One Southern Summer, page 1
Praise for the novels of Heidi McCahan
“In pitch-perfect prose, Heidi McCahan effortlessly captures what it means to be a modern woman in all its complexities in her heartwarming new page turner. A story of reinvention, second chances, and finding love that truly conquers all, One Southern Summer is an absolute must read by a standout voice. Fans of Susan Mallery and Debbie Macomber will devour this captivating novel.”
—Kristy Woodson Harvey, New York Times bestselling author of Under the Southern Sky
“Second-chance romance steeped in southern sweetness...what’s not to love? In this heartwarming story set in the fictional town of Camellia, Alabama, Heidi McCahan’s characters prove it’s never too late to reclaim your true self and build the happy-ever-after you deserve. The end result? A sentimental escape that leaves readers smiling.”
—Julie Cantrell, New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author
of Perennials
“In One Southern Summer, Heidi McCahan pens an engaging story about family ties and starting over when life takes an unexpected turn. Realistic characters, poignant moments, and a romance that celebrates second chances will leave you as satisfied as a glass of sweet tea!”
—Kathryn Springer
“A touching, tender story about hope, second chances and new beginnings. Lose yourself in One Southern Summer.”
—RaeAnne Thayne, New York Times bestselling author
“Heidi McCahan’s One Southern Summer is true southern women’s fiction, complete with sweet tea and gossip and a feisty, meddling grandma. But it’s also a contemporary story of family dynamics, social media, and the important issue of human trafficking. The small Alabama town, the summer heat, the foibles of the imperfect characters who nevertheless steal your heart, all are portrayed in rich prose that kept me turning the pages. I loved this story!”
—Lee Tobin McClain, New York Times bestselling author
Also by Heidi McCahan
Love Inspired
Home to Hearts Bay
An Alaskan Secret
The Twins’ Alaskan Adventure
His Alaskan Redemption
The Firefighter’s Twins
Their Baby Blessing
An Unexpected Arrangement
The Bull Rider’s Fresh Start
For additional books by Heidi McCahan, visit her website, www.heidimccahan.com.
One Southern Summer
Heidi McCahan
For Susan May Warren and Rachel Hauck.
Thank you for teaching me how to write a novel.
Your wisdom and encouragement helped me put this story together.
I’m forever grateful.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from The Bookshop of Secrets by Mollie Rushmeyer
Prologue
One year earlier
With the Carolina blue sky cradling the mid-May sunshine, every blade of grass on the manicured lawn standing at attention and the humidity unexpectedly missing in action, she almost believed nothing could go wrong.
Almost.
In the unwritten rules of Southern etiquette, every woman innately understood the expectations regarding a proper social gathering. And more importantly, the ramifications of an unforeseen party planning faux pas. That’s why Avery Lansing Crawford had hired Raleigh’s premier event planner to oversee the flawless execution of her baby’s gender reveal festivities.
She stood on the back steps of her screened porch and surveyed the yard like an offensive coordinator mentally preparing for the first play of the football game. Ice rattled against the galvanized steel buckets as the caterer packed the containers with bottled drinks. A woman wearing black pants and a white blouse strode past her, balancing an oval tray of cupcakes. A rogue wave of emotion washed over Avery and she blinked back tears.
Finally. She’d stayed pregnant. This party was actually happening. Those pastel pink– and pale blue–frosted cupcakes crowned with custom-made pacifier-shaped candies symbolized victory. Avery smoothed her hand over the royal blue fabric of her maternity dress and caressed her rounded abdomen. After last year’s miscarriage all she wanted was an unremarkable full-term pregnancy.
Was that too much to ask?
For the past twenty-two weeks she’d held her breath at every cramp and mysterious backache. Her frequent visits to the restroom were fraught with anxiety. She’d been terrified her worst fear would manifest—bleeding. When the twenty-week ultrasound results confirmed a healthy pregnancy, Avery allowed the first inklings of hope to take root. Pax said he’d be happy with a girl or a boy, but she suspected he had a strong preference for a boy. And she longed to give him the gift of a healthy son.
Sure, she had tried to convince herself contentment was possible with only one child. After all, they had a beautiful home, wonderful friends and a thriving business. But ever since that miscarriage, her need to have another baby consumed her. Like a woman tearing through the pantry looking for the good chocolate, Avery couldn’t escape her obsession with getting pregnant again.
Was she selfish for wanting to grow their family?
No. She banished that thought as their three-year-old daughter skipped across the backyard. Lots of people had multiple children. Addison needed a sibling.
A breeze kicked up, blowing a lock of the little girl’s curly honey-colored hair across her face. She stopped and tossed her head impatiently then tugged the strand free with her hand. Avery smiled. So precious. Addison spun around, her blue eyes finding Avery.
“Mama, can I have a balloon, please?” She stretched the single syllable word and twirled in a clumsy circle. Her yellow polka-dotted dress billowed around her bare legs.
