I haven’t exactly had a woman for whom to shave, I’ve stopped putting in the effort.
As I peer at my reflection, I wonder what Londyn prefers. Does she like her men clean-shaven? Or would she rather a bit of scruff?
I don’t have time to dwell on that, though, as the sound of the doorbell echoes, followed by Zeus’ rambunctious barking. After running some product through my hair, I dash into my closet and grab the first thing I find — a white linen shirt and pair of jeans.
Once I’m dressed, I take one last look in the mirror before walking out of my room, my steps quick as I head down the stairs. The instant I round the corner into what I consider the heart of my home — the kitchen, living, and dining area — I’m assaulted with a powdery fresh perfume.
From the moment I laid eyes on Londyn, I thought she was beautiful. But there’s something about having her in my house, dressed in a loose black blouse, a pair of skinny jeans, and those same heels I remember from that day in the rain, that makes her even more breathtaking. Her hair frames her face in tight ringlets, complexion smooth, lips shining with gloss. My gaze is drawn to them like a man seeing the majesty of the Grand Canyon for the first time, mesmerized by the beauty, staring in wonder at how nature could make something so magnificent.
“Hi,” I say, the slight waver in my voice evidence of the edginess I experience whenever I’m in her presence.
“Hey.” She briefly averts her eyes, an adorable nervousness about her that matches my own.
“Hey to you, too,” Julia cuts through, reminding me we’re not alone.
“Sorry.” I head toward my sister, kissing her cheek. “Hey, Jules.”
“Impressive.” She glances at the clock on the stove. “I was skeptical, but you pulled it off. Ten minutes exactly.”
“Told you I could do it.”
“I’m calling it a fluke. Or maybe the result of…adequate motivation.”
“Did I miss something?” Londyn looks between us, her confusion apparent. “I’m completely lost.”
“She always complains I’m worse than a woman when it comes to getting ready.”
“I’m a mom,” Julia explains with a shrug. “I’m used to needing to be out of the house before the wind changes and my daughter decides she wants to throw a fit.”
“I don’t throw fits,” Imogene protests from the couch in the living room, a coloring book open in her lap.
“Sure you don’t.” My sister’s voice oozes with sarcasm as she playfully rolls her eyes. Then she redirects her attention to Londyn. “Can I get you something to drink? Do you like wine?”
“I do.”
“Red okay? I made lasagna.”
My stomach rumbles, the aroma of meat and garlic filtering into my senses. While I’m more than capable of cooking, my culinary skills are no match for Julia’s, who’s made a career out of it, although her expertise lies in pastries and desserts. Still, she has a gift when it comes to food, much like Meemaw did.
“That sounds wonderful,” Londyn offers with a smile. “Do you need help with anything?”
“You’re our guest, so just relax.” Julia shoots me a look, silently telling me I’m on wine duty, then refocuses on the tomato sitting on the cutting board, bringing a knife up to it.
“Did you find the place okay?” I ask to fill the silence as I stride toward the built-in wine cabinet just off the kitchen.
“I did.” She looks around. “You have a lovely home. All the houses out here in Brookhaven are gorgeous, though.”
“Where do you live?” Perusing my options, I select a Chianti I purchased last time I was in Italy and bring it back to the island, grabbing a few wine glasses on the way.
“O4W,” she replies, using the local nickname for Old Fourth Ward.
“That’s a great part of the city.” I extend the cutter out of the corkscrew, slicing into the foil around the neck of the bottle, then make quick work of the cork, a pop echoing as I pull it out. “Really on the up and up.” I pour some wine into a glass and slide it across the counter toward her.
“I sometimes forget I’m in the city. It’s got a nice community feel. People look out for each other there.”
“Apartment? Townhouse?” I ask, wanting to learn all the pieces that make up who she is, desperate for even the tiniest bit of information.
“A condo, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“One of the instructors at my se—” She stops short, panic washing over her face