The Summer We Met (The Destin Diaries #1)

1. Vivien

“ E xcuse me?” Vivien Knight scowled at the dashboard as if she couldn’t believe the words that came through the phone speaker. “You want me to change my name ?”

Ryan grunted, a sign of his true frustration whenever Vivien didn’t give in and let her husband—okay, soon-to-be ex -husband—have his way.

Which was, if truth be told, never. She always gave in. He always got his way.

But change back to her maiden name? That was just…too much.

“Come on, Viv,” he said, sliding into his sales voice, the one that won add-ons and upgrades and big fat closing profits for Ryan Knight Homes, his successful custom home-building business. “It’ll be way less complicated if you use Vivien Lawson.”

Way less complicated for who ? As if she couldn’t guess.

She’d been Vivien Knight since they got married twenty-six years ago. She’d built a solid reputation as an interior designer with that name. Yes, she’d worked exclusively for Ryan Knight Homes. Why wouldn’t she? Ryan was her husband.

For six more weeks, anyway.

“But I have a website and business cards,” she said, hating that she could hear the first notes of concession in her voice. She sat up and squeezed the steering wheel, determined to feel her backbone. Even if that spine did sometimes seem more like a wet noodle than the titanium rod she dreamed of having. “Vivien Knight Designs is…a thing.”

She heard his caustic laugh, rich with derision. “Viv, you opened the business, what? Six months ago? You’ve had a few measly jobs re-doing living rooms. No one cares if you switch back to Lawson.”

Measly ? How dare he?—

“The old name really makes sense now that you’ve left the company.”

Left ? She almost wailed. She hadn’t left . Ryan had a midlife crisis, filed for divorce, and threw away their marriage—and his top designer—in the process.

“So, will you start using it right away?” he asked, plowing through his close. “You don’t have to have it legally rubberstamped, just change your website or start answering your phone with your old name.”

The phone that wasn’t exactly ringing off the hook? She swallowed hard, tasting defeat.

“I have to think about it,” she said, eyeing the Atlanta traffic ahead of her.

“There’s nothing to think about,” he said, which translated to I have asked, therefore, you will do.

As it had been since the day she’d met him, two weeks out of college when she got a job answering phones at Ryan Knight Homes. The handsome builder/owner, seven years her senior, had taken a liking to her. She’d liked him right back. However, he was her boss, so he called the shots, and that set the tone from courtship through marriage and even, evidently, through the dissolution of that union.

Vivien had always made the concessions, probably because she’d been trained for that by a controlling and demanding mother.

At the thought of Maggie Lawson, she glanced at her GPS. She’d better end this uncomfortable conversation to mentally prepare for the next one. She still didn’t know why her mother had summoned her three grown children for a Sunday afternoon meeting, but her gut said it couldn’t be good.

“What’s to think about?” Ryan pressed when she didn’t respond.

“I have other things going on today,” she said, knowing the excuse sounded lame.

“Like what?” he asked. “Where are you going?”

“To Crista’s,” she replied, referring to her younger sister. “To see my mother.”

That’s all he needed to know about her life and schedule—he wasn’t part of her family anymore.

“Good,” he said. “Then you can ask Maggie about changing your name back. She’ll jump on the chance for you to be a Lawson again.”

True. And he knew Vivien couldn’t say no to her mother, either.

Which was the crux of her problem. She never stood up to powerful people. Middle child, peacemaker, conflict-hater—that was Vivien Knight…er, Lawson , if Ryan got his way.

She shook her head and took a deep breath, ready to say no. Just… no .

“I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know,” she said instead.

Okay. Not exactly no , but at least it wasn’t a full-blown roll over and surrender.

“Just change it, Viv,” he said, unimpressed with her attempt to call this one and only shot. “Why fight it? You know it’s the right thing to do.”

Was it? She’d never considered going back to her maiden name during this season of personal upheaval. Heck, she’d just taken off her wedding ring a month ago and only because it had gotten loose from a lost appetite.

