Book Blurb from the publisher:
Harper Lee Wilcox has been marking time in her hometown of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina since her husband, Noah Wilcox’s death, nearly five years earlier. With her son Ben turning five and living at home with her mother, Harper fights a growing restlessness, worried that moving on means leaving the memory of her husband behind.
Her best friend, Allison Teague, is dealing with struggles of her own. Her husband, a former SEAL that served with Noah, was injured while deployed and has come home physically healed but fighting PTSD. With three children underfoot and unable to help her husband, Allison is at her wit’s end.
In an effort to reenergize her own life, Harper sees an opportunity to help not only Allison but a network of other military wives eager to support her idea of starting a string of coffee houses close to military bases around the country.
In her pursuit of her dream, Harper crosses paths with Bennett Caldwell, Noah’s best friend and SEAL brother. A man who has a promise to keep, entangling their lives in ways neither of them can foresee. As her business grows so does an unexpected relationship with Bennett. Can Harper let go of her grief and build a future with Bennett even as the man they both loved haunts their pasts?
The story flowed so nicely and the characters were so likeable. Harper has been struggling for so long with the loss of her husband, and being reminded of him in their son helps. On one hand, she needs to move on, but on the other hand, it is hard for her to think about moving on; which is so understandable. The characters and their struggles were all painted so realistically that it was so easy to connect with them, but also a great reminder of the sacrifices that so many families make on a daily basis for our country. This is so heart-warming and a story that will last for so long following reading it. I highly recommend this book!
An Excerpt from the book:
Chapter 1
Present
Day
Winters in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina,
were temperamental. The sunshine and a temperate southerly breeze that started
a day could turn into biting, salt-tinged snow flurries by afternoon. But one
thing Harper Lee Wilcox could count on was that winter along the Outer Banks
was quiet.
The bustle and hum and weekly rotation
of tourists that marked the summer months settled into a winter melancholy that
Harper enjoyed. Well, perhaps not enjoyed in the traditional sense . . . more
like she enjoyed surrendering to the melancholy. In fact, her mother may have
accused her of wallowing in it once or twice or a hundred times.
In the winter, she didn’t have to smile
and pretend her life was great. Not that it was bad. Lots of people had it
worse. Much worse. In fact, parts of her life were fabulous. Almost five, her
son was happy and healthy and smart. Her mother’s strength and support were
unwavering and had bolstered her through the worst time of her life. Her
friends were amazing.
That was the real issue. In the craziness
of the summer season, she forgot to be sad. Her husband, Noah, had been gone
five years; the same amount of time they’d been married. Soon the years
separating them would outnumber the years they’d been together. The thought was
sobering and only intensified the need to keep a sacred place in her heart
waiting and empty. Her secret memorial.
She parked the sensible sedan Noah had
bought her soon after they married under her childhood home. Even though they
were inland, the stilts were a common architectural feature up and down the
Outer Banks.
Juggling her laptop and purse, Harper
pushed open the front door and stacked her things to the side. “I’m home!”
A little body careened down the steps
and crashed into her legs. She returned the ferocious hug. Her pregnancy was
the only thing that had kept her going those first weeks after she’d opened her
front door to the Navy chaplain.
“How was preschool? Did you like the
pasta salad I packed for your lunch?”
“It made me toot and everyone laughed,
even the girls. Can you pack it for me again tomorrow?”
“Ben! You shouldn’t want to toot.” Laughter ruined the admonishing tone she was going
for.
As Harper’s mom said time and again, the
kid was a hoot and a half. He might have Harper’s brown wavy hair, but he had
Noah’s spirit and mannerisms and humor. Ben approached everything with an
optimism Harper had lost or perhaps had never been gifted with from the start.
He was a blessing Harper sometimes wondered if she deserved.
“Where’s Yaya?” She ruffled his unruly
hair.
Of course, her mom had picked an
unconventional name. “Grandmother” was too old-fashioned and pedestrian. Since
she’d retired from the library, she had cast off any semblance of normalcy and
embraced an inner spirit that was a throwback to 1960s bra burners and
Woodstock.
“Upstairs painting.” Ben slipped his
hand into Harper’s and tugged her toward the kitchen. Bright red and orange and
blue paint smeared the back of his hand and arm like a rainbow. At least, her
mom had put him in old clothes. “Yaya gave me my own canvas and let me paint
whatever I wanted.”
“And what did you paint?” Harper prayed
it wasn’t a nude study, which was the homework assignment from her mom’s
community college class.
“I drew Daddy in heaven. I used all the colors.” The matter-of-factness
of his tone clawed at her heart.
No child should have to grow up only
knowing their father through pictures and stories. Her own father had been
absent because of divorce and disinterest. He’d sent his court-ordered child
support payments regularly until she turned eighteen but rarely visited or
shown any curiosity about her. It had hurt until teenaged resentment scarred
over the wound.