“Not yet, baby. The balloons are for the party, remember?” Avery stopped short of asking how Addison knew they had balloons. The event planner had received explicit instructions to keep them tucked away in the enormous trunk in the middle of the yard until they were ready for the big reveal. Once the guests arrived and had their drinks and appetizers, she and Pax planned to open the trunk together. Whatever color balloons emerged would indicate the gender of their baby. Avery’s heart fluttered with anticipation. She could hardly stand the wait.
“I. Want. A. Balloon.” Addison stopped twirling and pooched out her lower lip.
“Do we get anything when we ask like that?” Avery admonished. “And where is your father?” she whispered to herself, surveying the yard for Pax or the babysitter she’d hired to keep Addison entertained. The professional photographers had just arrived and she wanted to go over her expectations one more time. The event planner had positioned the photo booth in the wrong place. They needed a better location or all the guests would have to squint into the sun during their pictures.
“If Daddy says yes can I have a balloon?”
Avery smiled. This girl. She was relentless. Addison crossed her arms over her tiny torso. Anticipation gleamed in her eyes.
“Do you know where your daddy went?”
“He’s inside.” Addison tipped her chin up, well aware that she provided a crucial piece of information. “Talking to Uncle Trey.”
Avery’s shoulders sagged. Uncle Trey was Pax’s best friend and partner in the Crawfords’ successful home renovation business—an enterprise launched from Avery’s widely read lifestyle blog. Trey had recorded the highest number of closings this spring of any Realtor in Raleigh, Durham or Chapel Hill. The housing market wasn’t showing any signs of cooling off, so she couldn’t blame them for plotting their next move. But couldn’t they take a break? Production had wrapped on the first season of their new TV show. The camera crew had left yesterday. Two magazines had wanted to feature the gender reveal in upcoming issues, but she’d declined. Today was all about gathering with their family and friends, and celebrating this new life growing inside of her. Hadn’t they earned a reprieve from eating, sleeping and breathing real estate?
She’d lost more than a little sleep over her decision to keep the event private. The pilot episode of their home renovation show had pulled in an enthusiastic audience. Her popularity on social media had skyrocketed. Along with her almost constant fear that she’d somehow mess it up. When she’d first started out, mingling with strangers on the internet, the conversation had been light. Fun. Encouraging. It wasn’t long before their small company’s unexpected success had brought out a mean streak in her opinionated followers. Comments could be deleted and the most offensive trolls blocked, but she never quite got over the sting of hurtful words flung at her with casual indifference.
Oddly enough, now she felt guilty for depriving their fans of an exclusive look at their family life. Trey and Pax had roped her into becoming the face of their brand. Despite her initial reluctanc e, she couldn’t deny that the dopamine rush she earned when her pretty posts gained the approval of her capricious demographic motivated her to keep producing more appealing content. Always on a relentless quest to go viral. Again. No one had to know she had nothing to do with staging that home. Or the content of the pictures she posted.
“Mama, when can I have a balloon?”
Addison’s question tugged her back to the present. “When the party is over. I’ll make sure we save one just for you.”
“Oh-kay.” Addison heaved a sigh then slinked away, like a defeated athlete who’d unexpectedly lost a competition.
Avery pulled her phone from her pocket to check on the babysitter’s status. An incoming text from her sister Harper bubbled up.
We’ve been delayed another twenty minutes on the ground in Atlanta. I’m so sorry. I hope we get there before the party is over.
Avery glared at the update. What a bummer. She really wanted Mama and both her sisters here. She couldn’t hold off a hundred guests another two hours, though. Maybe longer, depending on how long it took her family to get their luggage and catch an Uber from the airport. She put her phone away without responding.
Furrowed brows and fierce whispering between the event planner and her assistant demanded Avery’s attention. Uh-oh. What had gone wrong?
Panic quickened her steps as she strode toward them, casting another glance around the yard. The caterer had the food situation under control. Two women guarded the cupcakes and Addison chased a butterfly. Other than Pax not yet making an appearance and her family’s delayed flight, nothing earth-shattering triggered a warning.
“Hey, Meredith.” She infused her voice with calm and stopped beside the event planner. “Are we about ready?”
Meredith and her assistant exchanged nervous glances.
Avery’s mouth went dry, and she pressed her palm against Meredith’s slender arm. “What is it?”
Color splashed across Meredith’s cheekbones. “Avery, two of our white tablecloths have hideous red wine stains on them. I’m so embarrassed and I hate to ask, but do you have two we can borrow?”
The weight of dread lifted from her shoulders. “Now, that I can handle.” She rewarded Meredith with a reassuring smile. “Of course you can use mine. I’ll be right back.”
She turned and strode across the yard with a spring in her step. Stained tablecloths. If that was the only detail they’d overlooked, this party was going to be golden. She hummed softly as she pulled open the door to the screened porch, crossed to the back door then stepped inside. The fragrant aroma of fresh flowers enveloped her as she paused in the quiet kitchen.
