by T. K. Leigh
“See. It all works out,” Nick booms. “So… The keys, Jules?”
“Sure.” Unclipping the ring of keys from the belt loop at her waist, she unhooks her car key and house key, handing them to him.
“See you at the house. Try not to work too late.”
“I won’t,” Julia responds halfheartedly.
He grabs the handle of his suitcase and rolls it behind him, Imogene’s hand clutched tightly in his free one as he walks out of the bakery. Once they round the corner toward the staff parking lot, disappearing from view, Julia blows out a long breath.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, fully facing her. “Are you okay?”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
I place my hands on her biceps to stop her from avoiding this conversation. “It’s just a feeling. You don’t seem like yourself.”
“I’m fine, Wes,” she replies, pushing away from me and skirting through the growing crowd, picking up crumb-covered dishes and lipstick-stained coffee mugs on her way. “He threw me for a loop. You know how I like to stick to a schedule, especially with Imogene. His being home early messes with my routine.”
I follow her behind the counter and into the kitchen in the back. “You’re sure that’s all?” I narrow my gaze on her as she places the mugs and plates into their appropriate dish racks.
“Eventually, you’ll learn how things sometimes change once you get married. After being with the same person for several years, the spark fades. I guess I get so used to doing everything on my own that when Nick comes home, he feels more like an annoyance than my husband and father of my child. It takes me a few days to get used to having someone to answer to.”
“Someone to answer to?” I shake my head, brows furrowed. “I don’t—”
“Not like that,” she interjects quickly. “I’m not explaining it correctly. When it’s only Imogene and me, I can do whatever I want without having to take into account anyone else. I see that big brother protectiveness coming out. You have nothing to worry about.” She squeezes my arms reassuringly. “Promise.”
I study her for a moment, searching for any indication things aren’t as she claims. Finding nothing, I relax my posture and nod. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“But you’ll tell me if something isn’t right?” I press.
“You know I will.” With a smile, she lifts herself onto her toes and places a soft kiss on my cheek. “Now, get out of here so I can get back to work.” She grins, the Julia I’ve known and loved most of my life returning, softening my unease.
“You got it, boss.” I mock salute her, then turn, heading back toward the dining area.
“Hey, Wes?” she calls as I’m about to push through the swinging doors. I pause, glancing over my shoulder. “You’re a good brother.”
“I love you, Jules.”
“Love you, too. Now go. Design your buildings. And think of a way to get through to Londyn.”
“I have a feeling designing the most complex building might be an easier feat.”
“True.” She smirks. “But I’ve never known you to shy away from a challenge.”
Chapter Nineteen
Londyn
“It was so good to see you again, Lo,” Justine says, giving me a hug as we linger in the lobby of a popular happy hour spot just around the corner from my old office.
I’d almost turned down her invitation to go out and celebrate one of my former co-worker’s birthdays, since I no longer work with them. But I needed something to keep my mind off the fact that I’m not spending my Friday with Wes at Meemaw and Gampy’s house.
I’d thought doing something that was once a weekly occurrence would help. But nothing did. I saw Wes in every man wearing a dashing suit who walked by the restaurant. I saw him in the group of tourists stopping by for a quick drink. And I saw him in our bartender, the dazzling blue eyes and refined accent nearly identical to his.
“It was great to see you, too.”
“I’m glad you finally had time. Sounds like getting fired was the best thing to happen to you.”
I thought it was, too. Until I made the mistake of falling for my client. Now I’m not sure which way is up. I keep hearing Hazel’s voice telling me to take a risk, to share my fears with Wes. But that would mean telling him all the gritty details of my life I wish I could forget. I’m not sure I’m ready to open the wounds I still don’t think have properly healed.
I smile. “I doubt I’ll ever want to work for someone else again, other than clients.”
