Page 66 of One Southern Summer

“That’s a picture of my napkin. Who...who did this?”

Dark spots peppered her vision. She stared at the username on the social media account.Genevieve.How did she get a photo?

Julene shrugged then pulled her phone back and started to scroll. “I’m guessing you didn’t give it to her?”

“Of course not. I have the napkin so no need to take a picture of it. Other than Cole, I’ve never discussed it with anyone outside the family.” Oh, what a disaster. She wiped her clammy palms on her dress then pulled her phone from her pocket.

“Maybe you should talk to Cole first before you do anything else? He’s been tagged in the photo too.”

Right. She checked her notifications. People had already tagged her. White-hot anxiety zipped through her veins. Her phone pinged, alerting her to more activity. She swiped all the notifications out of the way and quickly sent a text to Cole.

We need to talk. When can you meet? I’m free in an hour.

“Oh, my word, these comments.” Julene slid her fingers over the screen. “People are brutal.”

Avery’s stomach turned inside out. She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears and sing one of Addison’s favorite songs at the top of her lungs. Or maybe she should dive into bed, hide under her covers and sleep for the rest of the week.

“Whatever you do, don’t look at those.” Julene shoved her phone into the back pocket of her shorts.

Avery let out a bark of laughter. “Sure, I’ve always been supergood at ignoring what people say about me. I’ll avoid looking at social media for the next week? Month? A century?”

Julene chewed her lower lip, studying her. “Why don’t you let me get Addison? Mom is here. She can take care of Hayes when he wakes up from his nap. You need to meet with Cole ASAP.”

“I promised Addison we’d get a treat on our way home today.”

“No problem. I’m on it.” Julene plucked her keys off the counter. “What do I need to pick her up? Photo ID or some kind of special permission slip?”

Avery massaged her forehead with her fingertips. Shock and anger clouded her mind, blotting out the practical thoughts. “Photo ID. You are already on the approved list of people to pick her up.”

“Good. Don’t worry, I’ve got this. Take as much time as you need to sort this out.”

“Thanks.” Avery hugged Julene. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

“We’re here for you.” Julene patted her arm then strode toward the door. “Keep me posted. I’ll meet you back here later.”

Her phone pinged with a text from Cole.

Let’s meet at Imari’s Place. How soon can you get here? Max and Charlie have already got wind of this, by the way.

Oh, dear. Her heart climbed up into her throat. Charlie and Max. What would they want with this information? It had nothing to do with human trafficking or building a residential facility. She quickly texted back and confirmed her arrival. She’d filmed one segment for the documentary yesterday but the heavy rain had kept them from doing any of their exterior shots. She’d promised to meet with them again this week and hopefully she could talk to Wendy and Shayla soon. They’d been reluctant to reschedule so she’d made her final selections for the home’s interior without talking to them. Her deadline with Dale had come far too soon. She still wasn’t confident she’d made the best choices, but she ran out of time overthinking every flooring option, backsplash tile and paint chip.

Another text message arrived. This time from Harper, who was away on her beach trip with Mary Catherine.

What is going on? How did that photo even happen?

Great. So news was spreading. As predicted. Avery started to reply then deleted the text.

There was nothing she could say to her sister that would make the situation any better.

A quick check of the video monitor on the counter revealed Hayes was still asleep. Mama was reading on the screened porch. She had enough time to post the shots she’d just styled with Julene, grab some drinks at the coffee shop then get to her impromptu meeting at Imari’s Place.

She refused to let this take her down.

Cole wasn’t a DIY kind of guy. At all. He lived in a condo with an HOA and a maintenance team who handled all the minor issues that cropped up. His mom had to call somebody when things went wrong in her house because he wasn’t qualified to fix much other than a light bulb.

But right now he desperately wanted a project. Something he could do with his hands. More anger surged through his system than a driver with road rage on a jam-packed interstate. If only today was demo day like those other famous home renovation shows on television. He could really go for a sledgehammer to put through some drywall. Instead he drew a calming breath then flexed and straightened his fingers.

The abhorrent words spray-painted in red and blue graffiti at the construction site spanned three sheets of plywood. The vandals had propped their artwork against the unfinished house.

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