Summer Charade

Chapter 1

Isabella Johnston stepped off the plane into the sweltering Florida heat, a wave of humidity slapping her in the face. Even behind her oversized sunglasses, she squinted at the glare reflecting off the tarmac. Florida had welcomed her home with its usual unrelenting sunshine. She tugged at the handle of her scuffed carry-on, the suitcase rattling stubbornly behind her as she maneuvered through the crowded airport.

"Home sweet home," she muttered, though the words carried more exhaustion than excitement.

She glanced around at the familiar palm trees swaying in the distance beyond the terminal windows, trying to summon up some sense of relief. But her mind was elsewhere—stuck in the haze of deadlines and unpaid internships. College in San Diego had felt like a treadmill she couldn't get off, and now here she was, back in Port St. Lucie for her "break," which was less of a vacation and more of a chance to collapse.

Izzy, as she was called, sighed, running a hand through her dark curls as she found a quiet corner by the window to wait for her ride. The thought of her latest journalism project—her shot at making a name for herself—hovered in her mind like a dark cloud. Investigating corruption in local politics had been thrilling at first, but she was out of leads, out of time, and—most painfully—out of funding.

"Just great," she had muttered under her breath. "The biggest story of my career, and I'm dead in the water."

A child nearby screamed in delight, pulling at his mother's arm to show her something out the window. Izzy envied his carefree energy. She stared outside, watching the palm trees dance lazily in the wind, a reminder of everything that felt simple and unhurried in this town—unlike her chaotic life in California. The palm trees didn't have to worry about deadlines or interviews gone cold.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from her dad: "Where are you, girl? I'm outside, don't make me wait too long, I'll melt!"

Izzy chuckled despite herself and typed back, "Coming, coming. Haven't melted yet, have you?"

She grabbed her carry-on, weaving through the throngs of travelers who bustled around her in a hurry, each person preoccupied with their own stories, their own destinations. The Florida air hit her full force the moment she stepped outside the sliding glass doors. Even after years of living away, the dense, sticky heat still shocked her system. She scanned the pickup area, her father's old, blue pickup truck unmistakable among the newer SUVs and sedans.

"Over here!" Her father, Paul Johnston, waved frantically from the driver's seat, his grin wide beneath a worn baseball cap. "Get in before I melt for real."

"Alright, alright!" Izzy tossed her bag into the truck bed and hopped into the passenger seat, the leather seat warm beneath her as she shut the door. The familiar scent of sunscreen and his favorite vanilla-scented air freshener filled the car. It felt like stepping back in time.

"How's my little world traveler?" Paul asked as he pulled away from the curb, shooting her a sideways glance. His voice was full of the same pride he'd had when she first left for college, like she was still his little girl chasing big dreams.

"Exhausted, Dad," Izzy said, leaning her head back against the seat. "But it's good to see you. How's everything here?"

"Same old, same old. Your mom's been cooking up a storm since she heard you were coming home. Be prepared to eat."

"I figured." Izzy smiled. "Chicken parm?"

"Of course. She wouldn't miss the chance to spoil you."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the radio playing softly in the background as they drove through town. Izzy watched familiar landmarks drift by—the old diner where she used to meet friends, the park where she learned to ride a bike. The sights brought a sense of comfort, but also an unsettling awareness of how much her life had changed since she left this place.