You know that feeling when you finish a really good book and you want to tell everyone about it?

That’s how I feel right now, except the book is mine and I can’t go around telling everyone they need to read it without seeming pushy!

That’s the thing though.

I worked on Murder At The Summer Cheese Festival for forever. Writing it, editing it, tweaking that one sentence in chapter three over and over…

Now it’s real and actual people have read it!

I’m equal parts thrilled and terrified. (But mostly thrilled.)

I'm doing something I've never done before: splitting an excerpt of Chapter One and sharing it with you in two parts.

Today you get the first half. Next week you get the second.

If you’re anything like the readers who’ve already devoured this book, you’ll probably want to know what happens next!

For now, I just want you to meet Laura.

She's starting over in Silver Springs after fifteen years of pouring herself into a restaurant job that promised her everything and delivered...nothing. She’s got a mother who doesn’t get her, a grandmother who believes in her, and a new job at the most charming general store you’ve ever imagined.

And spoilers! There’s going to be a murder. But that comes later.

Right now, it’s just Laura, getting to know her work colleagues, making hot chocolate for shy four-year-olds, and trying not to worry about the intimidating food critic who nearly destroyed her bosses’ business eight years ago.

The first half of Chapter One is available to read on the web, and in this email below.

Pour yourself something you enjoy, settle in somewhere cozy, and let me know what you think!

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Murder At The Summer Cheese Festival: Ch 1, Part 1

Two hundred and twelve miles from Boston, Laura Evans had hoped crushing disappointment wouldn’t follow her. It had, but the morning whirlwind at the Silver Springs General Store café was an excellent distraction.

Cutlery clinked, the espresso machine hissed, and customers chatted while the August humidity hung in the air, even as ceiling fans whirled overhead. Starting as the café manager in summer perhaps hadn’t been the best idea, but she had fall to look forward to.

“Macchiato for Shelly!” Eli Carter, her colleague and the café’s resident barista, said.

“Are you out of those delicious scones?” a middle-aged woman asked.

“Not at all! You’re in luck,” Laura said. “Layla delivered a fresh batch just this morning.”

Layla Ahmed, owner of Red Trillium Bakery next door, supplied the café’s pastries and baked goods. On Laura’s first day, a week ago, she’d tasted Layla’s baking and understood what the fuss was about.

“Do you know if Layla’s making those special herb and cheese scones for the Summer Cheese Festival?” the woman from before asked, leaning over the counter.

“Since this is my first festival, I’m not sure, but I’d be happy to find out for you!” Laura said.

“You’re going to love it!” the woman said. “You must attend the Cheese Trivia. It’s so much fun!”

Laura nodded with a smile and handed over the woman’s to-go order.

The annual Summer Cheese Festival looming in less than two weeks had stirred the town into a frenzy. Everyone had spilled into the café with questions and the latest gossip. Everywhere she looked, someone needed something. A question answered, an order clarified, a hand lent.

“It seems I’ve wiped out the clean mug supply,” Eli said, sidling up to the sink with an armful of dirty dishes. Today’s shirt—always a shade of green—contrasted well with his dark-brown skin.

“Leave it with me,” Laura said, pivoting and pushing up her sleeves. “I’m on it.”

It was good, being part of a team again.
Maggie Brook, the store’s co-owner and Laura’s boss, descended the stairs from her office on the upper level. She was a tall woman with pale, freckled skin who favored simplicity, which reflected in her all-black wardrobe and no-nonsense attitude.

“Is everything ticking along with your team?” Maggie asked Laura, managing a quick smile.

“Keeping pace so far!” Laura replied.

“Just!” Jesse O’Connor added with a grin, selecting pastries for a customer.

“Good, good.” Maggie’s eyes dimmed. “Now brace yourself. The festival week’s no picnic.”
She nodded at them all and spun on her heel, heading to the retail section which occupied the rest of the building’s first floor.

“Cinnamon roll and a latte? Caroline, yours is ready!” Jesse said.

“That’s it!” a woman who must have been Caroline said, grabbing her order.

Jasmine Williams, another General Store employee, emerged from the back rooms. Her red-tipped box braids were pulled back, and she had a Woodland Watch badge—a local land steward organization she belonged to—pinned to her apron. She carried a stack of glossy pamphlets.

“The festival brochures have arrived! I’ll put them on the table under the community notice board.” Jasmine held one up for Laura to see, her smile bright against her dark-brown skin and sharp cheekbones.

“That’s great, thank you!” Laura glanced at the proffered colorful foldout. It detailed event schedules, vendor profiles, and competition categories.

Jasmine smiled. “These are like reading the menu and thinking you’ve tasted the meal. Just wait till you see it in person.”

The kitchen bell behind Laura chimed, and she turned to see a plate of buttermilk pancakes waiting. Anton Reynolds, the General Store’s chef, nodded at her through the kitchen line. “Table three’s order is ready.”

