Cover

Praise for

Until Next Summer

“Until Next Summer is the book equivalent of catching fireflies on a warm summer night, and I couldn’t put it down. Full of charm, nostalgia, and swoon, Ali Brady’s newest release is best consumed by the light of a glowing campfire.”

—New York Times bestselling author Lynn Painter

“Until Next Summer is a heartfelt and hilarious frolic through a nostalgic landscape of Color Wars, first kisses, and toilet-paper porch decor—with a cocktail in hand. Whether you’re a ‘camp person’ or not, I defy you to read Ali Brady’s latest without glowing from the inside at this tender and hopeful exploration of friendship, romance, and the magic that only a very special place in the woods can hold.”

—Shelby Van Pelt, New York Times bestselling author of Remarkably Bright Creatures

“For fans of every single good thing—friendship, romance, summer camp, and reclaiming your authentic self—this book is a complete winner. It’s redemptive and romantic in the most perfect way.”

—Annabel Monaghan, bestselling author of Same Time Next Summer

“Get ready for an extra dose of nostalgic summer feels—with a side of steamy romance—in this delight of a novel by authors Alison Hammer and Bradeigh Godfrey, who write together as Ali Brady. You’ll fall in love with plucky Jessie and earnest Hillary as the two women—whose friendship fractured a decade ago—try to find their way back to trusting each other, all while trying to save the summer camp that meant so much to them as kids. Throw in a hot, conflicted camp chef and a sexy, brooding writer holed up in a camp cabin with his dog, and you have yourself a recipe for two spectacular summer flings—and maybe even more. But just like the calm waters of the fictional Camp Chickawah’s lake, there’s more depth than you might expect beneath the surface, and you’ll find yourself laughing and crying along with Jessie and Hillary as they host several weeks of adult campers and are forced to discover what it really means to save the day—not just for the camp, but in their own lives, too. Until Next Summer charms with crackling summer romance, the magic of true friendship, and an against-the-odds story of discovering the things that matter—and finding the courage to fight for them.”

—New York Times bestselling author Kristin Harmel

“Until Next Summer is an absolute must-read! This novel beautifully captures everything that’s magical and marvelous about long summer days, away camp, best friends, first kisses, and finding your people and the place of your heart. When everything the Chickawah campers love is placed in jeopardy, our protagonists try everything they can think of to save the day. Rarely have I been so completely invested in the outcome of a story. In a word, it’s Chicka-wonderful! Hey, if you know, you know, and if you don’t know, you need to read Until Next Summer!”

—Jenn McKinlay, New York Times bestselling author of Love at First Book

“Thank you to Ali Brady for taking me back to sleepaway camp. First loves, shower shoes, Color Wars, the camp play, best friend necklaces…you didn’t miss a detail about what makes camp a place where time moves differently and the outside world is a galaxy away. Until Next Summer is an irresistible frolic through the joys of summer, friendship, and young romance, but also a reminder of the heartache that comes along with that unforgettable time in life. This book is for anyone who still thinks about their first crush, their first friend, or their first sip of bug juice.”

—Elyssa Friedland, author of The Most Likely Club

“Ali Brady is back with a can’t-miss vacation-in-pages. Two estranged friends come together to celebrate the last season at their favorite place with the best idea of all time: adult summer camp! Whether you’re a former camper or could simply use an escape, run, don’t walk, to pick up this charming, fun, and utterly poignant novel about the pieces of our younger selves that are always waiting to be rediscovered. Ali Brady captures the feel of carefree childhood days so vividly that you can practically smell the s’mores. Until Next Summer, like camp itself, brims with summer romance, forever friendship, and, maybe most of all, finding who you’re meant to be. As a camp fanatic, I give this one five huge stars—and now I want to go to Camp Chickawah, too!”

—Kristy Woodson Harvey, New York Times bestselling author of The Summer of Songbirds

“Until Next Summer grabbed me with its summer camp nostalgia, the deep friendship between its protagonists, and two simmering romances. I was rooting for every single character to find their happily ever after, especially Camp Chickawah!”

—Jessica Saunders, author of Love, Me

“While the romances have their steamy moments, this story is ultimately proof that platonic soulmates are just as important as romantic ones. A fun, sun-drenched homage to camp memories.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“Until Next Summer, the sweet, steamy third novel by Ali Brady (The Beach Trap), celebrates the magic of summer camp and the glittering potential of second chances both romantic and platonic.”

—Shelf Awareness

“Summer nostalgia, friendship, and romance meld in Until Next Summer.”

