Page 5 of One Southern Summer

When he’d gone to Auburn, and she’d left for Raleigh to major in fashion and textile design, he’d lost track of her for a while. Lord knows his first career had swallowed him whole. Until he came to his senses. By then Avery’s engagement to Preston Yates Crawford, affectionately known as Pax, had claimed the headlines of Camellia’s newspaper.

The only son of prominent pastor marries schoolteacher’s daughter.

That wedding was all anyone talked about for weeks. His mother tried to get him to attend. He’d refused. Admiring Avery Lansing Crawford from afar became a role he no longer cared to play. So what if they’d once scribbled their commitment to one another on a cocktail napkin—a foolish promise to marry if neither one found someone else by the age of thirty-two. An age he’d selected. It seemed so distant at the time.

They’d sat at a table in an upscale Camellia reception hall that night, supposedly celebrating their senior year with the customary milestone Senior Ball. But Avery’s date had been in the corner making out with someone else, and he’d come alone. Both were stressed about school, their parents’ struggles and fear of what the future might hold.

Now less than ten months stood between him and his thirty-second birthday, slightly more for her.

Wonder where that napkin went?

He took another sip of his coffee and quashed the question as quickly as it materialized. Nobody cared. Besides, he wasn’t about to swoop in and offer a shoulder to cry on. It wasn’t his place.

Someone knocked on his door. He turned to see Millie Kay hovering. “Cole? There’s a woman here to see you.”

“I really can’t see anyone, not with the board meeting—”

“It’s Maribelle Lansing.”

Oh, boy. “Send her in.”

He hurried to set his mug down then straightened the papers stacked near his computer and scooped his messenger bag off the worn leather chair facing his desk.

Maribelle’s shoes tap-tap-tapped on the floor, announcing her arrival. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Lansing.” Cole smiled. “Would you like some coffee or water?”

“No, thank you. Please, call me Maribelle.”

He tried not to look relieved. If she’d declined his hospitable offer then maybe she didn’t intend to stay long. What could she possibly want?

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Cole waited while she perched on the edge of her seat. Then he rounded his desk and sank into his own chair.

“I need to speak with you about my granddaughter Avery.” Maribelle cut her eyes toward his open office door then leaned forward. “It’s a rather sensitive topic.”

He smothered a sigh then stood. “Right. I’ll get the door.”

She tipped up her chin, obviously pleased with his compliance.

Cole eased the door closed, but not before earning a disapproving glare from Millie Kay. Honestly, the woman had no shame when it came to eavesdropping.

He sat down again, clasped his hands on the desk and offered his most patient smile. “How can I help you today?”

Her cerulean gaze bore into him. “I want you to offer Avery a job.”

“Excuse me?” He shifted in his seat. Not that he wanted to be disrespectful to one of Camellia’s most philanthropic residents, especially a true friend of the foundation, but he didn’t see how Avery’s tragic situation had anything to do with human trafficking.

“Your connection to Avery is no secret.” She tapped one well-manicured nail against the handle on her leather handbag. “If anyone can help her find her sparkle—her purpose—again, it’s you, Cole.”

“I’m afraid I’m not following.”

Her brow puckered. “I seem to recall your face at more than one family gathering in my daughter-in-law’s home over the years. Wasn’t that you in Avery’s graduation photo?”

“Yes, of course. We go...way back.”

“Aren’t you in need of a designer for all those houses you will build?”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm for everything we’re trying to accomplish here, but we haven’t even secured the funding to expand Imari’s Place. It will more than likely be one house.”

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