Maybe she would go back to Lawson, maybe she should . But she wanted the decision to be hers, not his.

“I have to go,” she said, finally eyeing the exit that would take her to her sister’s house. “I’ll text you when I make a decision.”

Without waiting for his response, she stabbed the button on her steering wheel, disconnecting the call. The move gave her a jolt of satisfaction that she longed to feel more in her life.

“Vivien Lawson,” she whispered, imagining saying it to a new client.

It sounded…familiar.

As she drifted into the exit lane, she inched up in her seat to steal a glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her golden-brown eyes looked shellshocked and uncertain, the light gone. Her caramel-blond hair had grown darker, too, draping around hollow cheeks during this long winter of discontent.

Maybe she should change her name and her hair color. And everything else about her life. Would that put the spark back in her eyes? The bounce back in her step? The joy back in her heart?

Doubtful. This divorce had wrecked her.

Driving past the lush lawns and tall oaks of Crista and Anthony’s suburban neighborhood, her mind slipped back to that moment when it all started, nine months ago.

That morning, she’d awakened to the sound of her husband sobbing in the bed next to her. She’d opened her eyes and found Ryan sitting up in bed, literally ugly crying into his hands.

In a teary confession, he told her he was no longer in love with her and hadn’t been for a long time.

No, he hadn’t cheated, hadn’t even considered it. He just wanted “more.” He wanted romance and excitement and the thrill of a new life. He wanted meaning and purpose and significance. He wanted…a divorce.

She’d never seen it coming and, no surprise, she hadn’t really fought him. How could she? He wouldn’t consider counseling, a temporary separation, or a second chance. It was over .

Before she knew what hit her, attorneys were involved and papers were drawn up and assets were divided. Pretty soon, her own well-loved home in a pretty development like this was on the market and, shortly after, under new ownership.

In a fog, she’d rented a townhouse, emotionally supported by her twenty-four-year-old daughter. Lacey had leaped at the chance to leave her own tiny apartment and move in together.

Although he helped her financially, Ryan thought it best if she quit the company so they’d have a clean break, promising he’d use her as a freelance designer.

But that had yet to happen.

So, yes, maybe it was best if she changed her name back. She could be a Lawson woman again, and who was stronger than a Lawson woman? Namely, the steel Magnolia—no pun on her mother’s name—she was about to see for some mysterious reason.

Didn’t matter why—when Maggie Lawson said jump, her three middle-aged children leaped, pirouetted mid-air, and stuck the landing.

Their mother expected nothing less.

With exactly one minute to spare, she turned into her sister’s two-story brick Colonial, where Maggie now lived in a mother-in-law suite on the first floor. Vivien’s brother was sitting in his BMW looking at his phone when she pulled up next to him.

Eli instantly smiled and was out in a flash.

He came around the front of her SUV, greeting Vivien as she opened her door, looking more Sunday casual than she was used to seeing her buttoned-up big bro. Instead of business dress, he wore a T-shirt and sweats, and his salt-and-pepper hair was soft and windblown.

Even at fifty-three, he was a handsome man, mostly because of all the goodness on the inside of him.

“Hey, Viv. How’s my favorite sister?”

She shot a warning look as she climbed out. “Hush. You know Crista probably has Ring cameras and mics everywhere.”

He laughed, his blue eyes glinting with a bone-deep happiness few people truly possessed. And that was remarkable, considering all this widowed father had been through.

He’d not only survived the shocking death of his beloved wife in a private plane crash almost fifteen years ago, he’d gone on to build a thriving architectural firm and raise two amazing kids. Well, one amazing, and one who would be amazing if he’d settle down and do something with his life.

“You look…not thrilled,” Eli remarked as she opened the back door to get her bag.

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” He regarded her closely, his eyes narrowing as though he could read all her thoughts—which he often did.

“Just getting bulldozed by my husb—er, ex,” she told him.

“Now what does he want?” Eli asked, no love lost for the brother-in-law he’d never quite connected with, but not for lack of trying.

