Summer ever after, p.1
Summer Ever After, page 1
Summer Ever After
Wildflower
Book 10
Jill Sanders
Contents
Summary
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Also by Jill Sanders
About the Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2025 Jill Sanders
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Grayton Press
ISBN-13:
Paperback:
Summary
One summer. One chance.
One love worth fighting for.
Beth thought working the front desk at River Camps, a luxury summer camp for adults in Florida, would be her fresh start. Surrounded by sun-soaked beaches, laughter, and new friendships, she could finally begin to heal from the painful scars left by her ex-husband, Ian, a controlling and abusive cop who refuses to let her go. No matter how cheerful she appears, Ian’s relentless stalking keeps her looking over her shoulder, making her wonder if true freedom is even possible.
Aaron left his past behind when he walked away from his career as a cop. Now, as the camp’s security guard, he keeps the peace while enjoying the laid-back lifestyle, especially when he’s on stage with his guitar, playing to the crowd beneath the string-lit oaks. He’s content in his quiet world… until he meets Beth. Her easy smile hides a storm he can see all too well. And when she flinches at shadows, he recognizes the fear she tries so hard to conceal.
As Aaron and Beth’s friendship deepens, their connection becomes undeniable. He offers her the safety she craves, and she awakens something in him he thought he’d lost—a desire to protect, to love, to belong. But Ian isn’t willing to let go, and his threats escalate from veiled warnings to dangerous games.
When Beth’s worst fears come true, Aaron must decide how far he’ll go to keep her safe. Can their summer romance turn into forever, or will the ghosts of their pasts destroy their chance at happiness?
Prologue
Beth clutched her bouquet tightly as she and Ian sprinted towards the waiting limo, laughter erupting from both of them while a shower of birdseed rained down like confetti. Her bouquet, a romantic mix of ivory peonies, pale pink garden roses, soft ranunculus, and sprigs of rosemary, was wrapped in a silk ribbon embroidered with her new initials. The petals trembled with every joyful step, their scent a soothing blend of floral and herb that clung to the warm summer air.
All around them, their loved ones filled the path with cheers and smiles, some tossing seeds with gleeful abandon, others reaching for one last photo.
Someone called out, “Don’t forget to breathe!” while one of the groomsmen pretended to weep dramatically.
Ian’s cousin Lilith, one of Beth’s bridesmaids, waved wildly as she dodged a handful of flying seed herself.
Beth glanced behind them one last time at the ceremony archway, which had been wrapped in eucalyptus, baby’s breath, and white roses and now framed the golden-hour skyline. Twinkle lights had been strung along all the chairs and trees of the ceremony area, and they began to glow as dusk crept in, casting a magical haze over the entire scene.
Beth’s dress sparkled with motion, the delicate lace overlay fluttering around her legs while her satin heels thudded lightly on the stone path. Tiny buttons ran down her back. She had long ago removed her veil, before all of the dancing at their reception. Her shorter dark hair had been swept into a romantic twist and was pinned to the base of her neck with a pearl comb.
When they reached the limo, she waited while Ian opened the door with a flourish, then she turned back one last time to look at the faces of everyone gathered there.
There were only a handful of people that she knew personally. She’d been allowed to invite two of her high school friends, her distant cousin, and her mother. She’d missed her father all day, had dreamed in the years since his death about what it would have been like if he could have been there for her.
Now, with birdseed clinging to her hair and her cheeks aching from smiling so much, her heart had never felt so still.
She was Bethany Lynn Thorne.
She was Mrs. Ian Thorne.
She was really married. Married.
And most importantly, finally free.
Free from the control.
Free from the anger.
Free from the abuse.
She and her husband would be on their way to the airport, where they would fly first class to some beautiful surprise honeymoon that Ian had planned.
She was riding in the back of the limo, with her new husband. She held in a squeal of pleasure.
Then Ian leaned over the leather seat towards her for a kiss.
She closed her eyes, ready for the soft, sexy move, but the kiss didn’t come. She opened her eyes and looked into his sexy green ones. It was one of the things that had first drawn her to him. That and his sexy blonde hair, chiseled abs, his sexy smile, and the way he looked in his police uniform.
“Happy?” he asked as his eyes ran over her face.
“Very. You?” she asked, beaming at him.
He was still running his eyes over her as if trying to figure something out. Seconds ticked by in silence.
She opened her mouth to ask him if something was wrong when he spoke.
“Who was that you were dancing with?”
She stilled. “Who?” She shook her head slightly, not understanding. She’d danced with a lot of people over the past two hours. Some had even tucked money into her palm during the cash dances.
He’d danced with a lot of people too. It was sort of the whole idea of the day. Celebration.
