By Kristan Higgins
Lucy Lang isn't really trying to find fireworks.She's trying to find a pleasant, first rate guy. anyone who'll mow the garden, turn fowl at the fish fry, train their destiny teenagers to play football. yet most vital: somebody who will not motivate the slightest stirring in her heart…or wherever else. a tender widow, Lucy cannot probability that sort of loss back. yet sharing her lifestyles with a cat named fats Mikey and the Black Widows on the kin bakery is not sufficient both. So it really is so long to Ethan, her sizzling yet totally beside the point "friend with privileges" and hi to a guy she will marry.Too undesirable Ethan Mirabelli is not going at any place. so far as he is involved, what she wishes may be correct below her nostril. yet can he persuade her that the subsequent smartest thing can fairly be without end?
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Extra resources for The Next Best Thing
I own ten percent of the bakery, so I could never outvote them. I can’t even filibuster. Around the corner from Starbucks is Gianni’s Ristorante Italiano, owned by Gianni and Marie, my in-laws. ” they cry in delight as I struggle through the back door. “Hi, Marie, hi, Gianni,” I say, stopping to receive my kisses. Paolo, the sous chef and a vague relation from Rome, takes the loaves from me, as Micki, a prep chef, calls out a hello as she chops garlic and parsley. Kelly, a longtime waitress who went to school with me, waves as she talks on the phone.
I was trained to be a pastry chef at the great Johnson & Wales Culinary Institute in Providence, just about a half hour from Mackerly, a tiny island south of Newport. Upon graduation, I snagged a job at one of the posher hotels in the area. But after Jimmy died, I couldn’t keep it up. The pressure, the noise, the hours…the people. And so I joined the Black Widows at Bunny’s. Unfortunately for me, the division of labor had been decided years ago—Rose on cakes and cookies, Iris on danishes and doughnuts, Mom on management.
I found that quite refreshing. I was rather flattered when she called me after her breakup with Ethan, and even more when she included me on the details of her pregnancy. At the time, everyone else was still doing the kid-gloves thing. Don’t mention babies…she’s a widow. Don’t talk about your love life…she’s a widow. To Parker, I was just me—a widow, yes, but a person first. You’d be surprised how rare that take on things can be. “So this is the baby,” Parker says now, leaning over to gaze on Emma, who is glugging away like a frat boy at a kegger.
The Next Best Thing by Kristan Higgins