“He wants me to go back to Vivien Lawson.”

Eli’s face lit up. “I love that! It’s who you are.”

“Really?” She made a face. “It’s who I was . Maggie’s daughter. Then Ryan’s wife.”

He leaned in. “Now you can be Vivien, an independent woman with no one else calling the shots.”

She sighed, grateful he got her like almost no one else, but annoyed that she was such a cliché. “I guess. I’m not exactly a woman of, uh, independent means.”

“You could be.”

Waving off the platitude—which actually sounded possible when he said it—she squinted at Crista’s house, bathed in early March sunshine.

“Do you have any idea why the Queen has called us to court?”

She expected him to give a wry snort, but he inhaled slowly, running a hand over his jaw, shadowed by weekend beard growth.

“It’s…business.”

Business? Maggie had no business. She was a seventy-eight-year-old widow living with her youngest child. Other than being a loving live-in grandmother to Crista’s seven-year-old daughter, Maggie’s business was tending roses and…grudges. She was an expert at both.

“What kind of business?”

Eli just gave her a look of amusement and mystery. “You’ll see.”

“Hey.” She jabbed his arm with the same force she would have used when they were twelve and fifteen, pestering each other constantly. “Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Have you met our mother? Everything is on a need-to-know basis.”

She rolled her eyes. “The CIA should have such an operative,” she joked. “Just give me a hint. I need to know what I’m walking into. Does this have to do with the trip she’s taking next month? The garden tour thing in the Netherlands?”

“No.”

“Eli! Give me one word, please.”

He smiled. “Okay. It’s about…our inheritance.”

She sucked in a breath. “Is she all right?” Vivien pressed her hand to her chest. Her mother might be an irritating, judgmental, and controlling woman who ran the family with the proverbial iron fist, but Vivien could not bear a world without her.

Just then, the front door opened. “You know I can see you standing out here gossiping like a couple of old ladies,” Crista called. “Mom’s waiting.”

They shared a quick look.

“FOMO,” Vivien muttered. “Still the baby sister who cannot stand to be left out of anything.”

Eli snorted. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Wait.” She snagged his arm. “Is she sick? Why would she want to talk about our inheritance?”

“She’s fine. Just trust me on this, Viv. It’s going to be great.”

This time, it really didn’t sound like a platitude, but a promise. She sure hoped so.

Every time Vivien entered Crista and Anthony’s home, she felt a sense of family. Not just because Eli’s architecture firm had designed it, Ryan Knight Homes had built it, and Vivien had decorated every room.

But because Crista Merritt, a forty-three-year-old dark-haired beauty, had made it a family oasis for her husband and daughter, plus the addition of their mother. Maggie had moved in when she’d turned seventy-five a few years ago, and the arrangement worked perfectly—for them.

Vivien could never live with their mother, but Crista seemed to thrive under Maggie’s watchful eye. Well, she was a perfectionist, so meeting their mother’s exacting standards suited Crista’s personality well.

“She’s on the back patio,” she said simply, giving them both air kisses and leaving no doubt who “she” was. “And before you ask, I have no idea. She told Anthony to take Nolie out for the day so we have complete privacy, sans explanation.”

Of course she did. Privacy was Maggie Lawson’s stock in trade.

Vivien looked from one sibling to the other, a pit forming in her stomach as the seriousness of this hit her.

“I’m worried,” Vivien admitted.

“Don’t be,” Eli assured her. “Just brace for…blessings.”

Vivien shot him a look, long used to her brother’s uber-positive outlook drawn from his deep faith. But this wasn’t just Eli being a believer—he obviously had more information than Vivien or Crista.

“You know what it’s about, don’t you?” Crista asked him.

He shrugged. “Oldest has privileges,” he teased. Sort of. He did have some privileges, being the man of the family since their father had passed away nearly thirty years ago.

But if any of them had special “Maggie privileges,” it was Crista, who was by far the closest with their mother. So why didn’t she know?

