“Sure. Take your time.” I smile, my gaze following her as she grabs her duffle bag and heads down the hallway.
“She’s got a change of clothes?” Julia sidles up next to me. Her voice has a teasing quality to it that’s reminiscent of our teenage years when she’d pester me about girls I had a crush on.
“She started bringing a change of clothes a few weeks back.”
“Any reason for that?”
“The heat’s been brutal, so once the upstairs bathrooms were completed, she’s been taking a shower after finishing up for the day.”
Julia tilts her head, her eyes alight with mischief. “Why would she need to do that if she’s just going home? Doesn’t she have a shower there?”
“Of course she does.” I pinch my lips together, averting my gaze. But I know my sister. She’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to this kind of thing, especially about anything to do with Londyn.
For weeks, she’s been nagging me for more information, encouraging me to finally make a move and ask her out. She won’t let up until she knows everything. So instead of admitting I’ve spent the past several weeks fantasizing about kissing Londyn, I throw her a tiny bone.
“We’ve been having dinner together.”
“Is that right?”
I roll my eyes. “Not like you’re thinking. It’s a long drive back to Atlanta—”
“Not that long,” she interjects. “Just a little over an hour, depending on traffic.”
“Regardless, the least I can do is feed her before she drives back.”
“Feed her what exactly?” She waggles her brows.
I push past her, heading up to the master bedroom to get ready. “You’re sick.”
Her laughter fills the space. “But you still love me.”
“Debatable.”
Chapter Thirteen
Londyn
The sights and sounds of the county fairs of my childhood surround me as I stroll beside Julia through trampled grass. Wes and Imogene walk several feet in front of us, their hands clasped together, her laughter echoing in the late afternoon air.
Since we arrived here a half-hour ago, I’ve barely been able to take my eyes off Wes and the way he is with Imogene. Over the past few months, I’ve witnessed their interactions, but not for prolonged periods of time. Not like this. The affection he has for the little girl is evident. And it’s clear she worships the ground he walks on.
“He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her,” Julia says, reading my thoughts.
I lift my eyes to hers, smiling.
“And to me,” she adds, glancing down at her feet. A bit of vulnerability surrounds her, which is unlike the strong-willed woman I’ve gotten to know.
“You two seem to have a really close relationship.”
“We’ve certainly had our fair share of disagreements. What siblings don’t?” She laughs, her expression lightening for a moment before turning serious. “But he’s always been there when it mattered.” She pauses before continuing. “Did Wes mention I’m not his real sister? Not by blood anyway.”
I blink, slowing my steps as I wrap my brain around this revelation. I don’t know why it catches me so off guard. Wes and Julia look nothing alike, so it shouldn’t come as such a shock. Now I’m even more intrigued to learn about this part of her… And Wes.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Which is so like him.” She shakes her head, smiling fondly. “When we were kids and someone brought up the fact I wasn’t born into his family, that I’m not a true Bradford, he’d kindly but firmly remind them I’m his sister, regardless that we don’t share the same DNA. But that’s just the type of person Wes is. Kind. Loyal. Protective.”
“Were you adopted at birth?”
“I was about Imogene’s age.” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “My birth mom had a drug problem that eventually got the better of her. I think I was taken away from her when I was four or so. I bounced from foster home to foster home for a while. I guess being raised by a drug addict for four years had some psychological effects a lot of families weren’t prepared for. But once my mom overdosed, it made me eligible for adoption. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d ever be adopted. I’d once overheard my social worker saying that the older kids got, the harder it was to find a family willing to raise them. Not completely impossible, but many potential adoptive parents prefer a baby. Not a maladjusted six-year-old with emotional problems.” She smiles sadly.
“How did Wes’ parents become interested? Based on the little I’ve picked up from you and