Summer: A Small Town Sweet Romance: Finch's Crossing, #3

By Amy Ruth Allen

His timing couldn't be worse . . .

Summer has returned to Finch's Crossing to put down roots for the first time in a decade. She has a new business. A lovely childhood home. Good friends.

And now he comes into her life? This wonderful, wandering man.

Picnics. A shared interest in nature and well-being. Surprise gifts. He loves her. She has found her soulmate.

So his abrupt departure is as unexpected as it is painful.

What happened to the kind, genuine and nurturing man she has fallen in love with?

And why does she hear another woman in the background when they speak on the phone?

Is it time to let go, or time to make a grand gesture?

When the truth finally comes out, will she give him the chance to explain, or wonder forever what happened to their love?

If you enjoy wholesome stories about forgiveness and homecomings that also celebrate the charms of small-town life, you'll love this third book in the Finch's Crossing series. Buy Summer today and begin your heartwarming journey through this delightful page-turner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Ruth Allen
• Release date: Jul 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9780996126977

Amy Ruth Allen

I’m an American girl who grew up overseas, riding elephants in Thailand, dancing around the Maypole in Sweden, drinking tea in the United Kingdom, and touring castles across Europe. In these foreign (to me) and exotic locales, books were both my anchor and my escape. They connected me to my native land (and English-speakers in general), while introducing me to worlds even more awesome than the ones I lived in. Fast forward to present day in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where I am the author of the small-town romance series Finch’s Crossing, seven non-fiction books for young adults, and the young adult novel, Stealing Away. In addition to writing fiction, non-fiction, and my blog, I support fellow indie authors by reviewing indie books.

Book preview

Chapter One

Another beautiful summer day in the Laurel Highlands of western Pennsylvania brought curious merchants, shoppers, and tourists alike to Finch’s Crossing’s newest business venture, Laurel Yoga. It had taken Summer Hamilton only six months to get her business up and running, but the day was ten years in the making. And on this Friday afternoon, surrounded by friends, neighbors, and family, she accepted the over-sized gold scissors from Mayor Peggy Brightwell and cut the pink ribbon strung across the storefront. The ends broke free and fluttered to the ground like large pink petals, and Summer took a deep, cleansing breath, bowed her head in fleeting prayer and whispered to herself, Namaste.

Summer had picked the perfect time to open a business. In recent years, the village had risen from insignificance to a thriving community that attracted tourists who wanted to supplement their rafting, camping, and adventuring vacations with a good meal and shopping, while absorbing the charms of a small town. Even in the winter, skiers and snowmobilers from nearby resorts ventured into Finch’s Crossing. Although there were other towns nearby, like Connellsville to the west, and the larger Mt. Pleasant to the north, Finch’s Crossing, with its eclectic shops, a tea room, and a five-and-dime store, made visitors feel they had entered a different era where life ambled, rather than zoomed. With prosperity came additional revenue for the town, and Mayor Brightwell had funded free Wi-Fi along all of Pittsburgh Street and spruced up the historic light posts with bright flags that read Finch’s Crossing: Embracing the Future, Loving the Past.

And that day in June, with the late afternoon sun and a refreshing breeze singing their songs, the cutting of the ribbon in front of Summer’s new business symbolically severed her ties to her nomadic lifestyle, where she crisscrossed the world in search of a perfect state of harmony and happiness. Over the previous ten years she had written obituaries while living in Alaska, painted houses in Florida, waitressed across Europe, and held countless other odd jobs. But none had ever fulfilled her in the way she had hoped they would. In the end, fulfillment came when she was centered on a yoga mat, eyes closed, soul open. She had been a chauffeur in Hollywood, where she learned beach yoga and fell in love with the practice. Over the years, she studied and trained to earn various yoga certifications.

Mayor Peggy shook Summer’s hand, and then embraced the young woman she had known since she was a child growing up in Finch’s Crossing. Well done, the mayor whispered. We’re all so proud of you!

Peggy stepped back and Summer stood before the microphone which had been set up for the occasion. She felt like a superstar standing there in front of friends and neighbors. She had barely seen most of them during the years when she was traveling the world. She didn’t realize how much she had missed the predictable rhythm of small-town life until she had returned six months earlier, appearing on her sister Autumn’s doorstep with a duffle bag and an idea forming in her mind—to open her own yoga studio.

Thank you all so much for coming to the opening of Laurel Yoga, Summer said, swaying slightly to the music she always carried with her and that no one else could hear. Her strawberry blond hair hung down to the middle of her back, thick golden curls with light red hues. She was wearing a light, flowing maxi dress in her trademark pink color, dotted with tiny white flowers. I don’t know how much you know about yoga, but practicing it regularly helps reduce stress, increase agility, and lower your blood pressure. Along with a healthy diet, yoga can significantly improve the quality of your life. I’ll be holding classes for all skill levels and you can also sign up for private sessions. And, tomorrow morning, I’m holding a free class for beginners. No strings attached. Just come and try it out. Now, I hope you’ll come in for my demonstration and refreshments.

