by T. K. Leigh
“So… Want to talk about whatever has you all worked up?” Hazel asks after a beat. “Or perhaps I should say whoever has you all worked up.”
“I’m not worked up,” I insist, although my words lack anything remotely resembling conviction.
“Sure you aren’t.” She rakes her disbelieving stare over me. “Everything is just hunky-dory. Which is why you’re home on a Sunday when you haven’t been since you took the job with the hottie in a suit. And why you nearly broke my damn hand sparring just now.”
“Hunky-dory? What is this? The 1950s or some shit?”
She rolls her eyes, taking a long drink from her own bottle. “You know what I mean, Lo. You always pretend everything’s okay when secretly, I think you’re desperate for someone to talk to. So here I am, your friend and neighbor, asking if you’re okay. So…” She nudges me. “Are you okay?”
I chew on my lower lip, debating what to tell her. She’s the only person in the world who will understand my trepidation about everything. She’s been there, too.
“Wes kissed me,” I blurt out.
She blinks, my statement obviously taking her by surprise. “And?”
“And I kissed him back.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“You know,” she urges. “Give me the goods. Don’t hold back on me now that y’all have finally locked lips.”
“Okay, first of all, don’t call it locking lips. Second of all…” I trail off.
“Yes?”
“Well, I don’t think there is a second of all.”
“Then tell me about the kiss. How was it?”
I crane my head back, my pulse quickening from the memory of the kiss that led to a lot more than just a kiss. How it started soft and tender, soon exploding into this insane connection both of us were powerless to stop, a freight train gaining more and more speed as it careened toward a cliff. That’s what scared me to the point that I felt like I had no option but to push him away. I was absolutely powerless. Defenseless. Vulnerable. I vowed years ago to never put myself in that position again.
“Intense.” I don’t think there’s any other word that can possibly describe it. “It got out of hand pretty quickly.”
“Out of hand? How do you mean?”
“One second, his mouth hovered over mine in a barely-there kiss. And then…”
“Yes?” She leans toward me, hanging on to my every word.
“Then he was pushing my panties aside and giving me this mind-blowing orgasm with just his fingers.”
“Well, halle-fucking-lujah!” Hazel exclaims, her voice echoing in the garage. “‘Bout time someone got you off.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve slept with other guys, Haze.”
“And then came home and put your vibrator to use because they couldn’t get the job done,” she reminds me.
I blow out a breath. She’s not wrong. Up until Wes, I assumed it was the penance I was forced to pay for my sins all those years ago. But now I know what’s possible with him, which only confuses me more. I swore I’d never give up control of my body to any other man again, the men I’ve slept with in recent years more than happy to let me call the shots in the bedroom. But with Wes, I had absolutely no control.
“So what happened after?” She arches a brow, sensing it didn’t end with us flying off into the sunset like Danny and Sandy in Grease.
“I freaked out. Pushed him away. Made a pretty big scene of it all.”
“Why?”
I shrug noncommittally. “He’s my client.”
“True.” She pinches her lips together. “Or are you using that as an excuse?”
I glance at her. Do I stick to the lame explanation I gave Wes, or do I tell her the truth? After all, if I can’t be honest with Hazel…
“Because I’m not sure I can ever be the person he needs or deserves,” I admit, my shaky voice giving away my emotions.
“What makes you say that?”
“I’m not sure I can ever be the person he needs or deserves.”
She pulls back, looking at me. “What makes you say that?”
I narrow my eyes, giving her a knowing look. “You know why. Wes has no idea who I really am. What I’ve done. If he did—”
“For someone who pretends to be such a hard ass, you have shitty self-esteem.”
“I don’t—”
Before I can finish, she grabs my wrapped hand, tugging me off the bench and toward the wall-to-wall mirror opposite us. With her hands on my biceps, she forces me to peer at my reflection.
“What do you see?”
“Me,” I respond flippantly.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. So let’s try this again. What. Do. You. See?”
I feign annoyance, but eventually relent, taking a moment to consider what I see whenever I stare at myself.
“I see a girl who pretends she has her shit together but, in reality, is barely holding on,” I admit through a strained voice. “I see hundreds of dreams that disappeared in the blink of an eye. Dreams I probably shouldn’t have had anyway. And I see someone who will never be worthy of love, so why should I even try finding it?”
“Are you done?” Hazel asks with a raised brow.
I nod. I see a lot more, but I’d rather not reveal just how low my self-esteem really is, despite the front I put up.
“Then let me tell you what I see.”
“Hazel…” I attempt to spin around, not wanting to have to listen to this, but she doesn’t let me, her hold on me resolute.
“I see a woman who’s scarred, but has somehow found the strength to continue on, even on those days when it would be so fucking easy to throw in the towel.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a lone tear trickling down my cheek.
“I see a woman who had her dreams dashed, but persevered and made new dreams. Better dreams. Brighter dreams. Despite the constant fear that she may not achieve them, she pushed forward, chasing after those dreams with everything she had. And do you want to know why she did that, even when the odds were stacked against her?”