As they followed Crista through the tastefully appointed home, Vivien’s mind whirled with possibilities.

If Eli knew and he wasn’t unhappy, then this meeting wasn’t because Maggie was dying. But why else would she want to discuss their inheritance ?

Which couldn’t amount to that much. After all, everything their father had ever accumulated had been seized by the government when he’d gone to prison for fraud and embezzlement, leaving them penniless.

Maggie loved to use that word— penniless . Whenever Roger’s dark past came up, Maggie would remind them that she’d been left penniless with Crista only twelve, Vivien a teenager, and Eli still in college. She blamed the government, of course, not her darling white-collar criminal of a husband.

With true grit, unrelenting focus, and, yes, a backbone of ice-cold steel, Magnolia Lawson had managed to usher her kids into adulthood and navigate the world alone. Now, that woman was a fighter.

And no one—least of all Vivien—fought back, but only because they’d lose.

Crista opened a French door, taking them to her expansive deck—an add-on that cost a fortune but was worth every dime. Maggie stood at the far corner, leaning on the railing with the spring green trees and rolling hills as her backdrop.

Her short silver hair, sleeked back from her high cheekbones, fluttered slightly in the March breeze. She wore crisp khakis and a pale blue cardigan that matched her eyes. Her ever-present Yorkie, Aunt Pittypat, was tucked in her arms, showing off a pink ribbon on her furry head.

Despite the dog named after a character from Gone With the Wind —or possibly because of that—Magnolia Fredericks Lawson was the picture of a confident Southern woman who could bless your heart and shut your mouth with the same smooth smile.

Most of all, she looked as vibrant as Vivien could remember, taking away some of her worry.

“Come and sit,” Maggie said after both Vivien and Eli had given her light hugs, gesturing to a group of four chairs surrounding a stone firepit.

Crista sat closest to their mother. “Everything is okay, right, Mama?”

Maggie smiled, settling Pittypat on her lap. Her expression was always softened for her youngest child, the only one who still called her Mama. To her face, Vivien and Eli used Mom but mostly, it was just Maggie, a name synonymous with…power.

“Yeah, you have us a little concerned,” Vivien said.

“Just dive in and tell them,” Eli suggested to Maggie.

Vivien frowned. “Tell us what?”

Her mother took a slow, deep inhale, and let out the breath with a sigh that sounded almost pained. Vivien’s heart shifted. She knew that sigh. She knew that pain. There was really only one thing that made this woman sad.

“Is this about Dad?” Vivien asked.

“Yes and no,” she replied. “Because with his help from wherever he rests in peace, I am about to change all of your lives.”

They all sat in silence as Maggie lowered Pittypat to the deck and looked from one to the other, as though the moment was too dramatic for her eight-pound baby to endure.

“Who remembers Destin?” she finally asked.

Destin ? Vivien had to bite her lip to keep from gasping.

Whatever this was about, it had to be major for her mother to even utter the word Destin.

Maggie gave them a minute to process her question, enough time for Vivien to mentally open a box of memories that began and ended on the blissful white sands of a beach town in Florida’s Panhandle.

To her, Destin meant freedom and sunshine and laughter, bonfire nights and delicious days. Mostly, it meant three months of non-stop fun with summertime besties Kate and Tessa Wylie.

Destin epitomized Vivien’s teenage years, since she’d spent the seven most formative summers of her life there.

But it wasn’t a place, a topic, or a memory Maggie ever voluntarily mentioned. In fact, Destin in general, and the Wylie family in particular, were considered off-limit subjects that were never discussed in Maggie’s presence.

So Vivien tried to play it cool. “Our summers in Destin are some of my best memories,” she said.

Starting in 1989 for seven consecutive years, the Lawsons spent the whole summer there, sharing a beachfront vacation cottage with the Wylie family. The Wylies—friends of her parents from college—came from Upstate New York and had twin daughters Vivien’s age.

Vivien, Kate, and Tessa had been twelve when the Destin summers started and had just graduated high school when they ended.