After we finish saying our goodbyes, I make my way toward the garage, in no rush to return to my lonely house. As luck would have it, I soon find myself at that same crosswalk where my life changed earlier this summer. But this time, I’m not caught in a torrential downpour, everything slick with rain. The sun peeks through a few scattered clouds as it slowly descends toward the horizon.
The signal changes to WALK, and I step into the crosswalk, a nostalgic smile tugging on my mouth as I stare at the coffee shop. I can’t help but wonder what my life would look like if I hadn’t given Wes my business card. If I hadn’t pressed my luck and tried to make it across the street before the signal changed. If I hadn’t been fired.
If I had to do it all over again, would I do anything differently? Do I wish I had done anything differently?
Despite the way things played out, I can’t say I regret any of it. In my heart, I’d rather have felt what I did with Wes for the brief time we spent together than to never have crossed paths with him at all.
Then why do I keep pushing him away? Why does taking this leap of faith scare me more than heights or snakes?
Lost in the thought of whether I can share the darkest parts of myself with Wes, I don’t notice when I come to the end of the crosswalk. My foot catches on the curb, and I stumble directly into a hard, suit-clad body about to cross.
“Whoa. Easy there,” a familiar voice croons as an arm wraps around my torso.
I dart my head up, a flush of adrenaline coursing through my veins, my stomach fluttering as I peer into Wes’ striking blue eyes.
“What is it with you and this intersection?” he jokes when I don’t immediately say anything, too stunned to form a coherent thought.
I blink, unsure how to respond or act around him now. Apart from the occasional email about design choices, I haven’t spoken to him since the night of our kiss. But god, it’s good to see him again, to feel his warmth, to inhale his scent.
“I think it might be cursed,” I finally reply, stepping out of his hold, smoothing a hand over my dress. “And I can’t even blame it on heels this time.” I gesture to the Egyptian-style sandals laced up my legs.
“I may have to quit my job and man the corner just to keep you safe.”
“Probably not a bad idea.” I force a smile as an awkward silence descends on us.
I should walk away, thank him for helping me yet again, then hurry home. But I can’t manage to put one foot in front of the other, still as drawn to him as I was during our first meeting in this same spot.
“I got your email with the different options for the kitchen,” he offers.
“What did you think?” I ask quickly, doing a horrible job of masking the nerves in my voice.
“You choose. I’m sure whatever you decide will be perfect. Whenever I’ve questioned your ideas, you always ended up being right. I trust you.”
“Let’s go with the first option. It’ll have a vintage feel with a unique fridge and old-style stove, but will still be state-of-the-art.”
“Perfect.”
“Great.”
I stare at him, another awkward silence stretching between us. I feel like I should say something, but what? That I’ve missed him? That these past few weeks have been torture? That all day, all I wanted was to get into my car and drive to Gampy and Meemaw’s like I used to on Fridays. That’s when it hits me. He’s not there, either.
“Well, I should be on my way,” he states.
I tilt my
head. “Why aren’t you at the house?” I blurt out before he can turn from me.
His mouth opens as he blinks, but his uncertainty only lasts a second before he transforms back into the confident man I’ve always known him to be. “Julia needed to use my car. Her husband came into town unexpectedly and has her car, so I let her use mine since she has errands she needs to run for the bakery. I’ll just go tomorrow instead.” His mouth quirks into a small smile, but there’s a sadness within.
“Oh. Okay.” I fidget with my hands, rocking on my heels. I’m not sure what I wanted him to say. Maybe that the thought of being there without me pains him. But that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it?
“See ya around, Londyn.”
The WALK signal lights up, and Wes continues in the direction he’d been heading, his frame getting smaller and smaller. As he steps up onto the opposite curb, I finally find my voice.
“Wes?” I shout over dozens of heads.
He comes to an abrupt stop, slowly glancing over his shoulder.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, a hundred thoughts fighting for attention in my mind. “Can we… Can we go talk somewhere?”
He smiles slowly, causing my stomach to do backflips. It’s only a smile, but it hits me deep in my soul.