I swallow hard, remaining silent, unsure I’d be able to speak even if I needed to.
“Because she’s fucking fearless.”
I shake my head, swiping the tears off my face, the emotions of the past few days catching up to me. From overcoming my fear of heights with Wes. To witnessing him stand up to Grady’s derogatory comments. To the snake crawling across me. To the euphoria of his kiss.
For weeks, I’ve been riding a tumultuous seesaw. I should have known it was only a matter of time until I crashed to the ground with more force than I could endure.
“But mostly, I see a woman who has so much love in her. A woman who deserves to be loved in return. And I guarantee you, Wes sees the same thing I do when he looks at you.”
I spin around, peering into Hazel’s eyes. “How do you know?”
She shrugs. “I don’t. It’s a risk you have to take. But if he’s half the man you say he is, he’ll focus on your strengths, your perseverance. Not things that may be lurking in your past.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I ask, although I already have a feeling that’s not the case, especially after his heartfelt plea last night.
Hazel wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “Then he never deserved you in the first place.”
Chapter Eighteen
Weston
“You still haven’t heard from her?” Julia asks from over the rim of her coffee mug as we sit at a table in the corner of her bakery in Buckhead on a Friday.
It’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve seen Londyn. Nearly two weeks since I’ve spoken to her, too. To say it’s driving me crazy is an understatement.
“I have. She sent me an email the other day with options for kitchen appliances.”
“Oh, wow!” She feigns excitement. “That’s exactly what I’d hope for after I poured my heart out to someone. Questions about kitchen appliances.”
I shrug, glancing ar
ound her busy bakery, a line out the door, even at two in the afternoon. “It’s better than nothing.”
“Have you tried talking to her about things? Does she know you haven’t been back to the house, either?”
“That’s not true,” I argue.
“It’s not?” She leans back in her chair, giving me a smug look.
“I’ve been busy. There was that golf tournament on Saturday.”
“But you didn’t go down on Sunday, either.”
“You and Imogene are heading back to Charleston next week. I want to spend more time with you two.”
I bring my mug to my mouth and take a sip of coffee, hoping she can’t see through my lies, that the mere thought of walking into that house causes a heaviness to settle in my chest. In such a short time, Londyn snuck into my soul and weaved herself around my heart. Now, when I think of Meemaw and Gampy’s old house, I don’t only think of childhood memories. I think of Londyn. I fear I always will.
“And we’ll both be a quick flight away. Or a five-hour drive. So why don’t you tell me the real reason.”
I turn my attention out the large windows that make up the front of her bakery. The sidewalks of this trendy area of the city teem with tourists and locals spending their afternoon shopping or grabbing a bite to eat with friends. I still marvel at how much Julia has accomplished in the past several years. Not only has she raised Imogene, sometimes on her own, since her husband travels extensively for his job as a public relations consultant, but she took a home-based business of fulfilling online orders for her sugary concoctions and moved it to an actual brick and mortar store. Now, she has bakeries all over the South.
“Because I’ll feel her there, and it hurts,” I admit, facing her. “Probably more than it should, considering we’ve only known each other a few months. And we only kissed once.”
Julia gives me a reassuring smile. “But in those few months, you’ve both shared pieces of yourselves with each other. There’s something to be said for getting to know someone like you and Londyn have. And to be honest, after you told me about what happened to her mother, I understand why she’d be hesitant to enter into a relationship. It may have been twenty years ago, but losing someone as tragically as she did never leaves you. Hell, there are days that I still struggle with losing Gampy and Meemaw.”
“Me, too.”
“So imagine losing your mother because of some whack job with a gun. On top of that, imagine having to live with the knowledge that your father may have been able to save your mother if he hadn’t chosen to protect you first. Don’t get me wrong,” she adds quickly. “He did what any parent would. If someone came in here waving a gun and started shooting, I’d grab Imogene and get her the hell out of here. Let everyone else fend for themselves. I’d miss you and would bawl like crazy if anything happened to you, but I wouldn’t hesitate to protect my daughter first.”
I smile slightly, briefly covering her hand with mine, squeezing. “Which is why you’re such a great mother.”
“I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live with that knowledge, though.” She shakes her head. “That’s got to fuck with your mind. I may not have had the best birth mother, but she was still my mom, at least when she wasn’t high. I was young when she overdosed, but I remember them telling me she was gone. For the longest time, I had trouble getting close to people. I worried they’d leave me, too. It’s why it took me so long to finally allow myself to get close to you. But once I realized you’d do everything in your power to always be there for me, I lowered my walls. Maybe that’s all Londyn needs right now. To know you’ll do everything in your power to be there for her.”
“Perhaps.” I pinch my chin, unable to shake the feeling there’s more to it than that.
“Give her some time. I’m sure she’ll come around. And look on the bright side.”
“What’s that?”
“She kissed you back. That’s got to count for something.” Smirking, she stands, grabbing my mug and heading toward the bakery counter.