And, boy, had they ended.

“Some of the best memories for you ,” Crista countered. “Because you had friends. I was the tag-along baby that no one wanted.”

Eli smiled at her. “You managed to worm your way into things, though. You were always?—”

Maggie held up her hand. “This is about the house,” she said, as if to gently remind them not to even whisper the name Wylie .

“The beach house we rented?” Vivien asked. “I thought it got blown away right after we left for the last time. Wasn’t there a big hurricane that year? Opal?”

Maggie and Eli shared a quick and indecipherable look. After a second, he nodded, encouraging their mother to continue.

“There was, but that house didn’t get completely destroyed,” Maggie said. “Badly damaged, yes, but it was repaired.”

“Okay,” Vivien said, drawing out the word as she wondered how Maggie knew that, and why it mattered.

Her mother lifted one perfectly drawn brow, as if to underscore the importance of what she was about to say. “In point of fact, we didn’t rent it, not that last summer anyway.”

Crista frowned, as confused as Vivien. “What do you mean?”

“Your father purchased the property that last summer, as a gift for me.”

He had? That was news.

Her mother wet her lips, obviously taking her time before she continued. “But, as you recall…” she said softly, “that fall, things changed.”

That was one way of putting it.

Dad had been carted off in handcuffs and, months later, he was found guilty on a mountain of charges for using his architectural business as a front for white-collar crimes. The U.S. government took everything they had to repay his clients’ losses and cover unpaid taxes. That must have included this beach house Vivien didn’t even know they’d owned.

“So, does the government still hold that primo property?” Vivien asked.

“Actually, I do,” Maggie said softly, earning a blink of surprise from both Crista and Vivien.

Eli just looked like he knew all of this already.

“Roger purchased the house in cash, and I was able to, uh, protect that one lone asset,” Maggie told them, speaking in a hushed tone, as if an IRS agent might be hiding under the deck. “The sale went through that August, Roger was arrested in September, and the hurricane hit in early October. Because of the chaos, the insurance mess, and all the confusion about the status of the damaged house, I was able to…do that.”

To do that ? Did she mean break the law ? And had they been called here to find out they somehow had to pay back this debt to the government? Vivien’s heart dropped at the possibility of yet another emotional and financial blow.

“How did you keep the place?” Crista asked, obviously as in the dark as Vivien.

“I knew a local Destin attorney who helped me legally place the home in a secure trust since my name was also on the deed, shielding the asset, and then he handled the repairs,” Maggie told them. “Over the years, he managed the property and supervised rentals, which have been brisk and profitable. In fact, the house has been generating income for thirty years.”

Vivien dropped back against the chair, her jaw nearly hitting her chest as she thought about how the government helped itself to everything that could be associated with Roger Lawson.

“Don’t tell me,” she guessed. “We owe all that back to the government now. With interest.”

Maggie gave a quick laugh. “Gracious, no! We’ve passed the statute of limitations on the government seizures. They cannot have the house, thanks to a loophole the size of a pin that my attorney’s son found. It’s ours, free and clear.”

“That’s astounding,” Crista said.

“It sure is,” Vivien agreed, relieved they didn’t owe millions for her father’s bad, bad decisions. “That’s prime beach property in a top tourist destination.”

“You have no idea,” Eli said with a smile. “Gulf Shore Drive is a true jewel in Destin’s crown. Back in the early nineties, it was a fairly desolate beach with a smattering of little cottages like the one we stayed in every summer. Now, it’s a prized strip of mini-mansions that sits directly on the sand, flanked by condos at either end. There are fewer than twenty home sites on that stretch, one more stunning than the next, with mind-boggling value.”

“And that little house is still there?” Crista asked, sounding as shocked by this news as Vivien felt.

“Not exactly,” Maggie said. “Once I learned we were past all possible legal hurdles, I made the decision to bring Eli into it. I needed a talented architect, and I needed someone I could trust.”

Eli was certainly both of those.