Three golden-brown pancakes were topped with a pat of Whitman Family Creamery butter, a ceramic pitcher of local maple syrup beside them. Anton had added a fresh blueberry and raspberry compote and a light dusting of powdered sugar.

Laura thanked him and took the dish, transferring it to a tray before dropping it off to a delighted customer.

As the morning rush subsided, the café fell into an easy rhythm. Eli restocked cups by the espresso machine, Jesse arranged pastries in the display case, and Laura refilled sugar and salt shakers. The café hummed with conversation and the occasional hiss of the coffee machine.

“It’s hard to believe you left Boston for our patch of Vermont,” Eli said, reaching for another stack of ceramic mugs. “Are you still holding up okay? Two weeks in?”

Laura set down a just-filled shaker. “What can I say? There’s something special about this town. It’s all the thoughtful touches. The café has them too, like the little plant centerpieces. They always make me smile.”

“See?” Eli said proudly, glancing at Jesse. “She likes my succulents.”

Jesse grinned, the expression lighting up their pale face. “Alright, botanical prodigy. I’ll let you win this time…but only because I’m feeling generous.”

Eli rolled his eyes as he prepared a coffee, raising his voice over the hissing steamer. “Anyway, my grandpa always said it was the best little town this side of New England.”

Jesse snorted, adjusting a cinnamon roll in the display. “Of course. The noble lie of the lifelong local.”

“Says the arts school graduate who chose the country over city lights,” Eli said, grinning.

“That’s different,” Jesse said, straightening. “I spent four years in Providence among people who treated exhaustion like a badge of honor. I was unsure what came next.” They shrugged. “I visited here one October two years ago, and the entire valley looked like a painting. Two weeks later, I signed a lease.”

“I’ve heard the fall colors here are breathtaking,” Laura said, polishing water glasses. “My Gran always brought me in summer, so this’ll be my first fall in town. I can’t wait to see it for myself.”

“Let’s just survive the summer rush first,” Eli said. “The festival’s…a little chaotic.”

Laura paused, cloth in hand, glancing at the chalkboard where Jesse had added a festival-themed illustration—a wheel of cheese wearing a tiny crown. “I’ve managed my share of busy shifts, but this’ll be new.”

“New is an understatement,” Jesse said. “The whole town transforms. Every restaurant and café gets swamped with food writers, bloggers, and critics, all thinking they’re the next cheese taster extraordinaire.”

“Speaking of critics,” Eli said, “last year’s festival was something else. Remember that whole incident with Jeremy Blackwood? The poor guy looked as wilted as an over-watered plant when he lost his notebook!”

Jesse rolled their eyes as they passed. “It’s just as well you found his notes for him. He treats them like state secrets.” They must’ve seen Laura’s surprised look, because they continued with, “Once upon a time, his reviews could shutter a place. Now? He’s background noise. The last exposé worth mentioning was years back. Something about mislabeled halibut in Boston’s fine dining scene.”

***

A little girl, shy of four, stared at the chalkboard menu, shifting from foot to foot and chewing her lip.
Laura walked over and leaned down. “It’s tough to choose! Would you like some help to decide?”

The girl nodded, studying her feet.
A woman who must’ve been the child’s mother approached with a bashful smile. “Sorry, Dakota’s taking so long.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Laura said, turning to the girl. “Hi, Dakota. I’m Laura! Want to tell me what you’d like to drink?”

“Dunno,” Dakota replied with a tiny shrug.

Laura tilted her head. “What do you think about something warm? I could make you a hot chocolate.”
Dakota’s eyes brightened, and she nodded.
“Should we make it extra special?” Laura asked. “A little peppermint syrup? Some marshmallows?”

“Yes!” Dakota’s voice grew more confident.

“How about whipped cream to top it off?”

The girl giggled. “Yeah!”

“Okay, great! Let’s make it just the way you like,” Laura said, leaning in like it was a secret.

Dakota’s face lit up, and she gave a huge smile.
A minute or so later, Laura crowned her creation with an enormous swirl of whipped cream. She placed the finishing touch—a few marshmallows—on the saucer before placing it on the counter with a flourish.

“Here you go!” Laura said, smiling. “Where would you like to sit? I’ll bring it over for you.”

The girl beamed, admiring the cup like it was treasure. “Thank you! I wanna sit…over there!”

“Anytime!” Laura replied, and she meant it. Picking up the drink and placing it on a tray, she followed the mother and her daughter to Dakota’s chosen table.

Dakota’s mother mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ as Laura set the hot chocolate in front of Dakota. As she walked away, Dakota pointed at the drink for her mother to admire, then looked back and waved at Laura, smiling.

Laura returned the gesture and turned to the sink, warmth blooming in her chest as she rinsed another mug. Moments like that lifted the job above the usual rhythm of tasks. Hard to name, but something about it was right…

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