Facing me, he’s about to step off the curb when I notice a movement out of my peripheral vision. My eyes widen, my heart catapulting into my throat.
“Wes!” I yell. “Car!”
He jumps back onto the sidewalk as a pickup swerves around him, horn blaring. He stares at the crosswalk for a few moments. Then his eyes meet mine, and he shrugs. I blow out a relieved breath, grateful I didn’t just witness him becoming roadkill. And without telling him the truth. If I had any hesitation about whether sharing my story is the right thing, it’s eviscerated now.
The light feels like it lasts hours instead of minutes, both of us staring at each other from opposite sides of the street as we wait. When the WALK signal lights up again, Wes breaks into a trot, crossing in record time.
“Now who needs to guard the corner to keep whom safe?” I joke.
A blush crawls across his face as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Not my finest of moments. Maybe now we can call it even.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Want to take a walk?” He nods in the vicinity of Centennial Park.
“I’d love to.”
Neither one of us speaks as we make our way to one of Atlanta’s most famous landmarks. It’s a little after six in the evening, but the sun hasn’t yet set, tourists still exploring the area and getting their photos taken in front of the fountains and Olympic rings.
After several minutes pass and I don’t think I can take the silence anymore, I finally speak. “You were right.”
“About?” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his navy blue suit.
“When you said you didn’t believe I pushed you away because I’m black and you’re white. You were right.”
He forms his lips into a tight line, nodding. “I know.” His voice isn’t boastful or cocky. More like even and humble.
“The truth is…” I draw in a deep breath, summoning the courage to share my story. “The truth is, I’ve been married before.”
On a sharp inhale, he darts his eyes to mine. “You have?”
I nod, keeping my gaze trained forward. I can’t bear to look at him right now or I fear I’ll break down. I need to get through this. Need to give him the explanation he deserves. What he does with the information is up to him, although I hope he’ll understand.
“I was twenty.”
“One of those married young, but later regret it type of things?”
I wish it were that simple. But nothing in my life has ever been simple.
“His name is Sawyer Ross.” I pause, waiting to see if there’s a flicker of recognition at the name. Thankfully, there isn’t. While Wes isn’t exactly the type of person who would spend his Sunday morning watching a television preacher, Sawyer’s become more than just that in recent years. He’s become an outspoken advocate for civil rights, too. It’s admirable if you didn’t know him. But I do. He’ll do anything for fame and notoriety, even throw his own wife under the proverbial bus.
“He survived the shooting that took my mother’s life. His father didn’t. Saved him by throwing his body over his. Despite him being four years older, we formed a friendship. At least a stronger friendship than we had before.”
“I imagine it must have been helpful to have someone who understood what you were going through. Survivor’s guilt and all that.”
“I suppose.” I smooth a few curls behind my ear, wrinkling my nose. “It definitely changed us, as any traumatic event would. But while I questioned how a God who was supposed to be this loving being could take my mother, Sawyer went in the opposite direction. In his mind, there was a reason God spared him. He saw it as his calling to spread His word.”
“Ah,” Wes exhales, nodding. “So he became a priest.”
I laugh, grateful for the moment of levity. “We’re not Catholic, but close. He went to college. Studied divinity with the hope of becoming a pastor of his own church. He has an incredibly charismatic personality. Couple that with being a survivor of a famous church shooting, and he had quite a bit of negotiating power when it came to accepting a post at a church. But he was missing one thing a lot of churches want in a pastor, especially after all the scandals with priests in the Catholic church.” I give him a knowing look.
“A wife.”
“Bingo.”
I steer us off the main path through the park and toward the tree-shrouded garden walk, preferring the semblance of privacy to share the next part of my story.
