by Olivia Miles
Summer’s End
Olivia Miles
Contents
Also by Olivia Miles
1. Kim
2. Heather
3. Andrea
4. Kim
5. Heather
6. Andrea
7. Kim
8. Heather
9. Andrea
10. Kim
11. Heather
12. Andrea
13. Kim
14. Heather
15. Andrea
16. Kim
17. Heather
18. Andrea
19. Kim
20. Heather
21. Andrea
22. Kim
23. Heather
24. Andrea
25. Kim
26. Heather
27. Andrea
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Olivia Miles
Blue Harbor Series
A Place for Us
Second Chance Summer
Because of You
Small Town Christmas
Return to Me
Then Comes Love
Evening Island
Meet Me at Sunset
Stand-Alone
This Christmas
Oyster Bay Series
Feels Like Home
Along Came You
Maybe This Time
This Thing Called Love
Those Summer Nights
Christmas at the Cottage
Still the One
One Fine Day
Had to Be You
Misty Point Series
One Week to the Wedding
The Winter Wedding Plan
Sweeter in the City Series
Sweeter in the Summer
Sweeter Than Sunshine
No Sweeter Love
One Sweet Christmas
The Briar Creek Series
Mistletoe on Main Street
A Match Made on Main
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
SUMMER’S END
Copyright © 2021 Megan Leavell
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
1
Kim
It was common knowledge to everyone that knew her that Kimberly Taylor had always wanted a big wedding. By big, she didn’t mean one hundred fifty guests, a string quartet, and an ice sculpture. No, she meant big. Big as in three hundred guests, preferably in black tie. Big as in not one reception, but two, for the late-night crowd who would party until dawn (a girl only got one wedding night, after all, why not make it last?). Big as in a full-page spread in the Sunday society column.
Well, she’d gotten what she wished for, hadn’t she?
“I bought six copies,” Bran told her as he reached for his coffee cup. His hair was still tousled from his early run—the one he tried to cajole her into joining every morning, even though she loathed running, always had. Wedding preparations were a good excuse lately, even though most of that was already neatly tied up with a big bow to boot.
Kim tried not to gulp as she looked at the article again, spread out on Bran’s glass coffee table, because more and more, this was where she stayed. Bran considered her cute walk-up in a less trendy pocket of Chicago to be too “vintage” for his liking, even though she adored the charming touches like the original brass doorknobs and the small wrought-iron balcony with enough room for a bistro table, and the deep window ledges where she could sit and stare out onto the neighborhood below.
Bran preferred something sleeker. More modern. And Kim hadn’t quite brought herself to tell him that she didn’t.
She looked over at her fiancé now. The catch of the city, she knew. Probably high on the list of several women on Chicago’s North Shore, too. Bran’s mother had been sure to tell Kim at their first meeting last fall that many of her friends had hoped that Bran would marry one of their daughters.
Instead, he was marrying her. A girl he’d known for less than a year. A girl who preferred her cozy vintage apartment. A girl who was no longer so sure that all that pomp and flair was what she wanted—from her wedding. Or from life.
And she still hadn’t told Bran that either.
Branson Croft. Kimberly Croft. It did have a nice ring to it. She had considered that name several times since their first date, when she knew, halfway through her second glass of wine, that Bran was the perfect guy. And he was perfect, with his six-foot, athletic frame, thick brown hair and dark eyes, and a grin that was just mischievous enough to break up his otherwise clean-cut image. He was an attorney, following the footsteps of his father and older brothers. He was smart, successful, and he was sweet, always letting her pick the movie they’d watch on Sunday nights, always letting her choose the restaurant on Saturdays.
They’d met on the tennis court, at the swanky city health club that her sister Andrea had told her she must join when she’d first moved to Chicago after college. Andrea used her membership for networking and burning off her endless stress, but Kim only dabbled in the yoga classes, while taking more advantage of the nail salon and the outdoor pool come summertime. She hadn’t picked up a racquet in years, not since her high school days, but last September she’d needed something to get her mind off her troubles, something, if she was being honest with herself, to hit, and so she’d signed up for some lessons, bought some tennis whites, and shown up that summer Saturday morning expecting nothing more than to blow off a bit of steam and maybe enjoy a mimosa in the sun afterward.
She’d done all of that, only not alone. Branson had been asked to sub that day by his best friend Nick, who had indulged in one too many shots of tequila that previous night. Kim had gotten more than just some tips on her backhand during that hour of court time, and by the time the lesson was over and she and Bran were settled on the club’s deck, side by side in two lounge chairs overlooking the swimming pool and sipping drinks, and then extending things into lunch, she’d almost forgotten her entire reason for needing a tennis lesson that day at all, which was probably a good thing, even if she did feel a little bit guilty.