I rise to my feet, about to argue my doubts, when Imogene’s excited voice cuts through.
“Daddy!”
I fling my eyes toward the door, watching as a muscular blond wearing a three-piece suit and dark-framed glasses strolls into the bakery. Setting his roll-aboard off to the side, he bends down, allowing Imogene to run into his outstretched arms. As he swings her around, showering her with kisses, I glance at Julia, about to ask if she knew he was coming here. Her confused expression is all the answer I need.
“I assume you didn’t know about this, either?”
She jumps at my question, eyes widening before she plasters a smile onto her face. “You assume correctly.”
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“Of course,” she responds in a chipper voice. Perhaps too chipper. “Just surprised.” With another forced smile, she skirts past me and walks up to Nick. I follow, but give them space to celebrate their reunion.
“What are you doing here?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, her stance almost defensive.
“Is that any way to greet your husband after not seeing him all summer?” His response has a teasing quality to it, but I swear I hear a warning mixed in.
“I’m just…surprised. I thought you were still in London.”
“I finished with my client early. My flight to Charleston connected out of Atlanta anyway, so I figured I’d surprise my wife. We can spend tomorrow in the city, maybe you can take me down to Meemaw and Gampy’s old house and show me around, then we can all drive home together.”
“But I’m not scheduled to head back until the end of next week.”
Nick frowns, the lines of his chiseled and arguably attractive face falling. Then he puts Imogene down, crouching slightly. “Why don’t you go play with Uncle Wes for a minute while I talk to Mama, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Nick straightens, turning his bright blue eyes toward me, extending his hand. “Good to see you, Wes.”
“You, too.” I shake his hand, my expression even.
Then I meet Julia’s gaze, silently asking if she’s okay. She subtly nods. I hesitate, but eventually steer Imogene back toward the table, giving her some paper to draw on. I sit, drawing with her, but still keep an ear tuned to Julia and Nick’s conversation as best I can with all the ambient chatter and orders being shouted behind the counter.
“I just spent eight hours on a plane after being out of the country for over a month,” Nick says in a barely audible voice. “I’d expected a little enthusiasm from my own wife.”
“I’m happy to see you,” Julia tells him. “Like I said, I’m surprised you’re back so soon. That’s all.”
“Do I need to be concerned?”
“Of course not. I’d just planned to have next week to finish up training the new head pastry chef here. That way, I can be certain she has everything under control while I’m back in Charleston.”
“How hard can it be to follow some simple recipes?” he comments snidely.
I hold my breath as I sketch on Imogene’s paper. I fully expect to hear one of Julia’s notorious comebacks in response to Nick’s insinuation that her job isn’t difficult. Or at least argue that many of the pastries she makes aren’t as easy as following a simple recipe. That she creates works of art. Especially some of the wedding cakes she designs. But she never does.
“I want to make sure everything’s perfect. I’m sure you can relate.”
Neither of them says a word for what feels like an eternity, my anxiety increasing with every passing second. Finally, Nick speaks, his tone brighter and less accusatory.
“You know me so well. How about this? We spend tomorrow together here. If your new chef manages, you’ll know she’s ready to handle things without you. She’s most likely itching for you to stop being a helicopter boss anyway.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
“I usually am.”
The sound of footsteps g
rows closer, and I refocus my attention on my sketch, not wanting to let on that I’ve been eavesdropping.
“Come on, MoMo,” Nick says as he approaches, helping Imogene out of her chair. “I’ll take you to Uncle Wes’ house and we can play with that mongrel dog of his.” He shifts his gaze to mine. “You don’t mind an extra house guest for a few nights, do you?”
“You’re family, Nick. You’re always welcome.”
“Thanks, man.” He pats me on the back before glancing at the paper on the table. “Who’s that?” he asks, gesturing to my doodles.
I follow his line of sight to see I’d absentmindedly sketched Londyn’s likeness.
“That’s Miss Londyn,” Imogene says proudly.
“Wow,” Julia murmurs, sidling up next to me and peering over my shoulder. “That looks a lot like her.”
“Miss Londyn?” Nick looks from me to Julia, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Did I miss MoMo’s Meet the Teacher night for school? I don’t recall a Miss Londyn at the academy.”
“Miss Londyn isn’t a teacher, Daddy. She’s helping Uncle Wes with the house.”
“She’s my interior designer,” I explain.
“I see.” He studies my sketch for another beat, then returns his attention to Imogene. “Shall we be on our way, ladybug?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have your keys, Jules?” he asks. “I took an Uber from the airport. I need Imogene’s booster seat anyway.”
Julia’s expression falters. “I have some errands to run. Things we need for the bakery. If you want to head back to Charleston this weekend, I—”
“Here.” I reach into my pocket and hand her my keys. “You can have my car so Nick can take yours.”
“But how are you going to get back to the office?”
“I’ll just Uber. It’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. You have things you need to do. My car’s just going to sit in the garage all afternoon. You may as well use it.”
