Page 47 of One Southern Summer

Two guys wearing cargo shorts and T-shirts with unfamiliar logos hovered near the bumper of a well-loved gray SUV. They stared at their phones. Disposable cups from a local fast-food restaurant sat on the bumper. The men looked about his age, maybe a little younger. Hemby had offered to meet with them and make a formal introduction, but Cole declined. His friend had meddled enough.

“Cole Whitaker?” The taller of the two put his phone away and offered a friendly smile. “I’m Max Johansen.”

Cole shook Max’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is my brother, Charlie.”

The other guy glanced up from his phone and gave a polite nod. “What’s up, Cole?”

They both had the same strawberry blond hair, inquisitive blue eyes and smiles that bordered on mischievous.

The knot of tension between Cole’s shoulder blades loosened a fraction. He’d expected documentary filmmakers to be...well, he wasn’t sure what he expected. More polished? Older dudes with fancy equipment and a luxury car? Instead, Max and Charlie looked like guys who’d lived in his dorm in college.

“Thanks for taking time to meet with us,” Max said. “Hemby mentioned you might have some questions.”

“He’s right.” Cole pinched the strap of his bag between his fingers, feeling foolish for not being more articulate. “Tell me again how you know Hemby?”

“Our sister is a paralegal at his law firm,” Charlie said. “What’s your connection to Hemby?”

“Friends,” Cole said. “He’s the closest thing I have to a brother.”

“Ah.” Max nodded. “It all makes sense now.”

Cole narrowed his gaze. “What makes sense?”

Max and Charlie exchanged glances. Charlie took a sip of his drink as if punting the conversation to Max.

Max shoved his hands into his pockets. “Our objective here is to tell a compelling story. There aren’t any secrets on our end. Whatever we can do to make this more palatable, feel free to ask. Folks usually want to know about the filming process, who we might interview, the implications of appearing in a documentary...that sort of thing.”

“Max is being too nice. What Hemby actually said is we’d have to talk you through your hang-ups.” Charlie smirked. “That sounds like something a brother would say, right?”

Max offered a can’t-argue-with-that shrug.

“Yeah, Hemby’s not afraid to say exactly what he thinks.” Cole looked away. Oh, how pathetic was he for wanting Avery to be here right now? Not because he couldn’t speak with Max and Charlie on his own. Ever since they’d met in the coffee shop last week and she’d shared her ideas about creating a line of products manufactured in Camellia that incorporated vocational training, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’d been so tentative about accepting the role as a consultant on the project, yet she’d already taken the foundation’s mission to heart.

He’d never been prouder of her. And he didn’t want to do any of this without her by his side.

“Cole?” Max prompted. “Would you like to walk us through the site now?”

Cole shifted his gaze toward the house. Dale had a crew of six guys working today—a couple of the men were from a local home building company and a few more were volunteers from a men’s group at the church on Pine Street.

“If anyone is around, we’d love to chat. Charlie has waivers for everybody to sign.” Max rattled the ice in his plastic cup then took another long sip. “No one has to be on camera who doesn’t want to be.”

“Hold up,” Cole said. “We haven’t officially given the documentary a green light yet. Not everyone that will be impacted has agreed.”

“I’ll grab the exterior shots.” Charlie left his cup on the hood of the vehicle. Before Cole could object, the guy was moving toward the house.

“Doesn’t he need a camera or something?”

“Typically we start our research with a few still shots. Getting the lay of the land, so to speak. Then we’ll storyboard and brainstorm, conduct interviews, finalize a shot list and then production officially begins.”

“Interviews?” Cole palmed the back of his neck. “That might be a challenge. Did you not hear me? We haven’t agreed this is a sure thing. The design consultant we’ve brought on board hasn’t said yes.”

“Perhaps we should start with you? Not that anything you say here will make the final cut. I want to give you an idea of my style. It’s different than speaking with local media.” Max tapped the screen on his phone then held the device toward Cole’s chin.

Cole’s limbs itched to take a giant step back. Sweat dampened his shirt. Couldn’t they have this conversation in a coffee shop? Someplace with sweet tea and robust AC?

“Tell me about your foundation, what you hope to achieve with Imari’s Place and why people should care enough to invest emotionally or financially in your cause.”

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