“During the song when I was dancing with my mother,” Ian said, slowly taking the flowers from her fingers and tossing them haphazardly in the seat next to him.
She frowned slightly. “I… I’m not sure.” She tried to remember who she’d been dancing with and could only remember a dark-haired man, maybe one of his fellow police officers? “I thought—”
The slap wasn’t hard. She’d had harder ones over the past few years. It was, however, surprising. Ian had, in the past eight months that she’d known him, never lifted a finger to her, or even his voice.
Her hand covered the sting as tears threatened to ruin her makeup.
“Who?” Ian asked again, completely calm.
She shook her head again. “I thought he was one of your friends, maybe another cop. I didn’t get his name,” she said, eager to please.
She’d been raised knowing just what to say or do in order to stop someone from getting too angry.
He gently took the hand that had been covering her face. He brushed his lips across her knuckles gently.
“Baby, I’m not the kind of man who likes to share his wife.” His eyes locked with hers and then something changed in him right before her eyes. He softened and was back to the Ian she knew and had fallen in love with. “We are going to have the best time on our honeymoon.” He smiled as if he hadn’t just slapped her. “Maybe, by the time we get back in three weeks”—his hand moved down to her stomach, still holding her fingers laced with his own—“we’ll already be starting our family.”
Chapter One
When Beth locked the door behind her, she always checked that it had latched tightly. First, the knob lock, which she checked twice, then the deadbolt, which she checked three times. Then the top additional latch that she had insisted the landlord install, despite her eye roll and grumbled comments about “overkill.” Each metallic click echoed in the small space, a ritual that she had memorized since moving into the place.
Her last two apartments had been a disaster for security, which she’d blamed for the break-ins.
After all of the locks were securely in place, she gave the door a hard tug, her fingers curling around the weathered brass knob until her knuckles went white.
It didn’t move.
Good.
Not that it would stop anyone determined enough to kick it in, but at least it was something, a sliver of control in a world that still felt unstable beneath her feet.
Her apartment was small, barely more than a studio tucked above the antique bookstore on Main Street in Pelican Point, Florida. The wooden stairs on the outside of the old building creaked with every step that she took, and the salty air from the Gulf sometimes caused the window frames to swell until they stuck shut. But it was hers. And it was just a ten-minute drive from River Camps, the adult summer camp where she worked at the front desk and had recently started taking over bookkeeping dut
Her bosses at the camp had lit up with excitement when she’d mentioned that she’d recently earned her associate’s degree in business. It had taken her years, quietly plugging away at online classes during her shifts or late at night in bed with earbuds in and a blanket over her head, but she’d done it. A small, quiet triumph.
Outside, the narrow alley behind the building buzzed with the muffled sound of distant traffic.
Her tiny kitchenette in the corner had an old mini-fridge that she stocked once a week, a small microwave with a flickering digital clock, and a two-burner cooktop that doubled as counter space.
Her bed was tucked along one wall beneath a floating shelf that held a few books, a pot of succulents, and a framed photo of her with her coworkers from River Camps. People who saw her. Who didn’t question her past. People that stuck by her no matter what.
Her place smelled like lavender dryer sheets and the earthy scent of old pine floors. When she’d first moved in, the walls were a sterile white that reminded her of hospitals and several of the temporary rentals she’d been in before.
One of the first things she’d done was paint them a warm peach. She had gone on to add peel-and-stick tile behind the kitchen sink, which brightened the small space. Then she’d mounted some battery-operated puck lights under the cabinets to brighten it up even more.
There were other small changes, and they made the space feel more like a home. Her home. Her life.
Four years.
It had been over four years that she’d been out on her own. She’d gone through three different jobs, six phone numbers, at least three dozen 911 calls, half a dozen restraining orders, and finally three court dates. All of which had ended the same way.
Nothing changed.
Ian did whatever he wanted, and no one was going to stop him.
After all, he was the law.
The one time she’d hoped that would have changed last year when he’d shown up at her last apartment with a baseball bat in hand. Thankfully, she’d seen him coming and had climbed out on her roof and escaped him while her neighbor had called the police.
However, when the police arrived, Ian had leaned against his car and chatted with them. She’d found out later that he claimed she had called him in a panic crying about someone trying to break into her place. So, naturally, he’d rushed over to protect her.
Ian was great at making up stories where he became the hero.
Beth had learned early in their marriage that the badge didn’t just give him authority, it gave him armor. A shiny, unquestioned narrative. Most of his coworkers and friends didn’t believe her when she spoke out, not really. How could they? To them, Ian was a hero. The guy who carried an elderly woman out of a burning building. The one who smashed a car window to rescue a baby strapped in a car seat on a hot summer day. He remembered everyone’s birthdays and anniversaries. He brought food to storm victims. Helped patch neighbors’ roofs after hurricanes.