“Believe me, I was as shocked as you are,” he said to his sisters. “But the plan was solid, and I promised I’d keep it to myself until the time was right.”

“What plan?” Vivien asked, still trying to make sense of all this.

“Mom used a small portion of the rental income to keep the house in shape all these years, banking the rest,” Eli said. “Then, almost a year ago, she turned over a sizeable sum to my company and we razed the original house, drew up plans for a three-story, six-bedroom beauty—with a separate apartment over the garage. I’m happy to announce that building is just about complete.”

Vivien drew back with a gasp, feeling like she was the one hit by a hurricane. Six bedrooms and a separate apartment directly on the beach?

“That must be worth millions!” she exclaimed.

“It is,” Maggie said, the first smile pulling at her lips. “We can’t legally sell it for profit until thirty years after your father’s death, which, you all know, will be later this year, in November. But when we do, we will divide the profits among the three of you.”

Wait a second. Did she say?—

“No!” Crista exclaimed. “You can’t give it to us! That money is yours, Mama!”

“Actually, according to the law, I have to give it to you,” she explained. “That’s the loophole. Since your parent passed away by natural causes in prison, it can be passed to you three—but only you three. When he died, it ended the legal ability to seize even his assets, but by that time, they had everything and left me…”

Not exactly penniless, Vivien thought. Of course, no one knew because…Maggie.

“You can sell it for an excellent price,” Maggie continued. “And that will set you all up quite nicely for the future.”

For a moment, Vivien couldn’t breathe, but Crista shot out of her chair, draping her arms around their mother with a wail.

“This is too much. Too much! You can have whatever you need, forever and ever. I can’t…” She shook her head, blinking back tears. “I can’t believe this.”

Vivien wasn’t the crier that her little sister was, but she had to admit her throat felt thick with emotion. “This is unbelievable, Mom. Thank you.”

But no sooner were the words out than she had to wonder, What’s the catch? Because there had to be one. After all, this was Maggie.

“Don’t thank me,” Maggie said. “Thank that brilliant lawyer down in Florida and this man right here.” She smiled at Eli. “His architectural vision was inspired and got us everything at cost, much of it with his own sweat equity.” She added a sharp look to Vivien. “I would have had Ryan Knight Homes build it, but…”

But Ryan currently sat in the top spot in her mother’s rather long blacklist.

“I will say this,” Eli interjected quickly. “It’s definitely one of the most beautiful residential properties I’ve ever done. I didn’t like keeping quiet about it, but…” His eyes, the same cornflower blue as Maggie’s, lit with that inner joy he always had. “I think this surprise was worth the secrecy.”

“So that’s where you’ve been going on so many business trips,” Vivien said, only realizing now that her brother, usually so close and candid, had been weirdly distant lately. She’d blamed her divorce, but this made more sense.

He nodded. “I gave Mom my word.”

And his word was pure gold.

“You won’t believe how much Destin’s changed in thirty years,” he added. “But Gulf Shore Drive is still one of the most beautiful places imaginable, and this house?” He gave a chef’s kiss on his fingertips.

“Have you been there, too?” Vivien asked Maggie.

“No.” Her mother’s smile disappeared. “I will never step foot on that property.”

Oh, boy. They just hit the Wylie landmine.

“Then I won’t go there either,” Crista announced, always standing in solidarity with their mother, whether she knew the whole story of the estrangement or not.

And Vivien doubted anyone knew this whole story. She was certain it had gone to the grave with Dad…or to New York with the long-lost Wylies.

Whatever had caused the families to part was a deep, dark secret that Maggie refused to discuss. Eli and Vivien had speculated now and again, but to be honest, they didn’t remember the details. Who could blame them?

Their whole world turned inside out after that last summer—Vivien had started college, Dad had been arrested, and the family had slipped from comfortably middle-class to barely making ends meet.

All but Crista had to get jobs in order to survive, and life had shifted to something new and not always good. A year later, their father had a fatal heart attack in his prison cell.

