Possession: An Interracial Romance (Redemption Book 3)

by T. K. Leigh

  “It really made my childhood memorable. If it weren’t for Gampy and Meemaw…” I shake my head, struggling to find the words. “You probably picked up on it last night, but my parents haven’t always been the best role models.”

  “It wasn’t too difficult to figure out.”

  “I don’t have as antagonistic a relationship with them as Julia does.” I laugh to myself. “Kind of hard to work with your father if you don’t get along.”

  She whips her eyes to mine. “You work together?”

  “More or less.” I shrug. “I come from a very long line of architects on my father’s side of the family. My father’s an architect. His father was an architect. His grandfather was an architect, and so on.”

  “So you had no choice but to become an architect, too,” she states, assuming she has me figured out.

  “Actually, I wanted to be an architect, but not because of my father. What he did never intrigued me. Whenever I saw him working, he was sitting at a drafting desk, drawing up plans. Granted, I actually enjoy that part of it now, but when you’re a ten-year-old boy, there’s nothing exciting about that. There’s a reason no young child says they want to be an accountant when they grow up.”

  “True.”

  “I wanted to do something with my hands. So, in reality, it was Gampy who inspired me. From the moment I could lift a hammer, he taught me how to build, taught me the science and physics behind it all before I even took a single architecture class in college.”

  “What kinds of things did you make?”

  I nod at the long, wooden building beside the overgrown horse paddock in the distance. “I helped him build those stables. I was probably only nine or ten at the time. After that, I knew that’s what I wanted to do.” I heave a sigh. “And for a while, that’s kind of what I did for the firm, at least when I was fresh out of college. I designed buildings, then supervised the implementation of my design. But as I gained more experience, I moved up in the hierarchy of the firm, spent less time on job sites and more time in the office to the point where I barely remember what it’s like to do the actual building anymore. I always knew I’d eventually take over the firm. It’s been run by a Bradford since my great-great-great-great-grandfather started the business as a one-man operation during Reconstruction. But…” I shrug.

  “It’s not what you thought it would be,” Londyn says. It’s not a question. More an observation.

  “I know what it must sound like. That I’m complaining about having security in a job that pays well enough for me to live comfortably for the rest of my life. Believe me. I have absolutely nothing to complain about there.”

  “But you’re not happy.”

  I pinch my lips together, staring out over the meadows, wishing things were as simple as they were when I was a kid running through those fields.

  “I don’t think I’ve been happy in years.” I lick my lips. “Actually, that’s not entirely true.” My gaze shifts to hers, skating over her clear skin, the smattering of freckles across her nose, her lips shining from the remnants of the beer. “Today made me happy.” I allow my statement to linger in the air for a moment before turning to look out over the property once more. “I’m not sure if it’s because of the house, or the memories, or getting to know you better, but I loved every second of today.”

  “Even when you were just a few millimeters away from stapling your hand to the drywall and needing me to rush you to the nearest hospital?” She arches a thin brow.

  “Yes.” I chuckle. “Even when I nearly stapled my hand to the drywall.” I hold up my now-bandaged pinky finger. “Even if I had, I wouldn’t trade today for anything. I felt…useful.”

  “And you don’t feel useful at your job?”

  “More like a puppet.” The words leave me before I have a chance to consider them. “I got into this field because I loved seeing a project go from a concept, onto paper, then become an actual building, whether it be a stadium, or skyscraper, or someone’s home. Now my days are spent schmoozing clients so they’ll keep using our firm instead of taking their business to a younger one that promises to do the job quicker and cheaper. Sometimes I feel like I’m just a glorified salesman who knows a thing or two about designing buildings. Not someone who spent years studying what materials can be used in a highrise in San Francisco to prevent it from tumbling down during the next big earthquake.”

  She seems to consider my words for a moment. I have no idea what came over me, why I felt the need to be so forthcoming. But I can complain all I want. I’ll never walk away from the firm, regardless of how unhappy I am. I can’t, not when hundreds of employees count on me so they can provide for their families.

  “Do you want to know what prompted me to start my up-cycling business?” she asks.

  “What’s that?”

  “After moving to Atlanta, I was in a pretty dark place, wondering if I’d made a mistake in leaving the only family I had. I was depressed, struggling to make ends meet. I had debilitating anxiety that sometimes made it hard to leave my apartment to work my minimum wage job. So my roommate suggested I go to a support group at a local church for people who…” She pauses, giving her next words careful consideration. “Well, for people who were going through what I was.

  “It was difficult at first. I was raised to believe the only help and guidance I needed should come from the church and God. But after a while, I realized sometimes help can be found in other places. Can be found in other people who empathize. And it was at one of these meetings that another woman mentioned finding one thing in life that gave you joy and spending a few minutes of your day doing that. Didn’t matter if it was underwater basketweaving. It was important to have one bright spot in your day so you didn’t feel weighed down.

  “On my way home from work that night, I noticed a beat-up old trunk on the side of the road with a sign that said free. So I loaded it into the back of my car and brought it to my apartment. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it, but the next day, instead of buying groceries with my last twenty dollars, I went to the hardware store and got some supplies. During the next support group meeting, I spoke about finally finding something that gave me joy and how it changed my outlook. Even showed a photo of my project to the group. Another member fell in love and offered me a hundred bucks on the spot for the old trunk that was now a funky little coffee table.”

