Description
Product Description
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and Savannah was breezyBut there's trouble afoot - and it's heading toward Weezie.Seems BeBe's been holding a big secret backthat would make Santa's reindeer stop dead in their tracks.Can these two best friends wriggle out of these twists?Will they do it in time to ensure CHRISTMAS BLISS?Return to the wonderful world of Mary Kay Andrews' Savannah with Christmas Bliss.
Review
“Andrews delivers a blissfully divine holiday gift.” ―Kirkus Reviews“Readers will love how Andrews constantly keeps the reader on the edge of their seat.” ―Romantic Times“Andrews's holiday-themed novel is as warm and funny as usual, and the crazy antics of her two protagonists will entertain readers...An essential Christmas read for anyone who likes amusing, Southern women's fiction.” ―Library Journal
About the Author
Mary Kay Andrews is
The New York Times bestselling author of
The Beach House Cookbook and more than twenty novels, including
The Weekenders,
Ladies' Night,
Spring Fever,
Summer Rental,
The Fixer Upper, Deep Dish, Blue Christmas, Savannah Breeze, Hissy Fit, Little Bitty Lies, and
Savannah Blues. A former journalist for
The Atlanta Journal Constitution, she lives in Atlanta, Georgia.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Christmas Bliss
By Mary Kay Andrews
St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2015 Mary Kay Andrews
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-01971-4
Chapter 1
’Twas the week before Christmas
“Jean Eloise Foley!”
Marian Foley tugged hard at the fabric of the ivory lace dress. “How am I going to fix this dress if you can’t stand still for five minutes?”
I squirmed and looked over my shoulder and down at my mama, who was glaring up at me. I was standing on a none-too-sturdy wooden kitchen stool, and in high heels yet.
The volume on the red plastic radio that had stood on my parents’ green Formica countertop for as long as I can remember was turned down, but I could still hear strains of Brenda Lee singing “Jingle Bell Rock” and the telltale ching-ching of the cell phone on the counter next to the radio.
“Mama,” I pleaded. “That has to be Daniel, texting me. Can’t we just stop for a minute so I can grab my phone?”
“Don’t you move,” Mama managed to say, despite the fact that her lips were clamped tight around a clutch of dressmaker’s pins. “Not an inch. We have to get this dress fitted and pinned today. No more excuses. We’re already weeks behind schedule, and if I don’t get started cutting this dress down this afternoon, you’ll be getting married in your slip.”
“Wouldn’t Daniel just love that.” I looked longingly at my phone, which sat only a few feet away. “I’m dying to hear how it went at Cucina Carlotta last night. There were rumors the food critic from the
New York Times might sneak in.”
“I don’t care if the pope himself ate there,” Mama said. “Daniel Stipanek can just wait his turn. Anyway, didn’t he call you last night?”
“No,” I admitted. “He’s been so crazy busy with work, he hasn’t had a minute to talk. So we’ve been texting.”
“Ridiculous,” Mama said with a sniff. “I don’t know why you all can’t just pick up a phone and communicate like normal people. I still don’t understand all this texting foolishness.”
“He’s been up there for three weeks, and he’s still working nearly eighteen-hour days. He warned me it would be like this. New York isn’t like Savannah. He says the pace is twice as fast as it is here, and the kitchen is twice as big as his kitchen here at Guale. Cucina seats eighty people—that’s a lot! He’s spending most of his waking hours in the middle of a kitchen surrounded by the staff. He doesn’t want people listening in on our private conversation. Anyway, it’s only for one more week. Then he’ll be home, the wedding is Christmas Eve, and then life is back to normal, until we can get around to the honeymoon in Paris.”
“What makes you think he won’t want to stay up there in New York after the weddin