Alle Angebote für dieses Produkt
Über dieses Produkt
- KurzbeschreibungFrom the author of the &8220;clever, creative, and sweetly delicious&8221; (<i>Kirkus Reviews</i>) <i>The Coincidence of Coconut Cake </i>comes a novel about an exasperated wife and mother who makes a play to reignite her marriage&8212;and risks everything in a gamble she hopes is a sure bet.<BR><BR>When Milwaukee-area wife and mother MJ Boudreaux notices her husband Chris seems more interested in the casino than her, she&8217;s more bothered that she isn&8217;t upset than by her husband&8217;s absence. She picks up poker as a way for them to spend more time together&8212;and reignite their marital flame.<BR><BR>Although the game doesn&8217;t give her the quality time with Chris that she&8217;d hoped, MJ finds she has a knack for it. Increasingly unhappy at home, she turns to the felt top of the poker table for comfort. Intoxicated with newfound freedom, MJ begins spending more time at the gambling tables and less with her family, finally carving out for herself a place outside her role of wife and mother.<BR><BR>After a string of great wins, MJ finds herself in Vegas, attracting the attention of a certain magnetic poker star. But when she&8217;s forced to choose between her family and her new exciting lifestyle, the stakes may be higher than she thought and MJ will have to play her hand carefully&8230;or risk losing it all.<br>
- AutorAmy E. Reichert
- VerlagSimon + Schuster
- Seiten320 Seiten
- Gewicht268 g
- LeseprobeLuck, Love & Lemon Pie <link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../styles/9781501121555.css"><h2 ><a id="page_1"></a>Chapter One</h2><BR><img src="../images/common.jpg" alt="Images"><BR><BR>It took MJ one hour forty-seven minutes and three old-fashioneds to eat the entire anniversary pie herself. All that remained in the empty tin were a few smudges of lemon cream sprinkled with flakes of crust, but her stomach didn&8217;t seem to mind the alarming influx of calories. She waved to the nearby waiter to order another cocktail and have the pie tin removed. In minutes, the gluttonous evidence had vanished and she sipped her next drink, letting the brandy burn as it went down&8212;and appreciating that it was more booze than soda. Somehow, bartenders always knew when to give a generous pour.<BR><BR>Fellow patrons had arrived, dined, and left, all while she had waited for Chris. She sat alone on the small patio behind their favorite local restaurant. The late-summer sun found the first changing leaves in the nearby trees that lined the meandering stream below the deck, speckling the few afternoon diners who shared the patio, finishing their bowls of handmade pasta. A waiter peeked around the corner, clearly checking to see if <a id="page_2"></a>she was ready to pay her bill. She knew he wanted her to leave soon so he could collect his tip, but now she was too tipsy to drive herself home. Time to hydrate.<BR><BR>MJ reached for her phone on the edge of the small table but missed on the first attempt. With a shaky swipe across the screen, she saw the time. Three thirty. She sent him a quick, fairly passive-aggressive text.<BR><BR>Still at restaurant. Sorry you couldn&8217;t make it.<BR><BR>Chris was supposed to have met her three hours ago for lunch, but he had never appeared, so she&8217;d eaten without him.<BR><BR>Again.<BR><BR>It wasn&8217;t until the server had appeared with the pie that MJ had remembered special-ordering it for today&8217;s lunch. She&8217;d called the chef weeks ago to arrange for her to make this particular pie and serve it at lunch, when Chris wouldn&8217;t be expecting it. For anniversaries past, Chris had always baked it, but last year he had said he didn&8217;t have time. So after twenty years, she decided it was her turn to bake. She&8217;d attempted and failed to make it three times before accepting her culinary limits, and gave his recipe to the chef. It was meant to be a surprise, a romantic gesture on their twentieth anniversary&8212;a celebration. Instead, alone, she had grabbed the pie and a fork and settled into her dining chair, mollifying her disappointment one flaky bite at a time, ignoring the judgey looks of the other restaurant guests
Dieser Artikel gehört nicht auf diese Seite.
Vielen Dank. Wir kümmern uns darum.