That One Summer: A Collection of Steamy Contemporary Romance

Chapter 1

Emilee

The ceiling fan’s humabove my head is like a soundtrack to my chaotic thoughts, reminding me I need to get my furnace fixed. Buffalo in January, it’s too cold to not run the furnace, but the thing stays on high, so I need to use the fan to combat the heat.

Sprawled out on the couch, enveloped by the cozy cushions on my sectional and my favorite plush blanket, I’m lost in my little fortress of solitude. My phone’s glow throws off shadows that make even my coffee table look sinister. The jasmine plant, once my pride and joy, now just another casualty of my neglect, adds a bittersweet tang to the air. The damn thing is mocking me.

I don’t blame it. The couch or the bed have been my sole source of comfort over the last few weeks. I’m sure I’ve binged every crime series on television. I’ve done nothing, seen nobody, gone nowhere. I’ve even resorted to having food delivered to my neighbor’s condo two doors down, and then I sneak over to retrieve it when the coast is clear. They’re on their annual winter vacation, so there’s no chance of them finding out.

As I’ve been doing every day since I secured myself in my home, I’m mindlessly thumbing through social media on my phone, each swipe a desperate attempt to drown out the echoes of judgment from people I once called colleagues—people I called friends. I asked my parents and siblings not to come or reach out to me for fear my life would spill into theirs. All of us don’t need to be miserable.

But it’s been four weeks now, and it’s starting to feel like the walls of my tiny living room are inching closer with every passing moment, trapping me in a box of stares and rumors. Even the spectacular view of Niagara Falls from my living room window has lost its appeal.

How can this be my life?

I’ve gone from being at the top of my game to hiding my face from my family, friends, peers, and sneaky journalists out to grab the inside scoop or a photo of me at my utmost worst. Right now, any moment fits that description. God, when did I last shave my legs? Or wear something other than sleepwear?

Then, out of nowhere, Marika’s post on Facebook catches my attention—a photo of Summer Island, all lush greens, and deep blues, with “Escape to the new horizon—Tranquil Bay on Summer Island. Opening soon,” the caption promises.

What I wouldn’t give to escape this hell I’m living in.

Marika is an old friend from college. I miss those days. She had a penchant for making me ditch the books every now and then for a bit of real-life excitement. Now, she’s a hot influencer who married an even hotter reconstructive surgeon from her hometown in Canada. I haven’t seen her in years, but I’ve been following her travel blog for ages, picturing myself in all those glorious locations, eating all that delicious food, and having passionate affairs with all those gorgeous men.

Wait a minute.

I sit up straight and throw my legs over the side of the couch. A tiny spark of hope has bloomed, something I haven’t felt since my world turned upside down.

Although she doesn’t yet know it, Marika is offering me a possible change of scenery when I need it most—an opportunity to swap out accusations for sunshine and beaches. The flight’s not too long—four hours or so—but far enough away that nobody will know me or my story.

“Hmmm, maybe I should contact her...”

I let my imagination run wild with images of the island breeze on my skin and soft sand beneath my bare feet. Of course,I’ll need to give myself a pedicure. No more sympathetic looks or whispers behind my back. Just me, sipping rum-filled concoctions and eating tropical fruit beside the pool.

This island could be my chance to hit reset, to piece myself back together away from the rumors and side-eyes, a chance to figure out where I go from here. It’s funny how I’m looking for a place to hide in plain sight, seeking invisibility while on the path to clearing my name. Even without proof or formal charges, the damage is done. I really need is to find myself again, to prove I’m not the person they’re claiming I am, that I would never do what I’ve been accused of doing.

Could this be the chance to regroup I’ve been craving?

For the first time since this nightmare began, my heart beats faster. Some sun, surf, and sand are the medicine I need to face the world again.

With my heart pounding like a drum solo, I send Marika a text message asking if she has time for a phone call or video chat and hope I don’t have to wait too long for her to see it. This whole thing is wildly out of character for me. We haven’t spoken in ages, and I’m not the spontaneous type. I’m an accountant, for crying out loud. We don’t do spur-of-the-moment texting fueled by desperation.

After about thirty minutes of constantly checking to see if I’ve missed her return text or confirming that my phone is still working, the soft ringing of an incoming video chat echoes through my condo, startling me. I grab my phone, in the process, stumbling and knocking it off the table, where it bounces twice before coming to a rest.

It’s her.

I jab my finger on the little green box, praying I didn’t miss her.

And then, there she is—all smiles. “Oh my God, Emilee! I can’t believe it’s you. It’s been so long.”

“Since your wedding.”

She looks radiant. Married life looks good on her. Although I see her videos every other day, it doesn’t replace seeing her live. Even if it’s through a screen. She has that infectious smile I remember and an aura that somehow manages to be calm and chaotic.