The crowd clapped and Tim Delaney, the editor of the local weekly newspaper, snapped a few photographs. Summer watched eagerly as the crowd streamed through the front door of the studio. She had purposefully scheduled the ribbon cutting for five-thirty on a Friday afternoon, so the town merchants could all attend after closing their shops at five. And she was pleased to see an assortment of shoppers and tourists in attendance as well.

Summer knew that opening a yoga studio in a town of 5,000 just an hour away from the nearest major metropolitan center was risky, despite the relative prosperity of Finch’s Crossing. To compensate, she tried to make her business venture as multi-faceted as possible. In addition to the studio at the back of the space, she created smaller areas to display custom exercise clothes, yoga mats, and gifts. She had installed a small glass-front fridge to sell healthy drinks and snacks. She would need to draw in as many customers as she could if she was going to make the business a success. But as with most things in her life, Summer did not worry. Worrying was not in her DNA. She always felt that she was a lucky person, for whom circumstances and resources always came through. She always landed on her feet. And what was more important, she was always grounded in the kind of happiness that only comes from leading an authentic life, true to oneself no matter what. Summer would make the business work, simply because that’s how things were for Summer Hamilton.

As Summer stood back to let the curious crowd in, her sister, Autumn Hamilton Rasmussen, emerged to give her a congratulatory hug. I have to hand it to you, sis, she said, proudly. You’ve really outdone yourself. This place is gorgeous!

Autumn’s best friend and town grouch, Meg Overly, stood next to her in her typical summer outfit of jeans, man’s t-shirt, and Doc Martens shoes. Well you won’t catch me doing any of those crazy poses, Meg groused. I like my exercise standing up and moving forward, thank you very much.

Oh, Meg, Summer said. Have you ever tried yoga? You really don’t know what you’re missing. It might even help with your attitude. She grabbed Meg’s hand, then Autumn’s, and led them inside.

Using an untouched inheritance, Summer had purchased and restored one of the original nineteenth-century buildings on Pittsburgh Street, the thoroughfare through downtown Finch’s Crossing, and home of the town’s main commercial district. Doing much of the work herself (she had spent a few years working construction in Denver, and had apprenticed with a master carpenter), she transformed what had been a sorry-looking eye sore into a stunning facade, with two huge windows overlooking Pittsburgh Street that let in morning light. Summer had restored the brick exterior and installed a new awning over the front door. In the six months that she had been home, Summer, now thirty-years-old, felt more at peace than she ever had during ten years of traveling the globe after college.

Summer had practiced and taught yoga in studios around the world, and taken bits and pieces of each to create her own space, and fashioned a homey apartment on the building’s second floor in the process. She painted the studio walls with soft hues of sage greens and tawny tans, colors inspired by Mother Nature. The studio itself was at the back of the building, with a large water wall providing soothing sounds of water falling in ripples. It had been Summer’s crowning achievement, and had required many YouTube videos and trips to the hardware store for consultations with the proprietor, Stan Brilhart, but she had done all the work herself. On either side of the wall, lush green plants evoked the dewy feel of an Amazon rain forest.

The guest lockers, retail fixtures, and refreshment areas had been done in all-white built-in cabinetry that Summer had custom-made herself. That day, she wasn’t sure what she was most pleased with—that she had finally fulfilled her wish of opening a yoga studio, or that she had practically built the entire thing herself, from the studs up, needing only a plumber and electrician to bring the building up to code.

Summer slipped into her private office and changed into yoga pants and a tank top with Laurel Yoga embellished on it, a twig of light green laurel leaves forming the ‘L’ and the ‘Y." She had created the logo herself and purchased a DIY silk screen kit so she could embellish the activewear and accessories she would sell to her clientele. She bent over a large, dark pink orchid and took a deep breath, feeling the beautiful scent in her soul. Her neighbors on Pittsburgh Street, Lila Geyer of Morris Ladies Wear, and Samantha, who owned Demuth’s Florist, had presented the orchid to her that morning as a welcome gift. Orchids, with their delicate petals and strong stems, were Summer’s favorite flowers, and she smiled as she thought that her neighbors must have consulted her sister on their choice. Orchids, Summer knew, represented purity and innocence, and pink orchids in particular symbolized joy. And joy was precisely what she was feeling at that moment.