  “That’s incredible.” I smile down at her. I don’t know her whole story quite yet, but with just the bits and pieces she’s given me, I know Londyn is a strong, tenacious woman.

  “I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that maybe you should find something you love. Something that gives you joy. Then your job may not feel so lacking. It worked for me.”

  I consider her words, wondering what brings me joy. Sure, there’s Julia and Imogene. Whenever I spend time with that little girl, my heart brims with love. But I’m not sure that’s what Londyn’s talking about. Just like she found joy when she returned to her passion of up-cycling furniture, maybe that’s what I need to do, too.

  I rest my forearms on my knees and steal a glance at Londyn, my mind spinning, excitement bubbling inside me at the idea taking shape. I hadn’t even considered it when I won this place in auction, but it feels right.

  “What do you think about helping out a little more?”

  She tilts her head, brow creased. “What do you mean?”

  “This house. I don’t know about you, but I really enjoyed today.”

  “I did, too.” She gives me a small smile.

  “Maybe this is what I need in my life. Get back to what I love. Get my hands dirty, my body sweaty, and my fingers bloody.”

  “You’re going to do all these renovations yourself?” Her tone is heavy with disbelief.

  “Not all by myself.” I gently nudge her with my shoulder. “I’m hoping you’ll help. I’ll pay you more, of course. Don’t want you to think I won’t. But maybe when I’m at the office during the week, you can look for window treatmen
ts, lighting, and cabinets… Whatever designers need to make a space beautiful. Then on the weekends, we can work on the house. Together.”

  “Just us?”

  “I’ll call in Nash and his crew on some of the bigger installations. My ancestors built this house. My happiest memories occurred here. I almost feel like I owe it to their legacy to make my own mark, not just pay a crew to do the work while I sit in the comfort of my house or office. So what do you say?”

  Blinking, she looks forward, seeming to carefully weigh the pros and cons of my rash proposal for what feels like an eternity. I don’t think I’ve ever been so anxious for someone to say yes. Not even when I proposed to Brooklyn in an upscale Boston restaurant, dozens of eyes on us.

  “Okay,” Londyn finally says, returning her gaze to mine.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes. Okay. I’ll help you.”

  Before I can think about what I’m doing, I fling my arms around her, pulling her to me, her powdery aroma now mixed with a hint of sweat. But it still has me craving her in a way I shouldn’t. She stiffens, inhaling a sharp breath, and I quickly drop my hold.

  “Sorry. I just… I guess I got a little excited.” I lower my eyes, running my fingers through my hair.

  “It’s okay. Just surprised me. That’s all.” She smiles. “I just have one condition.”

  “What’s that?” I expect her to tell me no more displays of affection or flirting, as we’ve done a time or two today. I can’t help it when I’m around her. I forget who I am. Forget about the responsibilities placed on my shoulders since birth.

  “We’ll work on this house together, but you can’t be here for any of the finishing touches.”

  “But—”

  She shoots up her hand. “This is non-negotiable. You can help with painting, tiling, and installing cabinets. Stuff like that. But that’s it. The last week, you don’t step foot in this house.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “I don’t want to miss out on the reason I went into this field in the first place.”

  “Which is?”

  “That moment y’all see your new home for the first time. I know it sounds insignificant. But for me, that moment…” She shakes her head. “It’s—”

  “Magic,” I finish.

  “Yeah.” She smiles. “Magic.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the magic. You have my word. The last week, I won’t step foot in the house.” I extend my hand toward her, a single brow arched. “Do we have a deal?”

  She eyes my hand warily, but soon places hers in it. “We have a deal.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Weston

  “What do you think? Looks good, right?” Londyn steps back to admire the walls we’ve spent the better part of today covering in wallpaper.

  I was a bit hesitant when she suggested wallpaper as opposed to paint in the formal living room, worried it would make it appear dated, and not in a historic way. But as she’s done every time I questioned her over the past several weekends we’ve spent renovating this house, she convinced me to trust her, and I’m glad I did. It really complements the charm of the home, especially when coupled with the fireplace. I can only imagine how it will look when fully furnished.

  “Once again, I stand corrected.” I flash her a smile as I wipe sweat from my brow. “I’m officially never going to question your design choices again, because you’re batting a thousand.”

  “Picture it with some vintage pieces,” she adds excitedly, brushing a bit of dust off her white, sweat-dampened t-shirt. “I found a chaise lounge from the early 1900s at an estate sale the other day, and it will look perfect in this room.”

  She reaches into her back pocket, retrieving her cell, and pulls up a photo, stepping beside me. I do my best to focus on her phone and not her proximity as she scrolls through the images she’s taken of the chaise in what I assume to be her workshop.

  Several other pieces of furniture in various stages of restoration are stacked against the walls, a workbench in the center of the space. Another glimpse into who Londyn truly is. Yes, it’s just a workshop, but to me, it allows me to learn more about this woman who’s consumed my thoughts since our first meeting.

