By Debbie Macomber
During this joyous and eccentric vacation novel, Debbie Macomber jewelry within the season with the go back of Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy, delivering laughs, love, and an enthralling dose of angelic intervention.
Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy understand that an angel’s paintings is rarely performed, specially in the course of a time as wondrous as New Year’s Eve. With an apprentice angel, Will, lower than their wings, they descend upon occasions sq. in big apple urban wanting to take part the festivities. And while Will spies lonely strangers within the crowd, he makes a decision hour of darkness is the precise time to lend a heavenly supporting hand.
Lucie Farrara and Aren Fairchild meet after bumping into every one other—seemingly by way of accident—in instances sq. on New Year’s Eve. They instantly take to each other and locate they've got much in universal: Lucie is a burgeoning chef and Aren is a revered meals critic. yet simply as speedy as they’re introduced jointly, one other coincidence tears them aside, leaving Lucie and Aren without method to reconnect.
A yr later, Lucie is the chef of an acclaimed new eating place and Aren is a profitable columnist for an immense ny newspaper. For forever that’s handed, the 2 haven't forgotten their one serendipitous evening—and neither have Shirley, Goodness, Mercy, and may. To reunite the younger couple, the angels cook dinner up a super plan: combine real love, a moment probability, and a beneficiant sprinkle of mischief to create an unforgettable Christmas miracle.
Praise for Angels on the Table
“This pleasant mixture of romance, humor, wish and happenstance is the suitable recipe for vacation cheer.”—Examiner.com
“Rings in Christmas in tried-and-true Macomber variety, with romance and a slightly of heavenly magic.”—Kirkus Reviews
“The angels’ antics are a highly hilarious and exciting bonus to a hot love story.”—Bookreporter
“[A] sweetly fascinating vacation romance.”—Library Journal
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Extra info for Angels at the Table: A Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy Christmas Story
She finished her ice cream and sat clasping her hands tight between her legs; she was rubbing her thighs together and looking for someone to beat her nicely drawn demurely in against her body. and you weren't there It . The . farther south you went the worse got. it Sheet-Rock Fred had sometimes spoken of living true that is in Mexico City for half a year or so; if you went there and waited for a very long time and were lucky you might conceivably see him (if he didn't go to India instead to get cremated beside the Ganges), but then what about Megan?
These outings gradually became — somewhat infrequent as Satoko developed a cryptic coloration and withdrew more and more from everybody except Ken. She lived on Oreo cookies and steadily lost weight. If 1 came to see her (she could not be expected to respond to her buzzer but the manageress knew and let me in if each time 1 promised never ever to do 18 it me again), by if I now went The Ghost of Magnetism up the stinking and knocked, stairs I might hear Satoko stirring in bed, Whenever Ken went weeping.
37 it thundered. Little and red ants crawled Again you chewed the THIRTEEN STORIES AND THIRTEEN EPITAPHS (When you tender tender needles of evergreens. ) Dandelions and blueflax in the meadow; in a sandier spot you came across the reddish- danced orange treasures of Indian paintbrush. You ran uphill through the tunnels of white aspen and reached another hot yellow meadow browsing with bees, and more aspen forest whose creamy trunks were as smooth which was littered with the grey trunks of windblown trees, some hollow, some swarming with ants, and after much labor among the snapping twigs you came to the crest of the hill and there was a grassy dome where mulleins grew as high as your head and inside each one was a white moth and the blades of mountains rose purple-grey, high above the rolling hills, whose grass was soft like yellow corn-dust, and the smell of dust was good and clean, and there was snow on Humphreys Peak; and you ran laughing down and down again, past a dead black witching-tree with branches like ribs, like the branches in Gualala, like the branches everywhere, and you and then as poles, continued east, with blue shrubs, and sunlight a steep slope of evergreen forest, it flat ridges in the distance speckled with greyish- was night and then morning and the patches of on the chaparral made it and there were clouds over the gold; mountains with cloud-stuff eternally bursting from them in a frozen explosion of purity, and you saw a purple scorpionweed and then trees and dust and mountains.
Angels at the Table: A Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy Christmas Story by Debbie Macomber