Synopsis

One phone call was all it took to upend my entire life in completely unexpected ways.

Whoever said that you can’t go home again was a lair. After the senior year from hell, I had spent a decade trying to avoid Beacon Hill and its residents. My luck came to a sudden end after daddy had an incident with a rotted floor. In and out, I promised myself. I was just there to help my parents for a week or two tops.

Things in Beacon Hill hadn’t changed much since I’d been home last. Mama still worked at the hub of gossip known as Trixie’s, Mrs. Thomas still made the best chicken salad in all of Georgia, and my sister was still the devil in a pushup bra. And of course, the St. James family was still local royalty. Our very own version of the Kennedys.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that, not only is my sister back in town after a failed modeling career, she’s also engaged to Macon St. James. The golden boy of Beacon Hill, and the star of every single one of my teenage fantasies.

The biggest surprise of all was Holden St. James. I thought he would be one of the villains in this story, but I was learning that I had been wrong about a lot of things. And Holden just might be worth coming home for….

Amazon

Read for Free via Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt

Once he was all settled, I got into the front seat and took a fortifying drink of my coffee.

“Okay, big guy, let’s set some ground rules for this drive.” I met his narrowed gaze in the mirror and smiled widely. “I don’t want to hear one single word about where my hands are on the wheel, the speed limit, the space between cars, or motion sickness. Got it?”

“Sutton Louise Buchanan, I was there for the day you took your first breath and I can — ”

“Good enough.” I turned the engine on and put the truck in reverse. “Why are you working on a Saturday anyway?”

“I want to make sure my crew stays on schedule while I’m laid up.” Daddy leaned forward and reached between the seats to grab his coffee. “It’s a real big job so I don’t want to fall behind right out of the gate if it can be helped.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. Where are we headed?” I came to a stop at the sign just at the end of our street.

“To the old Bradford place.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise as I turned the truck in the right direction, memory taking over. The old farmhouse had originally been built in the mid-1800s and had been renovated sporadically until the owners abandoned it in the 1980s. It was a beautiful old house — or it had been — with big porches and a sunroom that had been added on at some point. Something about that house had always called to me. I’d daydreamed about being the one to finally breathe life back into it, restore it to its former glory. Of course, all that was before Sissy had made staying here seem impossible.
There were always lots of rumors circulating about why the Bradfords had abruptly moved away after living and farming on the land for centuries, but no one really knew the reason. Beacon Hill loved its gossip. A local favorite was that one of the Mr. Bradfords had killed his entire family, and their ghosts haunted the house. Every Halloween, high schoolers would break in and try to spend the night inside. I had never been invited.

“Someone finally bought that old place?”

“Sure did, and it’s a total gut job. There were structural issues.” Daddy sounded practically gleeful at the prospect. I pictured dollar signs floating around his head like little cartoon hearts.

“I’m really happy to see that house get the love it deserves, but whoever bought it either has too much money or is an idiot.”

Daddy was silent, his fingers playing a rhythm on his Thermos.

“Well, I’d say it’s probably the former.” Daddy paused. “I don’t think anyone can call Holden St. James an idiot.”

“What?” I screeched, whipping my head around to look at him and jerking the steering wheel in the process, causing us to briefly veer off the road and onto the shoulder.

“Eyes on the road, Sutton!” Daddy yelled, bracing himself. “Jesus remember me, how many times can a man almost die in one week?”

Car in the proper lane, I took a deep breath.

“Did you just say Holden St. James bought the old Bradford place?”

“If I answer that question, are you going to be able to maintain control of the vehicle?”

I rolled my eyes, but kept them facing forward — both for safety and so Daddy wouldn’t see it.

“You’re getting dramatic in your old age. I was just surprised. It doesn’t seem like someplace Holden St. James would be interested in living. I pictured him in a sterile, ultra-modern penthouse where every single piece of furniture makes a statement and is uncomfortable.”

“Think highly of the boy, do you?” Daddy drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm.

I shrugged, reaching for my coffee. Daddy cleared his throat pointedly, and I immediately returned my hand to the wheel.

“I’d be a better driver if I was fully caffeinated,” I mumbled. “Oh! I bet he’s going to flip it. That makes sense. The property value on that place will probably be insane once you’re done with the renovation, especially with all the land it sits on.”

Guest Post

Picture it. The year is 1994, and this family does not have cable television. There is one computer, three kids, and two adults. The math ain’t mathing. Your fifth-grade self is busy writing the next great American novel on the top of the swing set with nothing but some notebook paper tied together with string and a number 2 pencil. Not even the mechanical kind, because your mom thinks they’re bad for the environment. Don’t even get her started on gel pens. The story is about a group of female pirates. Reruns of Baywatch have just hit one of the local stations, so it’s obviously a romance. The story is never finished, because your sisters need you to compete in the balance beam event to secure a gold medal for team USA in the Olympics. We won gold.

Picture it. The year is 2004 and you have your favorite English teacher, Cheryl Huffer, for the second time. She hands you back an assignment with “I am so jealous of all the papers your college professors will get to read” in bold black ink at the top of the page. You think to yourself “I wish I could do this for the rest of my life.” Spoiler Alert. You’re about to make some big decisions about your future that will absolutely not work out. Also, your migraine disease is about to go from episodic to chronic and intractable. Best wishes.

Picture It. The year is 2014 and you’re a lawyer now. Feels like it kind of came out of left field, huh? Yeah, you’re not really sure how you got here either. The good news is that you met your future husband while you were in law school. The bad news is that being a lawyer is slowly crushing your soul, and you now have chronic migraine and chronic anxiety. #thriving. You spend a lot of time laying in a quiet, dark room making up stories in your head to pass the time. Your future husband says that you should start writing these stories down. A few weeks later, you jot down a scene about a lawyer who realizes she hates being a lawyer while your boss does push-ups in front of your desk. Again. You write almost 1000 words about how awful being a lawyer is, turns out you are very passionate about this subject. The lawyer you work for does 100 push-ups. It’s a new record.

Picture It. The year is 2023, and you’re sitting on a couch in a hotel room. Your husband has a lot of trade shows to attend this year, so you’ve been tagging along since you can write from anywhere. You’re spending the morning trying to organize all the book signing events you want to attend in 2024 as an author. There are three messages from readers asking when the next book in the Beacon Hill series will be released. Oh, and is Gabe from Everything Girl ever going to get his own book?! You’ve cried zero times today. It’s a new record.

If you made it to the end of this post and are wondering what the point is, I’m guessing that you’re not alone. The point is that life is crazy and will take you places that you wouldn’t even dare to imagine. So, keep daring; keep imagining; keep dreaming, and your own happily ever after might just surprise you!

About the Author

Emily Mayer is a part-time lawyer, full time storyteller, and an aspiring writer. She lives in Central Ohio with the two loves of her life; her husband and her dog. If she isn’t working, you can usually find her somewhere with a book in her hand.

Website * Facebook