“Like I mentioned, we became friends, even though we were on somewhat different paths. He volunteered as a youth pastor in high school and during the summers he was home from college. I preferred to spend my free time building furniture or going to the park with my sketch pad. Four years may not sound like a big difference, but when you’re a teenager, it’s the difference between a shy, awkward fourteen-year-old girl and a mature eighteen-year-old man. That is, until the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college.”
“What happened then?”
I shrug. “I think he finally realized I wasn’t just a little girl anymore. That I’d become a woman. He definitely didn’t look at me like I was a little girl anymore.” My cheeks heat as I steal a glance at Wes. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to hearing about my ex, but he seems more intrigued than anything. “We went on a few dates, but nothing serious ever came of it.”
“But something serious eventually did come of it, right?”
“I suppose you could say that. After that summer, I went back to school in upstate New York and didn’t really think twice about the few dates we’d gone on, if you could even call them dates. I focused on my studies, since I was there on a scholarship. We exchanged the occasional email or text, but nothing with overly romantic tones. Since we didn’t have any sort of agreement to be exclusive, I dated a few guys here and there, had even told Sawyer about a few of them, and he didn’t seem to care. But when I went home the next summer, things were…different.”
“Different?” Wes tilts his head. “How do you mean?”
“Sawyer had interviewed at a bunch of churches, mostly in Virginia. There was one that was extremely interested in him. It was a pretty big deal, too. This wasn’t just some small church in the middle of nowhere. It was a large church closer to D.C., one with a great deal of influence. One where he’d have a great deal of influence.”
“Let me guess. They were hesitant to hire him because he wasn’t married yet.”
“Yes. I knew all this, too. Heard him talking to my father about it when I was home for spring break. I figured it was their loss if they would pass over someone they were truly interested in just because he wasn’t married. Sawyer was barely twenty-four at this point. He’d only been out of college a few years.
&n
bsp; “Then one day, my father asked me to come see him at the church after I got off my shift at the local hardware store where I worked during my breaks from school.”
“And?”
I stop walking, facing him. With a shrug, I smile half-heartedly. “They had it all planned. I’d marry Sawyer the following month before he went back for his final interview with the board at this other church.”
“And you agreed?”
“I honestly didn’t think I had a choice. Ever since I lost my mother, I felt compelled to do whatever my father asked of me, for the most part. He chose me instead of her—”
“Something any parent would do,” he reminds me.
“I see that now, but because of his sacrifice, I always felt forced to…obey, I suppose. So, instead of a beautiful proposal where the love of my life poured his heart out to me while declaring his unending devotion, I agreed to marry a man much like one would negotiate a car sale. Except in this scenario, I was the car.” I sigh. “A few weeks later, I was no longer Londyn Bennett, but Londyn Ross.”
“Is that why you pushed me away? Because you used to be married? I don’t care about that. I—”
“I wish it were just that. But it’s not. I told you all of that so you’d understand this next part. There’s more.”
He cocks a brow. “More?”
I nod, turning from him and continuing up the winding path. “Despite their arguments to the contrary, I managed to convince my father and Sawyer to let me finish my studies. Told them my agreement to marry Sawyer would be off the table otherwise. So, a few weeks after I married Sawyer, I packed up my things and headed back to college. Of course, part of our agreement was that I could no longer live in the dorms. I got an apartment off campus that was right above this great little coffee shop.”
“Like in Friends?”
I laugh. “More or less, except this was rural New York. And during my senior year, that coffee shop was where I met Jay.”
“Jay?” His voice sounds hesitant, as if able to sense this is where things change.
After everything I endured that year, I often wondered what my life would have been like had I not chosen the apartment above the coffee shop, instead moving into the townhouse that was more spacious but about fifteen minutes away from campus, requiring me to drive and deal with parking. Would I have eventually found my way to The Grind anyway? Would I have been sitting at that table when a man rushed by, his commuter bag swinging on his shoulder, knocking my coffee all over my Greek Art coursework? Would I have accepted his offer to buy me a fresh cup? And would I have said hello the following day when I saw him again?