In the grand scheme of things, before email and social media, the loss of her girlhood friends from summers in Destin had faded into the background, eventually forgotten.

“Well, I’d like to go there,” Vivien said, already longing for the feel of that soft sand under her feet and a nice long walk down memory lane.

“That’s good to hear,” Eli said, stealing one more look at their mother. This time, Maggie nodded as if to give him the go-ahead to drop more news. “Because Mom and I would like you to stage it for sale, Vivien. It’s empty now, and houses at that price point have to be decorated perfectly to appeal to the right buyer. Since they are mostly second homes for wealthy buyers, they sell furnished to the nines. It needs to look like a top-of-the-line model home.”

Her jaw dropped, and this time her eyes did fill with tears. For the first time in months, she felt washed with joy.

“Really?” she asked, breathless. “Staging a house like that could be the centerpiece for my portfolio. I’d…I’d love that.”

Eli reached for Vivien’s hand. “I know you will slay this place, Viv. I wouldn’t want anyone else’s creative eye on the interior.”

“I fully agree,” her mother said with a direct look.

While the rare compliment warmed, she still had to wonder what price would have to be paid for this prize.

Eli seemed to have no such qualms, whipping out his phone to tap his calendar app.

“Let’s go down on Tuesday,” he said. “I’d like to spend a few weeks there, or longer. I actually finagled with the county to give me the CO early, so we can put basic furnishings in and crash there while I finish up with the general contractor. Could you go or are you busy?”

She almost laughed, but was still in shock. “I’m free.”

“Good, because I need to decide what to do with the apartment over the garage—it’s not built out yet. Oh, and Destin’s a design mecca, too, which you will love. With thousands of condos and short-term rentals that have exploded there, the décor business is solid. You’ll find everything you need locally.”

Good heavens, it sounded too good to be true.

“I only ask one thing.” Maggie interjected.

Or maybe not.

On a sigh, Vivien turned to her mother, bracing herself. What demand, what parameter, what condition would she put on her love, which wasn’t and never would be unconditional ?

“I want to be kept out of it,” she said. “For one thing, I’ll be spending all of April in Europe, touring Keukenhof Gardens and the Loire Valley in France.”

“I know you’ll be gone,” Vivien said. Her mother had planned the extensive tour with her closest garden club friends, so the fact that the elaborate vacation took precedence over this house didn’t really surprise her. “But there are phones, and we can Zoom if you want to be involved.”

Because even across the Atlantic, Maggie would have strong opinions.

“No,” she said simply. “The memories aren’t fond for me, and I have no desire to ever return to Destin again, physically, emotionally, or over a video call. You make all the decisions.”

Vivien inched back at her vehemence.

“I wish you all the best with this property,” Maggie continued. “And I hope you all make a sizeable amount of money. But I don’t want to have anything to do with it except to sign the paperwork and toast your father’s memory. Without him, this wouldn’t have happened.”

She had to give the woman credit—she’d defend Roger until the day she died, despite the fourteen counts of embezzlement, tax evasion, forgery and six different kinds of fraud.

After a beat of silence, Aunt Pittypat jumped into Maggie’s lap and let out a little bark.

“There, darling,” her mother cooed, stroking the tiny head and straightening the ridiculous bow. “I know it’s time to work on the roses. Let’s go change into gardening clothes.”

With that, their matriarch stood and ended the discussion, glancing toward her prized flower bed. “We should have glorious color this year, don’t you think?”

And just like that, the topic, as far as Maggie was concerned, was closed.

A few minutes later, Eli and Vivien headed back to their cars in the driveway.

“I told you it was good news,” Eli said.

She looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of the skepticism that she felt. “You’re not worried?”

“About what?”

“The long arm of Maggie Lawson, trying to control what we do, how much we spend, when we sell—all of it.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. She’s serious about staying out of it. You’ll do whatever your keen designer eye wants to do. We have a generous budget, and we’ll sell in November.”

“It can’t be that easy.”