—Woman’s World

Praise for

The Comeback Summer

“This uplifting story will have you cheering for sisters Hannah and Libby as they push past the boundaries of their comfort zones. The dual narrative lets the readers experience Hannah’s and Libby’s compelling journeys, both of which unfold at a perfect pace throughout the story. The prose, character development, and romance are a ten out of ten in The Comeback Summer.”

—Suzanne Park, author of So We Meet Again

“Both heartful and so much fun, The Comeback Summer finds two sisters at forks in their roads and challenges them to consider the path not taken: in love, in family, in life. A delightful confection all about reinvention.”

—Allison Winn Scotch, New York Times bestselling author of The Rewind

“In this lovely story of sisterhood and summer, self-discovery deftly entwines with two sweet romances. Full of warmth, complexity, and charm, The Comeback Summer is the perfect read.”

—Emily Wibberley and Austin Siegemund-Broka, authors of Do I Know You?

“The ultimate vacation read. I didn’t want to put it down. The duo deliver a stunning story about the love between sisters and soulmates, and for one’s self. Heavy topics such as body positivity and mental health are handled with a light, humorous, and heartwarming touch, and The Comeback Summer will leave you grinning from ear to ear.”

—Denise Williams, author of Do You Take This Man

“Lighthearted and endearing.”

—Parade

“Another winsome and winning tale that neatly pivots between the two sisters’ viewpoints and delivers the maximum measure of sharp humor and smoldering romance, all while insightfully underscoring the importance of the bond between siblings and the rewards found in embracing new challenges in life.”

—Booklist

Praise for

The Beach Trap

“Full of beauty, and hope, and reminders that it’s never too late to roll up our sleeves and rise above the mistakes we made. I cheered, I cried, I swooned while reading about Blake and Kat, and their journeys to finding love, to finding themselves, and to becoming the sisters they were always meant to be. Take this book on vacation with you, and let its heart and humor sweep you off your feet!”

—Ali Hazelwood, New York Times bestselling author of The Love Hypothesis

“A unique and fun twist on the enemies-to-lovers trope, The Beach Trap features two half sisters who hate each other, but are thrown together one fateful summer to save their family’s beach house. It’s The Parent Trap meets Flip or Flop (with not one, but two hot handymen). In other words—the ultimate vacation read.”

—Colleen Oakley, USA Today bestselling author of The Invisible Husband of Frick Island

“The Beach Trap is both a celebration of sisterhood and an unflinching examination of how where we come from shapes who we become…. With an HGTV-worthy plot, heaps of family drama, and a side of romance, The Beach Trap hits the nail on the head when it comes to the perfect summer read. Don’t forget to pack this one in your beach bag!”

—Sarah Grunder Ruiz, author of Love, Lists, and Fancy Ships

“From the deft manner in which the authors shift the narrative between their two protagonists to the dual romances that unfold with just the right dash of snarky wit and sexy sizzle, readers will find The Beach Trap to be an absolute delight.”

—Booklist

“A juicy beach read!”

—Motherly

“Ali Brady…hit the ball out of the park with their debut—the story is just so well done. The writing is vivid, and I felt like I was transported to the beach or living in the beach house. The Beach Trap is a sweet and uplifting story that had me cheering for Kat and Blake to resolve their differences and come to terms with their family’s sordid past. It will be the perfect book to take to the pool or the beach this summer.”

—The Buzz Magazines

“If you’re a fool for HGTV and sibling rivalry novels, toss The Beach Trap into your bag.”

—The Augusta Chronicle

Berkley Titles by Ali Brady

The Beach Trap

The Comeback Summer

Until Next Summer

Battle of the Bookstores

Dedication

For the book people—the readers, the librarians, the booksellers, and anyone who gets lost in big books, big feelings, and big, beautiful endings. This one’s for you.

Epigraph

Reading is escape, and the opposite of escape; it’s a way to make contact with reality after a day of making things up, and it’s a way of making contact with someone else’s imagination after a day that’s all too real.

—Nora Ephron

1

Josie

When I tell people I’m a bookseller, I’m sure they imagine me curled up in a cozy chair reading for hours, sipping coffee and discussing books, or hobnobbing with famous authors at literary events. You know, living the ultimate bookish dream, every breath filled with that intoxicating tang of fresh ink and crisp paper.

What they don’t imagine are the endless hours on my feet, my back aching from hefting twenty-pound boxes of books, or my stomach knotting from the constant stress over razor-thin profit margins and climbing overhead expenses.

Still, there’s nothing else I’d rather do. I love flicking on the lights each morning and gazing at the shelves and stacks, all neat lines and sharp corners. I love unpacking shipments of glossy new hardcovers and recommending my favorites to customers.

But the best part—the absolute, hands-down, best part of running a bookstore—is getting to read books before they come out.