Noah would have made a great dad. The
best. That he never got the chance piled more regrets and what-ifs onto her
winter inspired melancholy.
“I’m sure he would have loved your
painting.” Luckily, Ben didn’t notice her choked-up reply.
He went to the cabinet, pulled out white
bread and crunchy peanut butter, and proceeded to make two sandwiches. It was
their afternoon routine. Someday he would outgrow it. Outgrow her and become a
man like his daddy.
She poured him a glass of milk, and they
ate their sandwiches, talking about how the rest of his day went—outside of his
epic toots. His world was small and safe and she wanted to keep it that way for
as long as possible.
Her mom breezed into the kitchen, her
still-thick but graying brown hair twisted into a messy bun, a thin paintbrush
holding it in place. Slim and attractive, she wore paint-splattered jeans and a
long-sleeve T-shirt that read: I make AARP look good. Harper pinched her lips
together to stifle a grin.
“How’s your assignment coming along?”
Harper asked.
“I’m having a hard time with
proportions. It’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure my man’s you-know-what
shouldn’t hang down to his kneecaps.”
Harper shot a glance toward Ben, who had
moved to the floor of the den to play with LEGOs. As crazy as her mom drove
her, she was and would always be Harper’s rock. The irony wasn’t lost on her.
As hard as she’d worked to get out of Kitty Hawk and out of her mother’s reach
when she was young, she’d never regretted coming home.
“It’s been a while for me, too, but
that’s not how I remember them, either.”
“A pity for us both.” Her mother pulled
a jar of olives out of the fridge and proceeded to make martinis—shaken, not
stirred. She raised her eyebrows, and Harper answered the unspoken question
with a nod. Her mom poured and plopped an extra olive in Harper’s. “How was
work?”
Harper handled bookkeeping and taxes for
a number of local businesses, but a good number closed up shop in the winter.
“Routine. Quiet.”
“Exactly like your life.”
Harper sputtered on her first sip.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I hate seeing you mope around all
winter.” Her mom poked at the olive in her drink with a toothpick and looked
toward Ben, dropping her voice. “He’s been gone five years, sweetheart, and you
haven’t gone on so much as a date.”
“That’s not true. I went to lunch with
Whit a few weeks ago.”
“He was trying to sell you life
insurance. Doesn’t count.”
Harper huffed and covered her discomfort
by taking another sip. “What about you? You never date.”
“True, but your father ruined me on
relationships. I have trust issues. You and Noah, on the other hand, seemed to
get along fine. Or am I wrong?”
“You’re not.” Another sip of the martini
grew the tingly warmth in her stomach. Their marriage hadn’t been completely
without conflict, but what relationship was? As she looked back on their
fights, they seemed juvenile and unimportant. It was easier to remember the
good times. And there were so many to choose from.
She touched the empty finger on her left
hand. The ring occupied her jewelry box and had for three years. But,
occasionally, her finger would ache with phantom pains as if it were missing a
vital organ.
“You’re young. Find another good man. Or
forget the man, just find something you’re passionate about.”
“I’m happy right where I am.” Harper
hammered up her defenses as if preparing for a hurricane.
“Don’t mistake comfort for happiness.
You’re comfortable here. Too comfortable. But you’re not happy.”
“God, Mom, why are you Dr. Phil–ing me
all of sudden? Are you wanting me and Ben to move out or something?” Her voice
sailed high and Ben looked over at them, his eyes wide, clutching his LEGO
robot so tightly its head fell off.
“You and Ben are welcome to stay and
take care of me in my old age.” Her mom shifted toward the den. “You hear that,
honey? I want you to stay forever.”
Ben gave them an eye-crinkling smile
that reminded her so much of Noah her insides squirmed, and she killed the rest
of her drink. She was so careful not to show how lonely she sometimes felt in
front of Ben.
“Harper.” Her mom’s chiding tone
reminded her so much of her own childhood, she glanced up instinctively. Her
mom took her hand, and her hazel eyes matched the ones that stared back at
Harper in the mirror. “You’re marking time in Kitty Hawk. Find something that
excites you again. Don’t let Ben—or Noah— be your excuse.”
Harper looked to her son. His chubby
fingers fit the small LEGO pieces together turning the robot into a house. She
had built her life brick by brick adding pieces and colors, expanding, taking
pride, until one horrible day she’d stopped. Maybe her mom was right. Was it
time to build something new?
LAURA TRENTHAM is
an award-winning author of contemporary and historical romance. She is a member
of RWA, and has been a finalist multiple times in the Golden Heart competition. A chemical engineer by training and a lover of books
by nature, she lives in South Carolina.
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Buy-Book Links: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250145536
*Thanks to the publishers for a complimentary copy of this book.*
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