A gorgeous floral arrangement from Pax’s parents sat on the large island’s marble countertop. So thoughtful. They’d booked a speaking engagement in California and couldn’t reschedule. Avery had silently rejoiced when she’d received her mother-in-law’s regretful text. They managed to get along when they were together, but Pastor and Mrs. Crawford had a way of commandeering the spotlight. Avery wasn’t the least bit interested in sharing today.
Her heels clicked on the hardwoods as she passed through the den. She’d stored her round tablecloths in the laundry room’s spacious custom cabinets. Michael Bublé streamed from a wireless speaker nearby. The rumble of masculine voices filtered from the laundry room and Avery paused. Then she heard Pax’s familiar throaty chuckle. She angled her head as she inched closer. What was he doing in there? And who was he talking to in that tone of voice she thought he reserved only for her?
She tapped her manicured nails on the door then gently pushed it open. “Pax? Are you—”
Her mind refused to comprehend what her eyes saw, and her legs quaked like her nana’s Jell-O salad at Christmas dinner.
This isn’t happening.
She cupped her hand over her mouth to silence the scream fighting to break free from her constricting chest. Pax and Trey were pressed up against the washing machine, locked in an intimate embrace.
Through the window overlooking the backyard she watched as Addison opened the lid on the trunk and dozens of pale blue balloons sailed into the cloudless sky.
Chapter One
Maribelle Hurst Lansing was mad enough to drown puppies. Ever since Olive McPherson waltzed into town and wormed her way into every club and committee, she’d made it her mission to aggravate people.
And tonight was no exception.
Ignoring the group’s obvious distaste for her yammering, Olive, The Queen of Book Club, blathered on about this month’s selection—the same mindless pablum she’d insisted her previous book club in Memphis enjoyed reading. She was always carrying on about Memphis. Maybe if it was so wonderful, Olive should consider moving back. Just saying was all.
Maribelle shot a pointed stare at Lucille, her across-the-hall neighbor at Westwood Manor and self-appointed chauffeur. Lucille conveniently avoided eye contact and loaded her fork with another bite of pear and pomegranate salad. Lucille’s husband had passed six months ago and she hated to go home to her empty apartment. Maribelle didn’t exactly love living alone either, but after ten years she’d gotten used to the idea. Besides she’d started binge watching The Good Place and if she convinced Lucille to leave now, there’d be enough time to watch a full episode before her eyes gave out and she fell asleep.
When Nell, bless her heart, interjected and managed to shift the conversation toward the upcoming fundraiser for Imari’s Place, Maribelle groaned inwardly then drained the last of her sweet tea. She cared about human trafficking as much as they did, but were they really going to put an end to such a travesty during book club? Probably not. Which is why they should call it a night and write that handsome director a check like they did every year.
Heaving a dramatic sigh, Maribelle made a big show of checking her wristwatch. Lucille didn’t even bat an eyelash. Instead she carved her fork through another pear slice and nodded vehemently at whatever Nell was saying. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Finish your fancy salad already. It’s probably not even that good.
Not to be outdone by a community service project, Olive made a desperate grab for the spotlight and launched into her diatribe on the merits of authentic character arcs. Maribelle had had about all she could take. She pushed her chair back and stood then reached for her good pocketbook—the one with that Michael fella’s logo her granddaughter Avery said all the young people were crazy about.
Evidently, her body didn’t get the memo. For one terrifying instant, her brain and limbs battled, and she tottered precariously off-balance.
Dear Lord, do not let me fall in front of Olive McPherson.
She’d never let her forget it. Ever since Maribelle suggested they hire a ventriloquist for the family fun night at church and he’d offended half the congregation with his off-color jokes, Olive went to great lengths to remind her of her missteps. How was she supposed to know his act wasn’t appropriate for children? Whether she had one week or a hundred left on this earth, Maribelle vowed Olive would not hold one more iota of mortifying information over her head.
The young lady serving their table and hovering nearby must’ve questioned Maribelle’s judgment because her unsightly fingernails clamped around the sleeve of her cashmere sweater faster than a dog on a jackrabbit.
“Can I help you, Mrs. Lansing?” Her wide green eyes and polite smile did nothing to obscure her pity.
“No thank you, sugar.” Maribelle straightened, confident she’d dodged the proverbial bullet, and readjusted her sweater. “By the way, there’s a lovely nail salon in that new shopping center on Highland Circle. You should stop by sometime.”
The server’s smile faded, and she fisted her hand at her side. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“They have complimentary coffee, sweet tea or sparkling water. What’s not to love?”
Without waiting for a response, Maribelle started toward the ladies’ room. They’d been meeting for drinks and dessert—or salad if you were dull and boring like Lucille—after book club at The Flowering Vine for over a decade. By now the management should’ve figured out that a group of older women didn’t need to sit so far from the restroom. Didn’t they know how their lives revolved around frequent and unfettered access to the facilities?
