We’ll see Uncle Wes after.” Julia places a plate of pancakes, which are covered in strawberries, chocolate drizzle, and powdered sugar, in front of Imogene. The sight makes my stomach growl. Then she skirts around the oversized island and walks toward me, lowering her voice.
“So, how did yesterday go?”
“Yesterday?” I furrow my brow as I finish preparing my coffee in my travel mug, thinking back to the unexpected events of the previous day and the woman whose eyes found me in my dreams all night.
“Yeah. The auction.”
“Oh, right. The auction.” I shake my head. I’d all but forgotten about it in the aftermath of meeting Londyn.
“Yeah. The auction. How did it go?” She bounces on her feet, green eyes alight. “Did you get the house?”
Observing my sister’s anticipation, I draw it out, like I did when we were kids and I had something important to tell her. I heave a dejected sigh as I bring my coffee to my mouth. Then a wide grin crawls across my lips. “I did.”
She flings her arms around me. “Oh, my god! Did you really?”
I laugh, setting my mug on the counter. “Jules, you’re making me spill my coffee.”
“Sorry.” She pulls back. “But seriously, you got it?”
“I did. The old Rosebud house is back in the family. Where it belongs.”
She covers her mouth, struggling to reel in her emotions at the news.
It was pure dumb luck that I was perusing the real estate auction listings earlier in the week and saw an aerial shot of a familiar house — our grandparents’ old summer home. After they passed, it had gone into foreclosure when the estate didn’t pay the hefty second mortgage my grandparents had taken out on it later in life. I still struggle to understand how my mother could have allowed that to happen when she was married to a man worth a small fortune who could have easily paid off any debt still owed on the house. But they didn’t, allowing the historic farmhouse that had been in my mother’s family for generations to be sold to the highest bidder.
Yesterday, that highest bidder was me.
“Mama, why are you sad?” Imogene asks around a mouthful of pancakes.
“I’m not, baby. I’m happy. Uncle Wes just got our meemaw and gampy’s old house back.”
I narrow my gaze on her. “It’s in rough shape, Jules. I think the previous owners hoped to restore it, but realized they’d gotten in over their heads when they saw how much work it needed. It will pretty much need a complete overhaul. After the auction, Nash and I went down there.”
“What did he say?”
I shrug. “The same. That it needs a lot of work, but it’s not a lost cause. He said between his expertise and finding a designer who’s familiar with historical renovations, we’ll be able to restore the house to its former glory, with a few modern touches like air conditioning and updated electrical.”
Julia pushes out a laugh. “What? You mean every time I plug in the stand mixer in the kitchen, it won’t blow a fuse?”
I smile at the memory. “Precisely. Nash gave me some business cards of designers he’s worked with who he thinks would be great for this project.”
“There isn’t anyone at your firm who can do it? You run an architecture firm, for crying out loud.”
“We build. We don’t renovate. Trust me. A historic home is a different ballgame. It’s best we hire someone who understands this.”
“What do you need me to do? I want to help while I’m here. Want me to reach out to some of these designers for you?”
“Sure. There are a bunch of business cards on the desk in my office if you want to check some of them out.”
“Can do.”
It’s no surprise she wants a say in who we hire to work on our grandparents’ old house. Despite Julia being adopted, because my mother needed something else to brag about to all her society friends, my sister formed an incredible bond with Meemaw and Gampy. For all intents and purposes, they raised her. Not my parents.
I suppose the same could be said of me, too.
“Thanks, Jules.” Spying the time on the stove, I exhale deeply. “Well, I’m off to play golf.” I feign enthusiasm over the prospect.
While I don’t mind the sport, I have no desire to play in this tournament. Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice. It’s something my father started years ago as a way to flaunt his wealth in front of clients and friends. According to