Wearing a flowy blue dress that drapes over her slight baby bump, which she’s been trying to hide on the camera, she’s on full display now. Her long golden hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, framing a face that glows not just from her pregnancy but also from the success she’s carved out for herself.

Suddenly, I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of an abyss. I need to get out from under this undeserved sense of guilt I’ve been carrying. I just wish I could get a hug from my friend. Her hugs always made me feel better.

“Marika, you look wonderful. I’ve missed you so much.”My throat catches as emotion rolls over me.

Her eyes widen in surprise, then soften as she reads the unrest in mine. “Same, honey. I’m so happy you called. We’ve been so busy with the baby coming and the new resort. You caught me at a good time, actually.”

She pans her camera around the living room where she’s sitting, an eclectic mix of chic comfort and boxes. “As you can see, I’m getting ready to head over to the island for a few weeks before I can’t travel anymore. After the baby is born, we hope to stay there for a few months, so I want to take the necessities now. Plus, we have all the last-minute details to take care of before the opening. It’s exciting but also nerve-wracking. There’s so much to do.”

“Where’s Shaun?”

“At the office. He’s wrapping up the transfer of patient files before we go. When I come back, he’s going to stay as long as possible, then he’ll fly home before I have the baby, and then the three of us will go back together. I’ve got a reminder list a mile long so forgive me if I seem a little distracted. Something always comes to mind to add to the list.”

I swallow past a lump in my throat and blink back tears. “No worries. I didn’t mean to intrude and call you out of the blue like this, but...”

“It’s fine. Really. I need a break. Talk to me,”she says gently, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear, her face etched with concern. It’s the same look she’d given me back in college when I’d fret over exams, a silent promise that she was there for me.

My head droops, and I sigh. “I-I... I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start from the beginning and tell me everything,”she says, eyes locking onto mine through our phones, with unwavering attention.

With a deep breath, I tell her about the accusations, Darren’s betrayal, the loss of my job, and my friends and trust—people I thought cared for me turned against me in a heartbeat without even allowing me to defend myself. The words pour out, unrestrained, like rain breaking free from a dark cloud.

Marika listens, her expression a mirror of empathy, her occasional nod a silent chorus to my tale of woe.

When I finally pause, spent from the deluge of confession, she reaches out and touches the screen, just two fingers, to let me know she’s got my back. “Oh, Em. I’m so sorry.”

“Since I got fired, it’s like I’m suffocating.”My hands fidget with the hem of my shirt. “It’s not just the job, it’s the people looking at me like I’m a criminal. Everywhere I go there’s a camera. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it in the news or online. I can’t get away from it, Marika. I’m a virtual prisoner in my own home. I need someplace quiet, somewhere I can think without accusations following me around. Then today, I saw your post about Summer Island...”

Marika nods, her expression understanding and almost maternal. “The resort. It’s still under construction in many places, but what better place to find peace than an island paradise, am I right? No guests yet, just sun, sand, and the sound of waves. You can stay there until you get things sorted. How does that sound?”

“Are you sure?”The words hang between us, a lifeline dangling within reach.

“Of course, I am. I’m flying back there at the end of the week. I’ll set everything up for you. Come and stay for a few weeks, or the whole summer, however long you want.”

“It sounds like heaven,”I say, and I can already feel the breath moving easier through my body. “But, I don’t want to impose when I know you’ve still got so much work to do.”

“Stop that,”she chides. “You’d be doing me a favor. Consider it a soft opening. We could use someone with your eye for detail to catch anything we missed before the grand opening.”

A surge of gratitude wells up inside me, mixed with relief so potent I can almost taste it. “Then I accept the invite.”

“Shaun will flip out—in a good way, trust me. He loves playing host to friends. Are you ready to get away from winter for a little slice of paradise?”

“Yes, please! And thank you, Marika. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“Then it’s settled.”She beams, and her grin is infectious. “Consider Tranquil Bay your home away from home. I can’t wait to show you around.”

I smile, feeling a lightness I haven’t felt in weeks. “I guess I’d better start packing,”I say.

“You’ll love it there.”She drops her gaze away from the screen momentarily. And I can hear tapping on her keyboard. “I’m sending you the resort info. Let me know when you have your flight arranged, and the time you’ll get in, and I’ll have a car waiting to pick you up.”She hits send, then she stares at me, her expression earnest. “Emilee, you know I’ve got you, right? Tranquil Bay isn’t just a resort, it’s a safe haven on a beautiful island. A place to breathe, and to heal. And it’s all yours until you’re ready to face the world again.”

I absorb her words, letting them soothe the raw edges of my spirit.

“Thank you, Marika,”I whisper, my throat tight. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like you.”

“Deserve has nothing to do with it,”she replies, her smile tinged with compassion. “That’s what friends are for.”

The shadows clinging to my heart begin to retreat, inch by inch. The restrictions keeping me tight as a drum begin to loosen. “I’ll see you soon.”

We end the call and I feel like a massive boulder has been lifted off my shoulders.