Her mother had only been gone a matter of weeks then. The pain was still fresh and raw. She hadn’t expected to be able to escape it anytime soon.
But that was what was so great about Bran. He whisked her off her feet, called her the very next day, and invited her out on his boat, and she’d gone, even if she was prone to sea sickness, even on Lake Michigan. They spent every weekend together for a month, and then soon a few weeknights. He’d proposed within five months, presenting her with a family ring that wasn’t exactly her style but an honor nonetheless, and she’d said yes. Of course, she’d said yes.
It was very hard to say no to Bran, after all.
Kim skimmed the article that Bran’s mother had set up for them through an old sorority friend who worked at the newspaper. The article that Kim had contributed to, answering the reporter’s questions, giving details of their storybook whirlwind romance, a hint of the wedding that was planned for September, at the very end of summer. She and Bran had posed for photos on his parents’ expansive stone terrace in their tony north suburban neighborhood where the reception would be held, followed by the later reception down by the impressive walled-in pool, with the climbing vines and a sitting area with a fireplace that was nearly as big as her apartment living room, which would only be hers for the next six weeks.<
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Six weeks. Her stomach did that funny thing again and Kim carefully folded the newspaper, even though Bran had bought six copies and she was sure that the Crofts had stockpiled plenty more. One would be framed, no doubt.
With an internal groan she noted the time on her gold watch—an engagement present from Bran’s parents—and, mustering up all the energy she had, stood and gathered up her belongings. She was due at the bridal salon in forty minutes, and now she ran the risk of being late for her fitting. There was a time when she couldn’t wait to plan her wedding, but that was before things started to shift in a new direction. One that had started as her vision and very quickly morphed into Branson’s mother’s vision, like when her dream of yellow roses turned into blush because Bran’s mother had never liked the color yellow.
“I should get going,” she said with more reluctance than she intended.
Bran’s eyes flicked up to her. For a moment, she wondered if he would ask her if something was wrong, if she would find the courage to admit that actually, a lot was wrong, but instead, he flashed that irresistible grin that made her doubt herself and tossed her his keys.
“Have fun!”
Contrary to what she had once hoped, wedding planning was anything but fun, but she didn’t have time to get into that right now, not if she needed to get to the suburbs.
She took the elevator down to the condo building’s garage, slid into Bran’s luxury car, and carefully set her handbag on the passenger seat, not daring to fumble with the radio buttons because last time she’d tried that, she accidentally messed up the heating system instead, and drove to the bridal salon with about as much enthusiasm as she might going to the dentist. The last time she’d come for a fitting, she’d left feeling frustrated and tearful, and she didn’t want a repeat experience. She tried to tell herself that Lynette was just excited about the wedding. That she was trying to help.
That maybe she’d feel more excited about the wedding if her mother were still alive.
A sharp pang in her chest made her press her lips together at the thought of her mother. Kim tightened her grip on the steering wheel and focused on the road. On the present. On the future. On her upcoming wedding day. A day she had dreamed of all her life.
Lynette’s silver sedan was already parked in front of the shop when Kim arrived. Maybe she should have called her sisters and invited them to come—but the one time they’d met for their bridesmaid dress fitting had been tense and disappointing, with both of them falling silent around Lynette rather than laughing and sipping champagne the way she’d once imagined it. Besides, her sisters still didn’t know about the dress, and even though Kim knew that she’d either have to come clean or leave them shocked on her wedding day, she wasn’t quite ready for that conversation just yet. Once, her sisters might have understood, but this past year had been strange for all of them.
Last time, her best friend Kate had at least been with her, which had helped, but now Kate was away on vacation with her on again off again boyfriend and so it was just Kim. Kim and Lynette.
Her stomach felt funny again.
Still, she braved a smile as she pushed through the shop door, for a split second enjoying the beauty of her surroundings, from the crystal chandeliers to the soothing music to the gorgeous gowns that were every way she turned.
Then her eyes fell to Lynette, who was coming around from behind a mammoth of a flower display, dressed as she always was, in a shift dress and heels, her frosted blond hair cut in a neat bob that grazed her chin.
Lynette had insisted on this bridal salon, and Kim hadn’t argued. Really, it wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the shop itself—it would have been one that Kim might have chosen herself under other circumstances, just like the bridal shower that Lynette had given her last month would have probably been perfectly lovely if her sisters had planned it instead.
But then, her sisters would have planned it completely differently. Lynette hosted the event in the conservatory room of her country club where assigned seating and a formal tea was presented, followed by the public unwrapping of gifts—most of which Lynette had taken the liberty of registering her for, even though Kim didn’t see the point of formal dinnerware. Kim knew that she should be grateful, because while it was a little uncomfortable to be celebrating her shower with all of Lynette’s friends and family and only a few of her own, at least Lynette had been thoughtful enough to plan it, which was more than she could say for either of her sisters.
