Page 1 of The Summer We Danced

Present Day

As she made the turn onto Gulf Shore Drive, Crista’s headlights illuminated the long stone drive first, then landed on three stories of white stucco, teal shutters, and decorative railings.

The new Destin beach house stood proud and stunning, a far cry from the ramshackle summer cottage of their childhood. Well-placed sconces lit the architectural masterpiece so it gleamed against the night sky, a beacon of new hopes and old memories.

And Crista Merritt sat, once again, on the outside…looking in.

For one thing, their mother kept the fact that she owned the property a secret for thirty years, in typical Maggie Lawson fashion. Then, only Crista’s older brother, Eli, knew about it, charged with taking down the old house, then designing and building this behemoth on the beach.

Next, her older sister, Vivien, had been recruited to decorate and stage the place, so the two of them moved in for a month. And the final insult? They’d had so much fun the past four weeks that they wanted to ditch the plans to sell it—which would have made Crista, Vivien, and Eli all a small fortune—and keep this house in the family forever.

While this unfolded last month, Crista was stuck in Atlanta, struggling with her daughter, bickering with her husband, and getting told what to do by her mother. Including being sent on this fun little errand—driving five and a half grueling hours to inform her siblings that they’d been unknowingly fraternizing with the enemy.

And that, Maggie had insisted, had to end.

She turned off the engine and took a deep breath, giving herself the pep talk she needed to hear more often lately:Don’t lose it, Crista. Don’t blow in there like an emotional hurricane and fling this terrible news in their faces.

She knew she’d long ago been pegged a “drama queen” by her family, but she’d mostly outgrown her penchant for overreacting. But lately, she’d slipped into her old ways. That could happen again, considering how tense she was—and this newswasdramatic.

Would her brother and sister understand that what she was about to tell them changed everything about their father’s death? Likeit didn’t have to happen!And would they understand that they could not, under any circumstances, ever talk to anyone with the last name Wylie again?

She stepped out into the night air, but the soothing effect of the Gulf breeze couldn’t calm the storm inside her. She was here to deliver a message that would shatter any illusions about the so-called “friends” that Vivien and Eli had reunited with over the past month.

A whiff of saltwater and jasmine wafted memories over her. She had been just a kid—a child, really—when they’d spent seven summers here. Back then, the old Summer House had been noisy, cramped, and chaotic, filled with too many people and not enough space. But it had been magical all the same.

She’d idolized her older siblings and their friends, even if they barely noticed her.

Crista slammed the car door, heading toward stairs that led up to the entrance, stopping mid-step when the front light bathed her in yellow and she heard the click of the lock inside.

In the open doorway, she saw the silhouette of her ever-reliable, ever-steady older brother. Eli’s salt-and-pepper hair was tousled, his smile warm at first, faltering as he got a good look at her.

She always wore her emotions all over her face, and tonight was no different.

“Crista?” His voice was a mix of surprise and concern.

“What? Did you say Crista?” Out of sight, her sister Vivien’s voice rose, tinged with excitement.

“Yes!” Eli pulled the door even wider, and she stepped inside, the air-conditioned coolness biting at her flushed skin.

“I have to talk to you,” she said, her voice tight and breathless, her head a little light in anticipation. “I have to talk to both of you. It’s really important.”

“I’m right here.” Vivien appeared in the entryway and darted toward her, arms outstretched, her face lighting up. “What a wonderful surprise! I can’t believe it!”

But Crista held up her hands, stopping her sister in her tracks. “What you are not going to believe is what Mama told me this morning.”

She stepped past them, her sneakers squeaking on pristine hardwood floors as she tossed her handbag onto the entry table. The house was breathtaking, but Crista barely noticed. She was too consumed by the revelation that had upended everything she thought she knew.

As she came around a corner, Crista froze at the sight of Eli’s son. Her thirty-year-old nephew was standing near the kitchen island, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, his expression calm but curious.

“Jonah? What are you doing here?” she asked, shocked to see him for the first time in years.

“Hi, Aunt Crista,” Jonah said easily, shaking back long hair that made him look like he should be in a rock band, not the kitchen. “I’m living here now.”

“Me, too!”

Crista turned and blinked at Lacey. Vivien’s daughter was here? The young woman practically bounded toward her. “It’s great to have you here! Did you bring Nolie?”

Crista hardly heard her niece’s bubbly enthusiasm. Her gaze darted between Jonah and Lacey, her mind reeling.

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