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 everything 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