He was charming. Charismatic. Good-looking. The all-American hero. The kind of man people called loyal, selfless, funny, and brave.
Heroes like that didn’t abuse their wives.
They didn’t shove them into walls with enough force to knock the breath from their lungs. They didn’t squeeze their wrists hard enough to leave bruises that had to be hidden beneath long sleeves. They didn’t isolate you from your friends and family, erase your voicemails, track your phone, or stand silently in doorways watching you dress just to remind you who had the power.
But Ian had done all of that, and more. And when Beth finally spoke up, people gave her that look, the one that said, Are you sure? The one that said, But he’s such a good guy.
As if monsters only came with snarling faces and criminal records, not polished smiles and badges.
Eventually, she stopped trying to explain to those people. She let go of anyone who didn’t believe her and built a new circle of friends who did.
Still, she knew that Ian didn’t need to raise his fist anymore. His power lived in the fear that he had spent years planting inside her, roots that went very deep in the shadows of her soul. It lived in the way her breath caught when a car slowed near the curb. In the way she locked every window, every door, even in broad daylight, three times. In the way her voice caught when someone asked too many questions about where she’d come from.
To the world, Ian was a hero.
To her, he was the storm that she had barely survived.
And part of her still believed that he enjoyed it, the fear, the way it echoed through her body like a reflex. The way her heart jumped whenever her phone buzzed unexpectedly or a car engine idled too long beneath her window.
He hadn’t shown his face at her work since being banned from the River Camps grounds the last time, but she knew better than to let her guard down.
The peace never lasted.
She dropped her keys into the bowl by the door, kicked off her sandals, and unzipped her canvas tote, already feeling the familiar ache of tension along her shoulders. She had a spreadsheet to finish tonight, donation tracking for the silent auction they’d just held at the camp to raise money for breast cancer awareness.
Last Christmas, Zoey and Scarlett’s mother, Kimberly, had been diagnosed early. Thankfully, after two surgeries, she now had a clean bill of health. But true to form, the Wildflowers—Zoey, Scarlett, Elle, Hannah, and Aubrey—hadn’t just celebrated, they’d turned their gratitude into action. They had planned a fundraiser to support other women facing the same battles.
That was one of the reasons Beth loved working at River Camps. The people there showed up. They didn’t just talk, they acted. And they had put in place a standing order not to allow Ian on the property under any circumstances.
River Camps had seen its fair share of chaos over the years. That’s why they had round-the-clock security. Two of the full-time team, Brett Jewel and Aaron Michaels, were ex-cops themselves. The men had worked side by side with her ex-husband for years.
They, however, hadn’t bought into Ian’s “concerned ex-husband” routine when he’d shown up uninvited at the camp. They’d made it clear to him that he wasn’t welcome any longer, and they’d backed it up.
Beth still remembered the quiet strength in their stances, the way they hadn’t asked her to justify anything. That day had changed something for her. For the first time in a long time, she’d felt safe.
River Camps wasn’t just a job anymore. It was the first place that had felt like she could be something more, something solid. The people believed in her. Trusted her. Encouraged her. She’d even been named an honorary “Wildflower” by the founders, an inside title for those who had become part of their circle. A few others on the staff had received the same nod over the years, but for Beth, it meant everything. A sign that she wasn’t just surviving, she really did belong.
The quiet of her apartment settled around her like a weighted blanket, equal parts comfort and pressure.
She crossed the room, flipped on the lamp beside her bed, and froze when the bulb flickered before finally lighting. It was just an old bulb. Nothing more. But her heart still kicked against her ribs, her breathing momentarily stuck in her throat.
She exhaled slowly, walked to the counter, and gently placed the small pink floral arrangement she’d taken from the auction ceremony into a mason jar on the windowsill. It gave the space a gentle pop of color, a touch of softness. A reminder that good things still bloomed, even in unlikely places.
Then she sat down at her tiny desk, opened her laptop, and pulled up the spreadsheet.
Work, she told herself.
Focus.
Do the things you can control.
Because control was no longer about power.
It was about reclaiming peace, inch by inch, cell by cell.
By the time she was done sending the finished spreadsheet off to Zoey, it was just past one in the morning.
Beth stood up, stretched, and rolled her shoulders with a soft groan. Her spine cracked in protest after being hunched over her tiny desk for so long. She rubbed the back of her neck, yawned, then made her way to the kitchenette and opened the freezer.
A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she pulled out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s she’d been saving. Cherry Garcia, her favorite. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer, not even bothering with a bowl. This was a straight-from-the-carton kind of night.
