rotted and missing in places. At least the stained-glass window over the front door seems to be in decent shape, albeit a bit grimy. Nothing I can’t fix and bring back to life.
I’m about to knock on the rickety front door when it swings open, a petite blonde greeting me with an excited smile.
“Are you Londyn?” she asks, somewhat breathless.
“I am. Julia?” I squint, something about her oddly familiar, but I can’t place where I know her. And I don’t remember meeting a Julia before.
She extends her hand and we shake. “That’s me. So nice to meet you.”
Her accent is smooth and refined. It’s reminiscent of the intonation in Weston’s voice — easy and relaxed.
Over the past week, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, despite trying. The way my skin heated from his touch. The way my heart leapt out of my chest. The way his eyes raked over me in a way that made me feel he could see straight into my soul. The more thoughts of him invaded my subconscious, the more I convinced myself my reaction was simply the result of his heroic efforts in saving my life, the traumatic event causing me to act completely out of character. Convinced myself that if I were to ever see him again, it wouldn’t be all fireworks and electricity. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn I’d imagined his muscular appearance. He’s probably short, balding, and overweight.
“Thanks for making the trip out here,” Julia continues.
“It wasn’t too bad. Only took me a little more than an hour.” I glance around the property. “Although based on how secluded everything is, you’d think it was hundreds of miles from civilization, not just an hour from one of the busiest airports in the world.”
“Certainly not in Kansas anymore, are we?”
“Certainly not.”
“Come on.” She steps to the side, extending her arm into the house. “I’ll give you the tour and you can share your thoughts.”
“Thank you.”
As I cross the foyer, I drink in everything, feeling like I’ve stepped back to a simpler time. The entryway boasts high ceilings, the hallway a straight shot to the back door.
“They used to call this a dog-trot,” I offer, taking in the arched doorway between the formal entryway and the hallway, something you don’t see a lot of in modern construction. These days, everyone wants an open floor plan, whereas decades ago, each room was separate and served a different purpose. “In the days before air conditioning, a lot of older homes had them as a way of increasing airflow through the lower level.” I grab my phone out of my purse and snap a few photos.
“Well, that’s one of the modernizations I hope to add. Proper heating and air conditioning.”
“There’s no AC?”
She shakes her head. “There’s not much of anything in this house.” She affectionately runs her hand along the wallpaper with a faded fleur-de-lis pattern. “Except for memories.”
“This was your grandparents’ house, correct?” I ask as we turn into the room to the left of the foyer, the arched doorway the same as the rest of the house. Natural light shines in from the bay window, dust particles dancing.
“It was. Well, it was their lake house, as they called it. Not their primary residence, but the older they got, the more they preferred the pace of life out here than in the city. Growing up, my brother and I spent our summers here. There are stables out back where Meemaw and Gampy taught us to ride. There’s also a lake where we would swim, go canoeing, swing off a rope we attached to a branch of a nearby tree right into the water.”
“Sounds incredible,” I offer with a smile, walking farther into what I imagine was once the living room, coming to a stop when my eyes fall on a fireplace in the corner. “Is this the original?” I trace my fingers along the ornate detailing on the front of it.
“It is. There’s one in every room.”
“What year was this built?”
“I believe 1854. My great-great-great-great-grandfather or something built it. From what Meemaw and Gampy told us, he was a doctor. During the Civil War, this place was used as a hospital for both the Union and Confederate troops.” She walks a slow circle, drinking in the history contained within these four walls. “As legend has it, he performed amputations in this very room and threw the arms and legs out that window for later collection.” She nods in the general vicinity.