Several months before publication, publishers send galleys to booksellers, advance reading copies that arrive in brown paper packages, covers adorned with glowing blurbs, in the hopes that we’ll read and recommend (and hopefully stock multiple copies of) this new title.

A while back, a publicist at one of my favorite imprints emailed to ask if I’d consider reading an upcoming release and providing a quote, if I liked it. And did I? Well, I stayed up until three o’clock in the morning reading, and my tears left damp spots on the final pages. I spent days writing and rewriting the perfect paragraph to encapsulate the essence of this epic, heart-wrenching story.

Last week, I got an email from said publicist telling me that advance copies were being sent out, and oh, by the way, they’d used my quote on the back cover (cue internal squeeing!). This morning, that package arrived. My hands shake as I rip open the brown paper, my eyes scanning until—

“A stunning meditation on grief and betrayal…. Worth reading and cherishing for years to come.”

—Josie Klein, bookseller

Tabula Inscripta, Somerville, MA

My breath rushes out. They only used a fraction of the paragraph I sent.

But: It’s my quote. My name. I’ve spent the past five years becoming the best bookseller I can be, determined to prove that a college dropout can make something of her life. I may be a bookish little introvert, but I’ve got ideas and opinions to share. Someday, I hope readers throughout the city—maybe even the country—will turn to me for book recommendations.

Someday, my voice will matter.

Desperate to share my excitement, I grab my phone and pull up BookFriends, a website with discussion forums for booksellers across the country.

BookshopGirl: Guess who got an ARC with her first blurb printed on it?!

I post it in the Celebration subforum, where any user can read it, but I’m hoping to reach one specific person. Biting my lip in anticipation, I wait—and when I see the username I’m looking for, my heart soars.

RJ.Reads: What?? Congratulations! That’s amazing! Just wish you could tell us the title so I could see it.

I wish I could, too, but the forums are strictly anonymous. That way, booksellers can share honest opinions about publishers and authors without fear of negative blowback.

Grinning, I switch over to our DM thread.

BookshopGirl: There’s only one other bookseller quoted on the back of this ARC and guess who it is?

RJ.Reads: PAW?

BookshopGirl: You got it!

RJ knows all about my adoration of Penelope Adler-Wolf, owner of Wolf Books in Providence, Rhode Island. PAW is a bookseller of impeccable taste and vast influence. If she endorses a book, it’s gonna be Big. My goal in life is to be just like her.

My phone lights up again with a reminder: MEETING WITH XANDER.

I sigh. Xander Laing has spent the past few years buying up the entire block, including the coffee shop next door, though he doesn’t care about books or coffee—just his bottom line. When he bought Tabula Inscripta, Xander questioned if “a girl with nothing but a high school diploma” could handle being the manager. I convinced him to give me a shot, and since I pull a profit each month, he keeps me around. Still, I always feel like I’m on thin ice.

I send a message to RJ, wishing I could chat longer.

BookshopGirl: Gotta go—have a great morning!

RJ.Reads: You too. And congrats again. I’m so happy for you.

After that, I lock the door behind me and step into a crisp, sunlit morning. My bookstore is right in the heart of Davis Square, my favorite neighborhood in the Boston area—tree-lined streets, brick-paved sidewalks, charming shops, and eclectic restaurants. It’s late May and the day is already warm, the air filled with the gentle hum of traffic and the occasional ting of a bicycle bell.

I step into Beans, where I breathe in the life-giving aroma of coffee. Xander’s not here yet, thankfully.

“Josie!” Eddie Callahan, the manager, calls. His classic Southie accent, tattoos, and gruff exterior hide the fact that he’s a total softie. “Good mornin’, sweetheart. The usual?”

“Yes, please,” I say, smiling as I walk up to the counter. “How’s the morning rush going?”

“Nearly over, thank god.” Eddie motions over his shoulder at a blonde barista, who’s struggling with the complicated espresso machine. “You know how it is—you hire someone, hoping to get some help, and it ends up taking ten times as much energy to train ’em.” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t complain when you’re staffing that place alone seven days a week.”

“My sister helps when she can,” I say.

Eddie gives me a worried-uncle look. “You’re gonna burn yourself out, kid. Let’s get you an extra shot of espresso and a cheese croissant. On the house.” He winks.

He fusses over me like a mother hen in a way my own mom never did, and his concern unexpectedly makes my throat tighten.

“You’re the best,” I say.

“That’s a fact.” Another wink. “I’ll have Mabel bring your order. Good luck with the boss man today.”

I thank him and turn. Xander’s arrived; he’s seated at a table next to a man whose back is to me.

“Good morning,” I say as I pull up a chair.

Xander—short and balding and with a perpetual irritated frown—gives me a curt nod, then motions between me and the other guy. “I assume you two know each other?”