When Summer emerged from the office, she was pleased to see that visitors occupied the mats that had been laid out on the gleaming wood floor, waiting for the demonstration to begin. Some sat in exaggerated cross-legged poses, while others gingerly laid on their backs. Ninety-some-year-old Miss Elsie Hixon, who had owned Miss Elsie’s Tea Room for more than twenty-five years, was easing down onto a mat, her long white braid swinging back and forth behind her.

Summer rushed to her side.

Now don’t fuss, child, Miss Elsie chided. I can get down by myself. It’s the getting up where I’ll need some help.

Teppy Eicher, the president of the Merchants Association and owner of the Et Cetera Boutique and Christmas Shop, sunk down on her mat with a thud, her voluminous orange purse clutched to her chest, and her large, mysterious up-do not in the least mussed. Kyle Oswald, the town’s social media and marketing consultant, and Meg’s long-suffering beau, reached out a hand to steady her.

Oh, Teppy, are you alright? Summer cried. Did you hurt anything?

Just my pride, Teppy responded, trying, and failing, to arrange herself with anything remotely resembling ladylike adroitness.

Summer observed the room, pleased how it had filled with eager participants. Ducky, the letter carrier, shared a mat with her beau, Stan Brilhart. Melissa Overholt, always serious in her black pants and white blouse, sat ramrod straight and looked as scholarly as ever in black-rimmed round eyeglasses, as if she was about to research a new antique in her Burnt Orange antique shop. Autumn and Meg leaned against a wall to watch. Kyle stood next to Meg, his arm draped around her shoulder. Only Mallory, Stan’s twenty-something daughter, looked as if she would be able to do any of the moves Summer was about to demonstrate.

Summer took a breath and centered herself as she stood in front of the room, and welcomed her guests with the traditional hands together, slight bow and Namaste greeting, which the group parroted back to her. Summer reached back into her memory for her days in Austin, Texas, where she had dated the recreation director of a nursing home. She had developed a chair yoga program for the group of elderly residents, modifying the traditional yoga poses to meet their abilities.

Studying the group before her, she led them through a series of seated arm stretches and neck movements. Confident that they were limber, she instructed them to stand, and led them through the mountain and warrior poses, which they attempted beautifully, albeit with some jerkiness and wind milling of arms. She demonstrated the one-legged tree pose and the triangle, and was relieved that Miss Elsie chose to march in place rather than attempt either. Summer wrapped up with the child’s pose, and felt herself relax into the familiar stretch. At the end of the demonstration, everyone broke into cheers and applause, and Stan offered up high-fives all around, his six-foot-four frame an imposing presence.

After the demonstration, the group admired the yoga gear and environmentally friendly gifts on display, which Summer had curated from some of her favorite green boutiques around the country.

After the crowd dispersed, Summer looked around her studio with satisfaction. It was amazing how many items could be made from recycled and eco-friendly materials. She had purchased yoga mats made from natural rubber and bamboo fibers, without harmful chemicals like PVC, chloride and latex. She used eco-friendly paint to seal the beautiful, original wood floor with toxic-free gloss.

To stock her gift kiosk, she had selected purses woven from discarded gum wrappers, Christmas tree ornaments made from soda cans, and an assortment of home goods made from old bicycle chains. She’d add more items, including shoes made from re-purposed plastic water bottles, once she was generating a good income. And she would find them all good homes, where their functionality would be appreciated and their beauty admired. It was like restoring a balance in the universe.

Summer knew she was an oddity in Finch’s Crossing. No one else in the town wore flowing maxi dresses, gypsy skirts, and peasant blouses accessorized with flowing strands of glass beads. She was alone in her practice of worshipping and revering Mother Nature as if she were its actual daughter. Yet she knew none of that mattered. Surely in a town where Miss Elsie had learned to use Twitter, the sheriff had a juvenile criminal record, and the town Grinch led an annual Halloween pet parade for children, she would find her place again.

Chapter Two

Later that evening , after turning off the lights and locking the door to her new enterprise, Summer positively glowed as she walked the few blocks to the Greystone Manor to meet Autumn and Meg for dinner. From the front door of her studio, she could see Autumn’s art studio just across the street. She thought about the many times she had left jobs over the years, packing her clothes and a few treasures into her duffle bag and heading out into the world, unsure where she would next lay her head. But that evening, she knew without question that she would rest her head on the antique sleigh bed in the apartment above her very own yoga studio.

Summer traced the familiar path toward the Greystone. Just a few blocks west on Pittsburgh Street she passed Wellspring Books, the bookstore and coffee shop owned by one of her other sisters, Spring Hamilton, and her husband Gabe. A fashion influencer, Spring now lived in New York City with her high school sweetheart, who after many years apart finally became her husband and was a successful novelist. Mallory Brilhart ran their shop, and Summer was looking forward to getting to know the young woman better. So after years apart, three of the four Hamilton sisters now occupied storefronts on Pittsburgh Street.

