Read An Excerpt From This Summer’s Hottest Romance

Sure, it hasn’t been released yet, but if the success of Carley Fortune’s previous books are any indication, her third novel, This Summer Will Be Different, is going to be huge. You might be familiar with Fortune’s previous lakeside romances, Every Summer After and Meet Me at the Lake (which is being adapted for Netflix by Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s production company, Archewell). Both are sweet, compulsively readable novels that flip between two timelines; both are New York Times and Globe and Mail bestsellers. This summer, Fortune is venturing outside of Ontario, where her first two books were set. Instead, This Summer Will Be Different—one of our favourite spring 2024 reads—takes place in dreamy Prince Edward Island. This book has everything, including a strong female friendship, spicy sex scenes and some excellent Anne of Green Gables references. Read on for an exclusive excerpt of This Summer Will Be Different, which hits bookshelves on May 7.

I’ve always liked flying into Charlottetown. You exit the plane right onto the tarmac, which used to make me feel like a celebrity. The airport itself is a teeny tiny delight. There’s one baggage carousel, and your suitcase is in your hand within fifteen minutes of setting foot on Prince Edward Island soil.

Based on her instructions, I assume Bridget will be waiting for me in the parking lot, so I head straight for the Cows Creamery cow statue to wait for my luggage. The cow is life‑size and cartoony—black and white with a pink snout—and it always makes me smile. I’ve been mildly obsessed with it since my first trip. But my cow is nowhere to be seen. I turn in a circle in the middle of the room, horrified.

“Can I help you find something, sweetheart?” a woman with a broom and dustpan asks. Islanders truly are the nicest humans.

“No. But thank you,” I tell her. “I just noticed that the cow is gone.”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it? Renovations. I miss Wowie, too.”

“I didn’t know she had a name.”

The woman nods. “Wowie.”

She wishes me a good day, and I take two steps toward the baggage carousel, when I’m tackled. Bridget is a full head shorter than me, but she hurls herself at me with such force, I’m almost knocked to the ground. Her arms band around me and my face is engulfed in a cloud of blond.

We saw each other last weekend at the wedding shower her coworkers threw, but she hugs me like it’s been months. Bridget seemed fine then, but I could have missed something. I was distracted that day, uneasy because I wasn’t at In Bloom.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” I say into Bridget’s hair. “You scared me yesterday.” I squeeze her tight, then hold her out by the shoulders so I can see what I’m working with. She’s wearing cutoff shorts, a tank top, and not a stitch of makeup. She looks almost like she did when we were twenty‑three and roommates, before she moved in with Miles.

With her mop of golden curls and pocket‑size height, Bridget seems like an adorable sprite, with freckles that sprinkle her nose and shoulders with any hint of sun. But she’s tough and often misjudged—she loves busting up those misconceptions. I saw it firsthand when we worked together.

Once, during a tense meeting, she turned to the guy next to her and told him his attitude was “horse shit.” It was before we were friends, and the way she said horse sounded sort of like harse. I liked it—both the old‑fashioned curse and the bald confidence with which she wielded it. Bridget’s East Coast lilt was most obvious after a drink or in the heat of a fight. Then her r’s came out of her mouth as if she was paying them extra attention.

“I’m so happy you’re here.” Bridget smiles, twin dimples popping.

But her cheeks are pale and dark circles hang below her brown eyes. Bridget is devoted to her sleep schedule, but there’s no way she got her self‑mandated eight hours last night.

“You know I’d go cliff diving if you asked.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” She squeezes my cheeks. Her physical affection knows few boundaries, and my cheeks take much of it. “All I want is to spend quality time with you, my dear, sweet bestie who I love so very, very much.”

She sounds far more like herself than she did yesterday, but it must be an act. Bridget didn’t ask me to fly to Atlantic Canada eight days before her wedding so we could spend time together. That’s not what this is about. This is a rescue mission.

When I asked how long she needed me to stay, she’d said, “As long as you can.” With any luck, I’ll spend two nights at Summer Wind and be on a plane back to Toronto on Sunday, Bridget in tow.

She nods toward the carousel, where my suitcase has now made an appearance. “There’s your bag.” She loops her arm through mine. “Come on.”

It’s humid outside, the ground wet from rainfall. The sun shines brightly, but there are storm clouds to the east. The weather can change fast on the island.

“Do you want to tell me what happened yesterday?” I ask as I wheel my hardcase to the parking lot.

“I got homesick,” she says, with a no big deal shrug. “With the wedding and the honeymoon and work, I didn’t know when I’d be able to visit, unless I came now. I was hoping to surprise my parents. But I should have called ahead. I know how slippery they are.”

I study her profile, trying to figure out how much of that’s a lie. “You sounded extremely upset.”

“I was. They just take off on a road trip without telling me? It’s so typical.”

“Your mom and dad were gone when you got here?”

“Yup. They hadn’t booked their flights to Toronto, so they decided to take the scenic route. They’re going to see friends in Fredericton, spend a few days in Montreal.”

I can hear her annoyance. Ken and Christine are great parents, the reason Bridget and Felix are so self‑reliant and sure‑footed, but they have a lackadaisical approach to making plans that puts her on edge. Ken was a history teacher and Christine a large‑animal vet, and now that they’re both retired, they’re almost impossible to pin down. They do what they want, when they want to, and they reserve the right to change their minds. I think Bridget’s need for order is a direct response to her parents’ more relaxed attitudes.

We’re halfway across the parking lot, and I’m about to ask her again why she needed me so urgently, but then I see him.

Felix Clark is leaning against a black pickup truck, its tires covered in sienna dirt, reading a paperback. His dark hair falls in a swirling, gorgeous mess over his forehead.

I suck in a breath. Seconds pass before I manage to take another. It’s been a full year since we’ve seen each other, and it comes back to me in a flash.

Bright blue eyes. Strong hands. Ocean breeze on sun‑bronze skin. A kiss on a beach. Sand in the sheets. The day when everything changed.

I had a good time.

That I don’t trip is a miracle. My stomach spins like a windmill, and my heart is doing its best to pound a hole through my chest.

Calm down, I tell it. Behave.

But it only quickens.

Felix is here.

From This Summer Will Be Different by Carley Fortune. Used with permission of the publisher, Viking Canada. Copyright 2024 by Carley Fortune.