CELESTE HARTE GLARED at the twenty-nine candles on her birthday cake. She’d squandered her last fourteen birthday wishes asking for a fairy tale romance, and her life still read like an instruction manual. The frog she’d hoped would turn into a prince—God rest his soul—had been a cheating toad. Leaning her hands on her glass-topped kitchen table, she puffed out her cheeks and blew. I wish I’d meet a man who would turn my life into a sizzling romance novel.

            “Easy.” Marianne Joest raised an auburn brow as she swiped cream frosting from her blouse with a manicured nail. Closing her eyes, she sucked her fingertip. “Mm. Next best thing to an orgasm.”

            “My life is half over, I haven’t made love in I-can’t-remember-when, and you talk about orgasm?”

             “Half over?” Marianne snorted. “And I thought Susan was the drama queen.” She cut two slices of cake and handed Celeste one. 

    Celeste shook her head. “It’s loaded with fat.”

            “Dammit, Cee. This is carrot cake, a vegetable with frosting. You’re thin enough no matter what Harry said, and twenty-nine isn’t the beginning of menopause.”

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