“Honestly, Viv, she hasn’t made a single outrageous demand and gave me carte blanche on the plans and building process. And the same will be true of the interior, and the sale of the place. Don’t worry.”

Too late. She was worried. Happy about the possibilities, but too experienced opening gifts from her mother that were tied with strings attached to…something.

“Hey.” He put a brotherly arm around her. “We’re about to have a blast in Destin, Vivien Lawson . This is the fresh start you need.”

She couldn’t argue that. “How did you manage to keep this from me?”

“Please.” He looked skyward. “She made me swear on her first-edition collector’s edition of Gone With the Wind signed by Clark Gable himself.”

Vivien laughed. “As good as a Bible to that woman.”

“Not to me, but I didn’t want to risk losing the job, so I didn’t even tell Meredith,” he added, referring to his daughter, an intern at his firm. “She just thinks Acacia Architecture has this great, mysterious client in Florida.”

“That’s amazing. Everything about this is amazing.”

He gave her a squeeze. “What we call blessings, sis. Freely given and received with open hands.”

“Is there such a thing with our mother?” she asked. “She really isn’t capable of unconditional love.”

“This is different,” he assured her. “She doesn’t want to have anything to do with that place. It’s still tainted to her, though she won’t say why.”

“Why? The Others,” Vivien said, adding a smile at their secret nickname for the Wylies stolen from a mutual love of the show Lost . “Whatever happened that summer before the hurricane and Dad’s arrest is buried in the sand. But is that enough for her to?—”

“Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. I have something for you I’ve been dragging around for months.”

“For me? I think you’ve gifted me enough for one day.”

He walked to the back of his sedan and popped the trunk, reaching in to produce something square, plastic, and the brightest fuchsia imaginable.

Vivien nearly choked at the sight of the shoebox-shaped container she once owned and loved.

“I found this in the attic of the old house when we started demo months and months ago,” he said. “Not sure how it survived all those years and storms, but it did.”

“Because it’s a Caboodle,” she told him. “Made of indestructible plastic and full of…” She frowned. “In the attic? How did it get there and, bigger question, is it safe to look inside? No critters?”

“No critters, but I don’t know how safe it is.” Holding the bottom with one hand, he turned the pink latch and revealed a collection of colorful notebooks.

“Are these…” Her heart squeezed as she looked up at him. “My diaries ?”

He shifted the container from his hands to hers. “I do believe they are the yearnings of one teenaged Vivien Lawson.”

“You read them?”

“I opened one and realized what it was, and never took another peek, I swear.”

“Well, well. I’m not sure I even want to read these things,” she said, snapping the latch closed as he opened the back door of her SUV so she could set the box on the seat. “But who knows? They might inspire my design.”

“Everything about this might inspire you,” he said, his voice serious. “I honestly think getting out of Atlanta will be good for you, Viv. You need to get away from Ryan, all the memories, and do something just for yourself.”

Her heart softened as she looked up at him, the single dearest man she’d ever known.

“You’re right,” she said. “And I don’t mean to look a gift horse or anything. I’m just stinging from the conversation I had on the way over here and my never-realized dream of being…free.”

“Then it’s time to realize that dream.” He grinned. “It’ll be just like old times on that beach, the one thing about that town that hasn’t changed.”

“Only no Kate and Tessa.”

He gave a wistful smile. “Can’t have everything, can we?”

“But we have each other and a beach house in Destin,” she said. “I call it a win.”

“Amen, sister.” He gave her a high-five and a wink. “See you Tuesday. If you don’t mind, we should drive separately, because I want to take my truck and we’ll both need cars down there.”

“I’ll drive, I’ll stay, and…” She sucked in a breath and made a decision. “I’ll introduce myself to all the new vendors as Vivien Lawson, independent designer. Emphasis on independent .”

“That’s my girl!”

Still smiling, Vivien drove home, making the decision to embrace her new job, her new adventure, and, yes, her new name. Ryan would think he’d won yet another battle without a fight, but the truth was, this was her victory. And she was going to enjoy the heck out of it.