  “It doesn’t look like much right now.”

  “Not sure what anyone would see other than something that’s destined for the junkyard.” I nod at the image. The legs are barely attached, the velvet upholstery torn and faded.

  “It just needs a little love.” She clicks off her screen, shoving her phone into the back pocket of her shorts. “Just like this house. And look what a little love did for it.”

  She spins around, admiring the work we sweated over all day. It’s no wonder people choose to paint instead. Putting up wallpaper and lining up the pattern so it’s seamless is damn tedious. But she promised it would be worth it, and it most certainly is.

  “I understand this isn’t what you signed up for.” I wave my hand around. “You probably would’ve much rather spent your time on the actual design work and supervising my crew to make sure they didn’t fuck it up, not get roped into doing the grunt work yourself. So I really appreciate you being here. Doing this with me.”

  “Honestly, there’s no place I’d rather be.” She flashes me a sweet smile, a vulnerability about her. “I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself when we finish this house.” With a shallow sigh, she cranes her head back, admiring the original coffered ceiling she was able to salvage. Then she brings her eyes to mine. “I’ll miss this.”

  “I’ll miss this, too,” I admit, stepping toward her.

  The mood shifts, everything going still. Cicadas no longer buzz in the distance. The breeze blowing through the fields calms down. The birds fall silent. All I can focus on is Londyn. This carefree, mysterious, charming woman who’s invaded my every waking thought these past few months.

  As much as I’ve imagined what it would be like to wrap her in my arms, to press my mouth to hers, to taste her lips, I haven’t, sensing a hesitation and reluctance on her part. At first, I assumed it was simply because I’m her client. But over the weeks, she’s become more than a designer to me. Just like I’ve become more than a client to her. Still, there’s something keeping her closed off. I feel it in my soul.

  But today, she doesn’t retreat as she’s prone to do. Instead, she keeps her gaze focused on me, her lips parting slightly. With slow steps, I advance, silently pleading with her to stay in this moment with me, to allow herself to feel this insane connection that’s only grown deeper the more time we spend with each other. She moistens her lips, causing the ache that’s taken up permanent residency in my body to grow stronger. I reach for her cheek—

  “It’s so pretty!”

  Londyn and I jump away from each other, tearing our eyes to the doorway as Imogene walks in, oblivious to the tension vibrating between us. Or at least the tension that was vibrating between us.

  “Much better than the boring white walls from before.” She continues into the room, spinning a slow circle.

  “Imogene, be careful.” Julia rushes in behind her, out of breath, obviously having chased her into the house. Then she stops, taking in all our hard work. “Wow. She’s right. This is gorgeous.” She glances at Londyn. “You two work well together. First, the amazing work on the two upstairs bathrooms, now this?”

  “We have it down to a science by now,” Londyn responds, her tone even. I glance at her, wishing I could read her thoughts, see what’s going through her mind after our latest “moment”. At the very least, I can sense she’s torn.

  I struggle with this, too, unsure if I want to put myself through the inevitable heartache like I suffered with Brooklyn. But for Londyn, I don’t think that’s the only thing holding her back. I imagine it’s something bigger. Is it related to the story she told me about her father? How he turned his back on her when she needed him the most? To say I’ve been curious about what exactly their disagreement entailed is an understatement. Still, I haven’t pressed.r />
  “I imagine,” Julia replies. “I can’t wait to see the final product. I know it’ll be worth all the effort y’all have put in.”

  “I hope so.”

  “So what brings you and Imogene here?” I ask. “I thought you two were going to spend the day doing some fun things in the city, since you’ll be heading back to Charleston in a few weeks.”

  “That was the plan. I told her she could decide what we’d do. Anything she wanted. I assumed we’d go to the puppet museum or Legoland. Something like that. Do you want to know what she asked to do?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Come here.”

  “That’s really sweet,” Londyn sighs, nudging me. “Wanting to come out here to see you.”

  “Well, that’s only half of it,” Julia interrupts. “When we were in the downtown area last weekend, she noticed the signs for the county fair starting today. So that’s why she wanted to come. To go to the fair. More specifically, to go on all the carnival rides.” She grits a smile. “I’d rather get a Brazilian wax than suffer through that.”

  “Jesus, Julia,” I groan. “Not the mental picture I need right now.”

  “But it’s true. Remember all those kids we used to play with when we came here for the summer?”

  “We got along with some of them.”

  “True. But there were quite a few we didn’t get along with, weren’t there?” She gives me a knowing look. “Quite a few Gampy and Meemaw didn’t get along with, either.”

  I blink, my shoulders falling. “Oh.” I hadn’t thought much about what spending time back here would mean. Hadn’t really thought twice about running into any of the people from our past.

  “Exactly. But it’s what Imogene wants.”

  “What do I want, Mama?” she interrupts, sidling up next to Julia, the resemblance between them uncanny.

  “To go to the fair!” Julia switches to mom mode in the blink of an eye, not letting on that it’s the last thing she wants to do on a Saturday evening. “So let’s get going and leave Uncle Wes and Londyn to finish up.”