Summer reflected on the interconnectedness of the small town and her family, which had called Finch’s Crossing home for three generations. Autumn still lived in their childhood home, a sturdy, beautifully painted Victorian built by the sisters’ grandparents.

Summer turned onto Hickory Street, and strolled past Dr. Harrison’s clinic. Next to it was the Frick Law Firm, where her parents’ wills had been read, leaving each Hamilton sister a considerable amount of money to keep them comfortable for their rest of their lives. The oldest Hamilton sister, Winter, was an architect in Pittsburgh and demanded to be called Win. She constantly chastised Summer for squirreling away her inheritance and living a hand-to-mouth existence. Win took it as a personal stain on the family’s reputation that her younger sister lived, as she described it, as a homeless bum who worked dirty, menial jobs. Win could be a challenge, to say the least, and over the years Summer had learned to just ignore her biting insults.

Summer continued down Hickory Street, framed by the blooming pear, redbuds and crepe myrtle trees, a pastel parade of purple, pinks and white. The pull of home had never been as strong in the past decades as it was at this very moment, with her feet treading along the familiar slate sidewalks. She considered how the concept of her hometown, despite miles of distance and years of little contact, had always been with her. She just hadn’t fully realized it. She supposed that if the yearning she felt for home had come at any other time, she would have probably ignored it. But at that moment, as she approached the Greystone, she knew with certainty that she was home to stay.

The Greystone was Finch’s Crossing only hotel and included a fine-dining restaurant, a popular bar, and a third-floor ballroom used mainly for private parties, civic events, and wedding receptions.

So, Autumn asked as Summer slipped into the booth next to her, are you pleased with how things went today? I’m so sorry that Ethan, Heather and Martha missed it, Autumn continued, referencing her husband, adopted daughter and much-loved neighbor, Martha, who was also Heather’s grandmother.

Summer waved it away. They can see the studio when they get back. I know they’ve been looking forward to this trip for ages. Almost a month in California! I know they must be having a great time.

They are, Autumn agreed. But I want to know about you. Do you feel good about the ribbon cutting?

Hmm, Summer answered dreamily. After everyone left, I walked around the store, touching the furniture and yoga mats. There was such an overwhelming positive energy radiating from them. It made me want to cry with happiness.

Meg rolled her eyes and as she began to speak, Summer held up her hand. Don’t, she commanded. Whatever rude, sarcastic thing you’re about to say, just don’t. You’ll ruin all these good feelings I have.

Alright, Meg agreed. How about this. Why on earth have you opened a yoga studio in a town where no one does yoga?

Meg! Autumn admonished her best, albeit grumpy, friend of twenty years. That’s a terrible thing to say. There was an awkward pause, and then Autumn added. Plus, it’s just not true.

That’s okay, sis, Summer said, still upbeat despite Meg’s uncanny ability to smother any occasion with a wet blanket. Meg’s not exactly wrong. But just because someone doesn’t do yoga now, doesn’t mean they won’t ever do yoga. Tomorrow’s complimentary class is already full. I choose to be hopeful. Summer slid her smiling eyes in Meg’s direction. Instead of hateful.

Fortunately, Gretchen, the Greystone’s favorite waitress, sauntered over just in time to break through the tension, setting dinner salads in front of Autumn and Summer and a huge platter of steak, baked potato and baby carrots dripping with butter and brown sugar in front of Meg, who rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

Hope you don’t mind, Summer. I took the liberty of ordering for you. Meg here couldn’t wait, Autumn said, glancing sideways at Meg.

Not at all. I am sure whatever you ordered will be delicious, Summer assured her.

Sorry for the delay, folks, Gretchen said. We’re having some trouble with food disappearing. Duncan had to run down to the IGA market for more lettuce and potatoes. Three heads of iceberg lettuce and two pounds of potatoes disappeared, like that. She snapped her fingers for emphasis. Let me know if you need anything else.

That’s odd, Autumn said, picking up her fork, and watching Meg stuff three bites’ worth of steak into her mouth. I heard Miss Elsie say the same thing yesterday. A whole batch of cookies just gone, like they walked off the counter where they were cooling, and out the door.

They enjoyed their meal in silence for a few moments. Summer, a vegetarian, averted her eyes from Meg’s plate and tried to shut out the moans Meg made as she savored each bite of meat. As Summer ate, she said small words of gratitude for the lettuce, vegetables, nuts and seeds that would give her the sustenance she needed to run her yoga studio.

So have you decided on store hours? Autumn asked Summer.

Sort of, Summer responded dreamily. "I’ll have regular classes in the early mornings and evenings and probably be open a few hours in between. As much as I love yoga, it’s hard for me