Refusing to let disappointment ruin this time for her, Kim rallied herself and forced a smile. Maybe today would be better.
“Kimberly, we need to discuss the veil. I know you already had something in mind, but Cynthia and I have been discussing it, and we just don’t think it portrays the look we’re going for.”
Or maybe not.
Kim pulled in a breath to steady herself before she spoke. She glanced at Cynthia, the owner of the salon, who quickly skirted her eyes and kept them fixed on Lynette. Clearly, she knew who was in charge.
“The veil belonged to my mother,” Kim reminded Lynette, in case she had forgotten. And maybe she had. Maybe she would apologize, say that of course, she understood, how thoughtless of her. After all, it was Kim’s wedding day. The day she had dreamed of since she was a little girl.
Even if it was turning out to be nothing like she had dreamt of at all.
“Yes.” Lynette licked her lower lip. “It’s very…sentimental…to want to have something of your mother’s with you on your wedding day. Cynthia and I were thinking that she might incorporate a piece of the veil into a handkerchief or—”
Kim gaped. “You want me to cut up my mother’s veil?”
She could feel her heart beating loudly, her temper flaring, heating her cheeks. Lynette, as usual, remained cool, her expression impassive. It wasn’t on purpose, per se. Her face was frozen from years of plastic surgery, fillers, and Botox. She gave a slight nod to Cynthia, who took the silent direction and disappeared into the back room.
“Are you concerned about passing it to Andrea?” There was a subtle arch to Lynette’s perfectly plucked brow.
Andrea, while nearly five years older than Kim, was not in a relationship and hadn’t been since college, at least to Kim’s knowledge. She was, as she liked to say, married to her career.
“This wedding is a significant event for our family, Kimberly.” Lynette’s eyes never strayed. “All of my husband’s clients will be in attendance, all of our friends from the club, most of whom have seats on the boards.”
At the mere mention of the boards (of museums, charities, hospitals), Kim tensed. More and more these boards represented a future that no longer felt so bright.
“These are influential people, Kimberly, and they’re expecting a high-profile event. I’m sure they all saw today’s full-page spread. You looked beautiful, by the way.” Lynette turned and moved toward the display of veils. The implication was that Kim should follow.
Kim wished that Kate could have been here; even if she wouldn’t dare to speak up to Lynette any more than Kim did, it would at least be some form of support.
“My mother wanted to pass down the veil,” Kim explained when she was once again at Lynette’s side. “And the dress,” she added, even though that was an argument she had lost. Her mother’s gown was a bit old-fashioned, but it was a classic satin dress with a scoop neck and capped sleeves. It was also the dress she’d always envisioned herself wearing when she walked down the aisle.
“Didn’t your sister Heather have a chance to wear the dress?”
Kim thought of her mother. She thought of how different it would be if she was here. She had to defend her wishes in her absence. She had to remember that this was her wedding, as Kate had whispered to her after the last disastrous fitting. “My mother had hoped all us girls would wear it.”
“Well, Heather had a chance,” Lynette assured her. “And now she’s divorced.”
Kim felt like the wind had been knocked out of
her. “The veil—” Was Lynette really not going to back down about this? Could she be so cold as to not understand that Kim wanted—no, needed—a piece of her mother with her on her wedding day? Lynette got to be there in person. Her mother would miss it all.
“It’s too bad Heather and Andrea couldn’t join us today,” Lynette said, though her tone suggested otherwise. If her sisters had come, they would have surely spoken up about the dress, the veil, all of it. “I’m so glad they were happy with their bridesmaid gowns. Blush is such a pretty color with red hair.”
All three Taylor sisters had inherited their mother’s hair, in rich shades of auburn and chestnut. Once again, Kim couldn’t help but feel like her future mother-in-law was making a dig—or maybe Kim was just being sensitive. It had been such an emotional year, sometimes she couldn’t be sure. And that was just the problem.
“You know my suggestions come from a good place.” Lynette stared at her. “I assume Bran told you about the honeymoon?”
About that… Kim pulled in a breath, wondering if she should shelve the topic of the veil for today and move onto other, equally big issues.
“I wanted to thank you for your generous offer.” Kim swallowed hard. Just last night Bran had excitedly told Kim that his father was giving him a month off to have a full-European tour. Kim had just stared at Bran in horror. A month-long vacation across Europe was, again, a dream come true. But it was just that: a dream.
“I’m afraid I’m supposed to start my new job two weeks after the wedding,” she told Lynette now, as she’d reminded Bran last night.