Page 1 of Tequila Lime and Sunshine

CHAPTER 1

Summer

I’m getting dumped.

I’ve become pretty numb to it at this point, seeing as it’s the third time in two years that it’s happened. I can usually tell when it’s coming, but I’ll admit, this one caught me by surprise. Maybe I’m just not cut out for the whole dating thing.

“It’s just. . . you’re gone so much,” Brady tells me over the phone. Yes, he called because he couldn’t bother to tell me in person. But I guess a phone call is better than the breakup email I got from Shawn last year.

“I thought you said that wouldn’t be a problem for you?” I specifically remember the conversation where we talked about our future. I made it very clear that my job requires me to be gone a lot. I use the word job loosely because what I do doesn’t feel like a job. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ve quite literally made my dreams come true, but I can’t seem to find a partner who can support those dreams. Not that I need a partner, but it’s nice to have someone to share life with sometimes.

“Yeah, I thought I could too, Summer. I really did. But having to schedule dates on your calendar and knowing that you’re out having a good time in whatever country you’re in, doing God knows what, is too much for me.”

“Hey, I’ve never cheated on you.” I’m immediately defensive because that always seems to be the concern with guys. They just can’t fathom that a woman could travel alone without being tempted to hook up with random men. I can count on one hand the number of times a guy has hit on me while I’ve been traveling.

He sighs, but I can barely hear it over the sound of my suitcase wheels rolling across the sidewalk because, yes, my boyfriend called to dump me as I’m getting home from a trip. “I’m not saying you did, Summer. I just can’t handle it, and I think it’s better for me to end it now rather than spend two weeks with your family when I know my heart isn’t in it anymore.”

I stop in front of my apartment building. He has a point. It would be really embarrassing to introduce him to my family on this trip only to turn around and tell them we broke up. Although it’ll be equally embarrassing to show up alone when I’ve spent the past few months saying I’ll be bringing my boyfriend. Oh well. Such is my life. My parents haven’t met any of them since my first boyfriend, Holden. But he’s a family friend so my parents have known him since he was born.

“You’re right, Brady. Thanks for doing it now instead of stringing me along.”

“I do wish you the best, Summer. You’re a great girl.” My bleeding heart believes him, but it still sucks.

I want to wish him the best, too. I can’t bring myself to say the words though, so I just end with a simple, “Goodbye, Brady.”

I slip my phone into my pocket and press my keycard against the building reader to unlock the front door. I’m met with a giant sign on the elevator door telling me it’s broken and to take the stairs. Great. Nothing like carrying a suitcase up three flights of stairs, but I guess that’s to be expected in New York City. You get what you get sometimes. Thankfully, I only have my carry-on bag and a backpack for this trip, so I make it up the stairs without my legs giving out.

My studio apartment was a rare find when I started looking for a place in the city. I knew I needed to get out of Georgia to spread my wings. My travel blog, Summer Roams, had taken off, and I wanted to prove to myself and my family that I could make it. The last tenants broke their lease early, and the landlord was desperate for someone to take the place. I was with my real estate agent looking at another apartment in this building, and the owner for this apartment asked if I wanted to see it.

It’s a corner apartment, so the views alone could sell it. Floor-to-ceiling windows cover two walls that look directly out into the city. As soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted this place. There’s a small kitchen and just enough space for my bed, a desk, a couch, and a TV. Honestly, it’s perfect for me. I’m not here often, and since I can’t seem to keep a boyfriend, I don’t need to worry about bringing anyone else into this space.

I roll my suitcase in and flop down on my bed. The simple white of the bedspread balances out the rest of my colorful decor. My emerald green couch pops against the exposed brick, the rug in front of the couch has swirls of different coordinating colors, and my artwork adds pops of black and gold. It’s not much, but it’s my home, and I love it.

Closing my eyes and sighing, I think back on my day. This morning I was eating shrimp and grits and drinking a mimosa in the heart of New Orleans before boarding my flight. I pay for Wi-Fi to edit my pictures, create my blogs, and schedule everything for posting. I was only in New Orleans for two days because the sweet owner of a little bed and breakfast reached out about getting some publicity. She offered under my usual booking fees but was delightful to speak to. After a quick internet search of the property, I knew I couldn’t say no.

The weather was beautiful, and I got tons of pictures for the blog and my Instagram. I ate great food, talked to interesting people, and discovered so much about the city. My favorite trips have been where I get to talk to the locals. I love learning from them and sharing their stories. My readers love it too.

But now I’m home, boyfriendless, and without food for dinner because I was planning on meeting Brady at one of our favorite sushi restaurants.

Just as I’m about to let myself fall asleep to get this day over with, my phone vibrates with a call from my assistant and best friend, Asher.

“Hey, girl, hey!” her cheery voice announces through the phone. “Good flight home?” She always calls to check on me when I get home from trips. It’s comforting to hear her voice, especially now.

“Yeah, not too bad. The guy next to me took his shoes off, though, which was a little weird.”

“Ew! I swear, you need to create a series of gross things people do on planes and at airports. People are wild.”

“Yeah.” I try to sound cheery, but I know it doesn’t work.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, picking up on my fake enthusiasm. I can’t hide anything from her.

I sigh. “Brady dumped me.”

“What?” she gasps. “I thought things were going well!”

“Yeah, I thought so too.” It always hurts the worst when I don’t see it coming. Sure, we weren’t at the level most couples would be at after six months of dating. We didn’t see each other every night, and sometimes we didn’t even see each other every week. And depending on where I was or what time zone I was in, we also couldn’t always talk on the phone. We definitely hadn’t said the L word. I don’t think we were even close to it. But he was fun. A great kisser. He seemed to understand me and my goals for the blog. But once again, I must have misread the situation. “But apparently, the long distance wasn’t working for him.”

“Oh, Sum. I’m sorry. Do you want me to come over? I can bring ice cream,” she offers.