“No,” I say, as the guy turns and says, “Yes.”

I blink, confused. He does seem familiar, but I can’t place him. He’s around my age, with messy brown hair and tortoiseshell glasses. He’s wearing a brown cardigan and a pink lanyard stuck all over with colorful pins. I assume the lanyard holds a name tag, but it’s flipped around, so that’s no help.

Xander is introducing us, but I only snap to attention as he says, “—and this is Josie Klein, who manages Tabula Inscripta.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “I don’t remember meeting you before.”

This isn’t unusual for me—sometimes I’m so deep into a book that even when I’m not reading, my mind is stuck on the story and I can have a whole conversation and hardly remember it.

The guy blinks at me from behind his glasses, a confused smile tugging at his lips. “I manage…Happy Endings?”

He points to his right, the opposite side of the coffee shop from my store.

It all clicks, and my stomach drops. He’s the tall guy who runs the romance bookstore on the other side of Beans. Eddie once told me he made some comment about how there’s “not enough caffeine in the entire coffee shop to keep people awake while reading the books sold at the Tab.” Eddie thought it was funny, but it hit a nerve. I grew up being teased about my adoration for books that put everyone else to sleep. And sure, literary fiction isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but coming from a fellow bookseller? That stung.

“Oh, right,” I say. “The massage place around the corner?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, and maybe a little payback, but the man’s smile drops abruptly.

“It’s a bookstore,” he says.

Apparently, this guy can dish it out, but he sure can’t take it. Or maybe I’m “not that funny,” as I’ve been told plenty of times. Guess that’s what happens when you spend your formative years inhaling books rather than learning how to, you know, people.

“I—I know,” I say awkwardly. “You just sell romance.”

His jaw tightens, and I realize my error—I didn’t mean just romance like I’m disparaging the genre, I meant romance is the only genre he sells.

This is going all wrong—I’m operating at peak social awkwardness today; usually I enjoy making connections with other people in the industry.

“Let’s start over,” I say, sticking my hand out. What did Xander say his name was? Brian? “It’s nice to officially meet you, Brian. I’m Josie.”

He gives me a tentative shake. His hand is huge, engulfing mine. “I know who you are, and it’s—”

“Great, we all know each other,” Xander says, interrupting. “But I’ve called you both here for a reason.”

I turn to face him, pull out my notebook, and write the date in the top right corner. I consider writing BRIAN, too, so I can commit the name to memory, but I’m worried he’ll see it.

“Here you go!” a cheery voice says, and I look up to see the new barista, Mabel. She sets a drink in front of me. “An iced white-chocolate-chunk macchiato with two extra pumps of vanilla, miss.”

“Oh, this isn’t mine,” I say, handing it back to her. “I had an Americano?”

Mabel gasps. “I’m sorry! Eddie said to bring it to this table, I figured since you’re the only woman here—”

“It’s mine,” Brian mumbles.

Xander chuckles. “Should’ve been obvious—he’s the one who works at the girly bookstore.”

Mabel scurries off as Brian’s ears turn pink. My stomach clenches. I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of Xander’s digs.

“Xander,” I say, “that’s not—”

“And your coffee order is like your books, right, Josie?” Xander continues, grinning. “Boring and bitter. What’d you call her store, Lawson? A bleak wasteland of existential dread?”

He laughs and nudges Brian, who huffs out a half laugh before stopping himself. But he doesn’t correct Xander.

I press my lips together, seething. I won’t make the mistake of feeling bad for him again.

Xander’s phone buzzes on the table and he answers it, holding up a finger to indicate that we should wait. Then he stands and walks a few steps away, barking into his phone about a construction project.

Mabel reappears with my drink. “Here you go—Americano, no milk, no sugar.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Brian’s lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smirk. Probably thinking his good pal Xander really nailed me: Boring and bitter.

I know I should ignore him, but this guy is getting to me. So many people see a buttoned-up bookseller and assume I’m timid. But when it comes to defending my store—and the stories within it—I don’t hold back.

I face him. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, you sure seem to have an opinion about my coffee choice.” And my books. “Please, do share.”

Brian blinks and licks his lips. “Just wondering…does anyone actually enjoy that kind of drink? Or do they order it because”—his eyes flick toward my store—“they think it impresses other people?”

My jaw tightens. I’ve always believed that book people are the best people, but there’s an exception to every rule.

“Maybe I’ve learned to appreciate complex, nuanced flavors,” I say, and take a sip of my Americano. It burns my tongue, and I wince.

His eyebrows lift.

“It’s hot,” I say, too defensively.

“Okay.” He takes a long, long sip of his drink and I suppress a sigh, telling myself not to let him get under my skin.

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

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