Page 69 of One Southern Summer

“You getting involved with Imari’s Place was never about exploiting you or your personal life.”

“Ha.” Her bark of laughter earned her a wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be cavalier about this. I hate that someone has vandalized the property, but it’s a little late to be worried about my feelings.”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I never should’ve agreed to this.”

“Agreed to what?”

He dropped his hands to his hips again then shook his head. “Bringing in a high-profile consultant. We should’ve bid this out to a local design firm. This has turned into a monster that we can’t tame.”

“I told you from the beginning that there were better designers out there and you didn’t listen.” She tried for a smile and pointed her straw at him. “So that’s on you.”

So much for levity. His face maintained the same sullen, barely controlled expression. “One thousand percent. This is all on me.”

“Here’s the thing. I’m fed up with people digging around in our personal lives, saying horrible things and trying to throw us off our game.” Avery sipped the last of her drink then tossed the cup in the garbage. “This vandalism feels like an attack on our mission, and I’m not going to sit back and take it. Let’s go make an offer on that empty warehouse at Fifth and Jasmine. Are there funds available? It’s an ideal location for that production line I can’t stop thinking about.”

He tunneled his fingers into his hair again and blew out a long breath. “I—I don’t know, Avery. That’s a huge undertaking.”

“But we won’t know unless we try, right?” She looped her arm through his. “Mama and Julene have my kids for another couple of hours. Let’s at least peek in the windows of that warehouse and see what we can see.”

Cole grunted in agreement then let her tug him toward their vehicles outside. She had no idea what had inspired this sudden onset of overconfidence. The Avery of a few weeks ago—even the Avery of two days ago—would’ve absolutely assumed those nasty spray-painted words were targeted at her. She wasn’t thrilled about her and Cole’s pledge to marry becoming public knowledge and later, in a weaker moment, she’d probably ignore her sister’s advice and read every single comment that had been posted. But for now, the only weapon she had for battling Genevieve’s shenanigans, Pax and Trey’s impending arrival, and the doubt plaguing this project was her friendship with Cole.

He believed in her.

That’s what mattered. So they had to stay strong. She was determined not to let anything or anyone else derail their plans. They had to keep working together. These women needed help starting over. Imari’s Place could be a sanctuary and a stepping stone by providing both a house and a job that produced a line of products other women would love. If she could stay focused and remember why they’d started this project, then maybe the public commentary would be easier to ignore.

Chapter Twelve

Cole walked toward his office the next morning, coffee and a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit in hand. Not the healthiest of breakfast choices, but after yesterday’s interaction with Avery, he required sustenance in the form of comfort food. Summerlike weather in Alabama was in full swing. Record-breaking temperatures dominated the weekend forecast. All the upcoming Father’s Day festivities would require plenty of cold drinks and cranked AC’s. Not that he planned on paying any attention. He’d send the obligatory brief text to his dad. Then he’d probably receive a text of acknowledgment, followed by a selfie of his father on some local golf course.

He picked up his pace, the uncomfortable feelings about his almost nonexistent relationship weighing him down. There wasn’t enough energy in his emotional well to draw from today. He’d have to bench that topic and revisit it on Sunday. Even at eight in the morning on a Wednesday, folks were moving about on the downtown sidewalks at a much slower pace. Or maybe it was the gaggle of people blocking the entrance to his office.

He slowed his steps then craned his neck to see what the fuss was about. A local news van idled at the curb. The same reporter who’d attended the groundbreaking ceremony stood with her camera operator on the sidewalk.

“Mr. Whitaker, how do you feel about the vandalism outside Imari’s Place? Is there any connection between the vulgar language on those signs and your relationship with Avery Crawford?”

“What? No.” Cole clamped his mouth shut to keep from saying anything more as he pushed through the curious onlookers. The strap of his messenger bag slid off his shoulder and he had to fumble to keep from dropping his coffee and bagged breakfast.

“Will you and Miss Crawford be making any official statements or issuing a press release before her ex-husband arrives in town today?”

His teeth bore down on the inside of his cheek as he side-stepped a particularly aggressive observer brandishing a smart phone. That’s right. Pax and Trey were expected in Camellia for a week. Yet another reason why he longed to shield Avery from additional pain.

He’d been so naive, thinking the local media wouldn’t find out about the vandalism. Or maybe it was good old-fashioned denial. After nearly losing his temper with Charlie and Max, then trying and failing to conceal the horrible vandalism, he’d shoved yesterday into the never-want-to-do-that-again pile then tried to move on.

Judging by the people hovering behind him, phones and cameras poised to catalog his reaction, yesterday wasn’t going to be so easy to forget. Sure there had been a few curious glances and a couple of people whispering behind their hands while he waited in line for his coffee. He’d tried to pretend he was blissfully unaware as he scrolled through his email messages and mentally composed a game plan for the day.

He had meetings this morning with different contacts who had boots on the ground in the eastern US. Both advocates were working tirelessly to rescue more victims. Since recent arrests of women working in a Memphis massage clinic, victims of human trafficking seemed hesitant to come forward and seek life beyond the only one they knew. Cole gritted his teeth. His organization and many like it offered hope and a future, but it could be understandably difficult to bring the women out of the darkness and into the light.

They’d been tragically manipulated into believing that modern-day servitude and selling their bodies for empty promises was all they were worth.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to find a way to blot out those lies and convince these women and girls that they were worthy of walking in freedom.

He managed to get inside his building without saying anything he’d regret later. Sweat pooled under his arms and beaded along his forehead as he climbed the stairs to the foundation’s office. Somehow between his morning meetings, he’d promised Avery he’d reach out to the Realtor representing the warehouse they’d looked at yesterday. Maribelle’s donation had been more than enough to cover the expansion and this additional purchase. But he’d need the board’s approval not only to make an offer but also to pursue product manufacturing.

Cole strode into the office then almost turned around and left again when he saw Millie Kay and Cassandra Nelson, the wife of one of their board members, huddled around Millie Kay’s computer. When they saw him they broke apart and jump-started a casual conversation about their weekend plans. Whatever. He knew better.

“Ladies, good morning,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Millie Kay hesitated, her dark eyes darting toward her co-conspirator. “It’s complicated.”

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