A heartwarming and empowering novel about thriving after tragedy, from the author of the “enchanting, hilarious, and insightful” (Patti Callahan Henry, New York Times author) My Magnolia Summer . Violet Adams is the perfect, youngest child in a family of loud, passionate women on Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina. As the sweet, traditional one, she’s always been the steady hand in her family but after a sudden breakup and subsequent tragedy, she doesn’t know who she is anymore. Aly Knox, Violet’s best friend, is a young influencer still struggling with the loss of her mother and adjusting to joining Violet in Southern living. With her best friend’s help, Violet is determined to break out of her shell—and who she thought she was—no matter what. And what better place to look for success, meaning, and possibly love than the Lowcountry of South Carolina? " The Violet Hour is a big-hearted, juicy tale that turns on the knotty, necessary ties of family and friendship. Victoria Benton Frank serves up a delicious, hilarious, wise, and, well, frank tribute to learning how to step out in the world as your own woman and take a ol' big bite." -- --Anna Godbersen, author of The New York Times bestselling series The Luxe "It turns out that hope has a color- it's Violet! In this emotional page turner, two best friends, Aly and Violet are reeling from loss. This is a novel of reinvention and resolve as they find their way forward. Victoria Benton Frank has taken her place among the great southern storytellers who write of love, food and family as the centerpieces of a happy life. The Violet Hour is a glorious read." -- - Adriana Trigiani, New York Times bestselling author of The View From Lake Como Victoria Benton Frank was born in New York City, raised in Montclair, New Jersey, but considers herself to have dual residency in the Lowcountry. She is a graduate of the College of Charleston and the French Culinary Institute. Victoria worked in restaurants in New York before returning to Charleston, South Carolina, which she calls home, with her husband, two kids, and sweet pup. When she isn’t writing, she is reading, cooking, playing Mahjong, or chasing her children. Prologue: Violet PROLOGUE Violet I was born with salt air in my lungs and pluff mud between my toes. As a girl I wore seaweed in my hair and seashells around my neck. I was raised knowing the tide tables along with my ABCs. I knew not to swim in August or April, because I didn’t want to keep company with the jellyfish, and I understood that oysters were best in the fall. I took my afternoon naps alongside the dunes and learned to walk lightly on the hard-packed sand. My backyard was the ocean, and I would always call it home. Although I am named after a spring flower, I am an island girl. There is something different about women who were born by the sea, baptized in salt water, and raised by the tides. We were mermaids, adapting to the temperamental whims of storms that brewed beyond the shores. I lived at a different pace than the people on the mainland. We called it “island time.” We moved a little slower and smiled to ourselves at the city people. The thick humid air bound us to a secret only we knew: life was a little sweeter at the beach. Being born on an island meant you were also in tune with nature. All women are daughters of the moon, but our relationship is strengthened by the ocean. Along with the water, we belong to her phases. I grew up with an appreciation for the cycle of life because I saw it play out so clearly in front of me. I respected the ocean because it deserved and demanded it. I knew there were places that would swallow you whole if you weren’t careful. Riptides took out a few clueless tourists each summer. Us island folk knew better. Oceans are not always joyful; in fact, very quickly the water can turn dark, roll in and roll out to cover and uncover deep secrets. The ocean, if it wanted, could make you lost forever. Reaching up and pulling you into its mouth, never to be seen again. People have gone missing at sea for as long as we have ventured out on her. The ocean is beautiful, but also wild and mercurial. The beach at noon is not the same beach at dusk. We appreciated the gifts of the ocean and understood how it could also take away. Anyone born next to the rolling tides of Sullivan’s Island knew a lot about the natural world, especially its weather. Island people know about hurricanes. They will tell you crazy things happen during hurricanes. Tragedies, too. Heart attacks and early births. I had lived through many storms, but as all island women knew, we were always ready for the next one. Somewhere along the way, though, I had become timid about life’s storms. I had learned to keep my mermaid nature wrapped and hidden. If I had an inner siren, she’d become muzzled in the process of growing up. I’d grown scared, I guess, that if I let my hair out of its tight bun, if I acted on my wild and te