To Connie Lynch—a tireless supporter of writers and readers, and one of the kindest women I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Connie, I hope this book makes you smile.
Letter to Readers
On Thursday, December 13, 2018, Nicole Resciniti, my longtime agent, called with the incredible news that the team at Blackstone Publishing had just offered a contract for my Dance with Me series. I know this date because we had just started our drive from Cincinnati to Colorado Springs. We’d moved out of our house the night before, signed the papers for the new owners that morning, then started driving. And in the middle of that first morning—somewhere in the middle of Indiana—I received the call!
I’ve often thought about how timely that call was. Like the women in the Dance with Me trilogy, I was about to start over in a new town. I was also excited about the prospect and sad to be leaving everything familiar. Since the day of that phone call, Tom and I moved to Colorado. We also remodeled most of a house, made new friends, found a new church, went through a lengthy shoulder surgery, and shoveled a whole lot of snow. In the midst of all of that, I wrote Shall We Dance?, Take the Lead, and Save the Last Dance.
Now, like Shannon, Traci, and Kimber, I’ve at last settled into a new home and will be forever grateful for the opportunity I was given to start over.
I’m honestly a little sad to say goodbye to all the characters and places I made up in the fictional town of Bridgeport. I loved writing all six books set here, both the Dance with Me trilogy and the original Bridgeport Social Club books.
I’m so pleased to share that I’ve recently been given another contract from Blackstone. These books will be more romantic suspense in nature and take place in Ross County, Ohio. They feature English characters but many Amish secondary characters—which of course, are close to my heart. I hope you enjoy Edgewater Road, the first book in the series, which will be published in 2021. The first chapter is in the back of this book!
I always say I write books not just for myself but for my readers. So, dear reader, thank you for traveling to Bridgeport with me, and I’ll look forward to greeting you in Ross County very soon!
With my blessings and my thanks,
Shelley Shepard Gray
CHAPTER 1
December 1
She couldn’t get off the phone fast enough. Pacing the length of her small bedroom, Kimber Klein fiddled with her earpiece and tried to come up with a legitimate reason to end the call. Esme wasn’t making it easy, though. Her girlfriend approached most conversations in the same way she directed her modeling career—with grit and determination.
“Kimber, you never answered my question. Is that guy still stalking you?”
That guy was Peter Mohler. Peter, who had worked on one of her photo shoots a year ago, had been trying to get closer ever since. Peter, who’d sent her flowers, cards, and creepy lingerie. Peter, who her agent Brett seemed to think she was making too big a deal about.
She didn’t feel the same way. Even thinking about Peter Mohler made her feel sick. “I don’t think so.” She really hoped not.
“You mean he finally stopped sending you those creepy notes?”
“It looks like it. I haven’t gotten anything from him in weeks.” Of course, she’d also moved from New York City to small-town Ohio . . . and essentially stopped modeling.
“You aren’t sure?” Esme sounded confused.
Kimber couldn’t really blame her. She was confused by her behavior as well. She’d always been assertive and direct—
sometimes to a fault. When she was a teenager, she’d been proud of herself, feeling like a “real” New Yorker.
Over the last year, she’d changed a bit, though. She was more patient, more subdued. Hesitant.
Peter’s constant notes and gifts had made her uncomfortable. His sudden appearance at one of her modeling shoots had freaked her out. About to call the police, she’d touched base with Brett. He’d been upset on her behalf and told her to relax because he was going to take care of Peter.
But then she’d discovered that he’d never done a thing.
“I don’t really think about Peter anymore,” she lied, focusing back on their conversation. “He’s in my past.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good,” Esme said. “It’s probably healthier, huh?”
“It is. I feel better. I mean, all of me feels healthier now.”
“I still don’t understand how you were able to walk away from your whole life, Kimber,” Esme said with a new spike of incredulousness in her voice. “Grand Cayman was gorgeous and the designer gave us all samples. I got the most divine silk chiffon gown in spearmint. You would have loved it.”
Kimber barely refrained from rolling her eyes. That was how she used to talk too. She used to be amazing at describing items of clothing in a way no one who didn’t work in the fashion business would even think about. “I bet.”
Esme paused, obviously waiting for some more envy-laced comments or another couple of questions. When Kimber remained silent, she added, “You would have had a ball.”
“It does sound like a good time,” she murmured, because modeling bathing suits on a beautiful tropical island had once been her dream job. She’d loved the beach and the downtime and the gorgeous clothes and samples that she’d been given. “I would have loved those days on the beach . . . if I wasn’t retired.”
Esme cleared her throat. “You didn’t have to be, Kim. We were all talking about you. John Creek swore that you could have gone another five years.”
John Creek was one of the top photographers in the business. For him to say such a thing was a compliment—and very generous.
Kimber guessed it was maybe too generous. She might have had three more years modeling, and that would have been stretching it.
She could have gone for a while longer . . . if she’d been willing to continue the same grueling pace.
That was, she would have had a ball modeling bathing suits and ball gowns for high-end fashion magazines while getting paid an obscene amount of money to pose on the beach on a Caribbean island.
All she would’ve had to do was stay hungry, swallow her pride, and pretend that nothing else mattered to her except being photogenic and having a hefty savings account.
But that was the thing—for the last year, none of that really seemed to matter anymore.
Or maybe it never had.
Feeling drained, Kimber said, “Esme, it’s been nice talking to you, but I’ve got to go.”
“How come? What are you doing these days?”
She was currently doing a lot of nothing . . . except for her new volunteer gig at the elementary school library. “I’m still getting my bearings, though I have been volunteering lately.”