or anything.”
“Of course.” I force a smile, ignoring the unexpected pang of disappointment.
“Not that I wouldn’t want to date,” he continues. “I just—”
“No need to explain, Wes,” I interject, not wanting this conversation to become any more awkward than it already is. “What time? And where?”
“I was hoping we could get together at my place in Brookhaven. Julia and Imogene will be there, too. They stay with me when Julia’s in town checking in on her bakery. It will be low-key and casual. Just a typical family dinner.”
“That actually sounds nice.”
“Great.” Wes’ voice is a mixture of relieved and excited. And perhaps a little nervous. “I’ll text you the address. Seven o’clock work?”
“That’s perfect. I’ll see you then.”
As I’m about to end the call, Wes stops me.
“Hey, Londyn?”
“Yes?”
He hesitates, then lowers his voice, that sensual tone returning. “It was really good to see you again today.”
I close my eyes, sucking in my bottom lip, wanting to tell him how great it was to see him again, too. Instead, I say, “I’ll see you Friday.” I wince, immediately feeling like a bitch. But if Wes thinks any less of me, he doesn’t let on.
“Looking forward to it,” he responds.
When the line goes silent, I end the call, heaving out a long sigh. “Me, too.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
I whirl around, momentarily surprised. I’d all but forgotten Hazel was here. As seems to happen whenever I’m in Wes’ presence, the mere act of speaking to him made me oblivious to the outside world. In those few minutes, it was just me and him. No one else.
“Excuse me?” I hold my head high, fixing my expression to one of disinterest as I make my way back to the couch and lower myself beside her.
“Wes.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, a look of superiority about her. “You like him.”
“It doesn’t matter if I like him. He’s a client.”
“So?”
“If I want to make a go of having my own interior design business, I need to focus on that. Not spread my legs for my very first client. And even if Wes weren’t a client, I’m not interested. Not like that. Unless you’ve forgotten, I don’t date.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I just thought maybe after meeting someone who actually makes you feel for a change, you might revisit your stance on your ‘no dating’ rule,” she mocks, using air quotes.
I narrow my gaze. “You know why I don’t date. Plus…” I brighten my tone. “I’m happy.”
“And I’m the Tooth Fairy.”
“I may not go around singing Kumbaya and doing Sun Salutations, like you do, but I like my life. I have everything I’ve always wanted. My up-cycling business has taken off to the point where I struggle to keep items in stock. I have my first real interior design job. On a historic home, no less. And I have you and Diego. What more could I need?”
“Love.”
“I have love. You love me. So does Diego.”
“That’s different. While having a solid support group is important, it will never make up for that butterfly-inducing love we all crave. Trust me.” She squeezes my hand. “I understand your reluctance to get involved with someone. It’s impossible to know who to trust these days, as you learned yourself. But sometimes you have to say enough is enough and take a risk, come what may. Otherwise, I’m worried you’ll only live this half-life.”
I’m on the brink of arguing to the contrary, that I’m living the life I’ve always wanted, but she knows me better than that. She’s the only person who has no problem calling me out, pushing me to my limits so I don’t retreat into the shell of the woman I was when we first met during her self-defense class.
Throughout the duration of her training, I looked up to her. She became a role model. I admired how strong and resilient she seemed, especially when she shared her story with the class, telling us why she felt compelled to teach self-defense to any woman who needed it.
Like myself, she married young, feeling forced into it. But unlike me marrying my ex so he could be hired as pastor of a rather influential church, she’d gotten married because she was pregnant. Her husband started drinking, grew abusive. After he struck their son, she knew it was time to leave. Unfortunately, he discovered her plan. Out of his mind with rage and too much alcohol flowing through his bloodstream, he confronted Hazel, shot her and their two young sons, aged five and eighteen months, before turning the gun on himself.