Must Love Dogs

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by Claire Cook


  “I imagine she does.” Marlene tucked a stray wisp of hair into her braid.

  *

  I stood behind John Anderson in the foyer outside the first balcony. He was standing in back of a bunch of cherubs and poinsettias, spying on Dolly and my father. “Anything good?” I whispered. I stretched up to my tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. Dolly had both arms clamped firmly around my father’s waist, and her neck was arched back severely as she gazed into his eyes. My father’s head was tilted down to her, his big shaggy eyebrows raised with some emotion I didn’t want to think about.

  “Well, just a minute ago, after a sizable holiday smooch, Dolly looked up at your father and said, ‘Take me to heaven, big boy.’”

  “Good line. I’ll have to remember it.”

  “I hope you do.” We smiled at each other. John took a step back, put his arm around me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped box. “Here, this is for you. Merry Christmas, Sarah.”

  I opened it slowly, wiggling off the gold ribbon first, then slicing the Scotch tape with my fingernail so I wouldn’t have to tear the paper. Resting on a bed of cotton was a gold navel ring, studded with a tiny, sparkly white jewel at either end. I blushed. “Thank you,” I said. “It’s beautiful.” I kissed him on his cheek. “How did you, um, know?”

  “Carol called me to make sure I’d been invited today. I guess my number was on the clipboard.”

  “Great.”

  “Anyway, we just got to talking.”

  “And my navel happened to come up? Is there anything you don’t know about me now?”

  “You mean like how Kevin wasn’t good enough for you? On his best day?”

  “Never mind. Let’s change the subject.” We both smiled. John put his arm around me and we walked back toward our balcony. “Guess what?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Well, I was hoping to get your opinion before I make the final decision, but I’m pretty sure I’m getting a puppy.”

  “Aww, a puppy? What kind?”

  “Well, there was a bit of a surprise in my building. Clementine gave birth to a litter of four last week. Turns out her rotten disposition was partly gestational. We’re pretty sure they’re half Yorkie, half greyhound. Long and skinny with big noses, kind of curly, scruffy fur. I was hoping you’d like to help me pick one out. Or I was even thinking two might be better, so they won’t get lonely.”

  Despite myself, I felt hope rising somewhere in the general vicinity of my heart. John stopped walking and turned to me, and we kissed. A sweet kiss, with a promise of something more. It was as terrifyingly close to optimistic as I’d been in a long, long time. I tried not to jinx myself by wanting things too much. “You know,” I said, “this probably isn’t going to work out.”

  “The puppies?”

  “No, us.”

  “Well, even if that’s true, I think we should suspend our disbelief as long as possible.”

  “Okay,” I said. At least I think it was I.

  *****

  Did you enjoy MUST LOVE DOGS? If so, please support Claire Cook by posting a nice review on Amazon.

  Find out more at ClaireCook.com. Follow Claire on Facebook (http://facebook.com/ClaireCookauthorpage) and Twitter (http://twitter.com/ClaireCookwrite.)

  Read an excerpt of WALLFLOWER IN BLOOM

  Download Claire Cook’s latest novel, WALLFLOWER IN BLOOM.

  Excerpted from Wallflower in Bloom by Claire Cook. Copyright © 2012 CLAIRE COOK. All rights reserved. Published by Touchstone, an imprint of Simon & Schuster.

  Chapter 1

  Who will buy the cow if you give away the milk for free, yet once you get a taste of the milk, who can resist coming back to the cow?

  My brother was dazzling, as usual. “Do. You. Have. Passion?” he roared. His white teeth gleamed. His elegant hands beckoned. His bedroom eyes twinkled. The sold-out mostly female audience drooled.

  My brother’s eyes were a big part of his It Thing. You couldn’t look away. They were blue. Endless blue. Deep, glittery blue, like the ocean when the setting sun hits it just the right way.

  Of course, luck of the gene pool and all that, my own eyes were wallflower brown.

  I watched my famous brother scan the room, somehow appearing to make contact with each and every set of seeking eyes in the audience. “The Ancient Greeks asked only one question at a person’s funeral: Did. He. Or she. Have. Passion?”

  When he lifted his palms to the heavens, his crisp white tunic exposed just the right amount of muscular forearm. “Find yours. See it clearly in your mind’s eye. Design the life your passion desires. And remember, passion doesn’t sleep. It is always there, waiting for you.”

  Everywhere I looked, people were scribbling in notebooks. Some of them were surreptitiously videotaping with cell phones and tiny flip cameras, even though they weren’t supposed to. The whole point was to get them to buy the videos. But the world was changing at lightning speed, and now we were even posting our own video clips on YouTube and Facebook in the hopes they’d go viral. I mean, on one hand, who will buy the cow if you give away the milk for free, yet once you get a taste of the milk, who can resist coming back to the cow?

  Ohmigod, I was starting to sound like my freakin’ brother.

  He was really getting into it now. “The voice of passion. Is. Not. A book. It’s not a feature film. It’s short and direct, like a haiku straight to your heart.”

  You could hear a cliché drop. Some people were nodding, but most were leaning forward in their seats, waiting for The Answer.

  “But if you start from a place of self-criticism, of self-rejection, you’ll never hear what it’s saying to you. Accept yourself. Start where you are. And the voice of passion will speak to you. It will come like a bolt of lightning. And you’ll know. Your. Life’s. True. Purpose.”

  When I stood up and dimmed the fluorescent lights from the back of the room, preselected audience members rose to light candles circling the front lip of the stage.

  My brother reached behind the curtains at the back of the stage and pulled out a battered acoustic guitar. He plugged it into the amplifier, straddled a high wooden stool, crossed one distressed jean–clad leg over the other.

  And then he actually sang “O-o-h Child,” that old ’70s song by the Five Stairsteps, the one about how things are going to get easier. And brighter.

  Mine were the only dry eyes in the house.

  “Hold the fort,” my father had said before he and my mother left me to babysit the concession table while they took their usual place in the front row. My parents stood up now, flicked on matching Bic lighters, and waved their arms high while they rocked side to side in time to the music. From the back, in their tie-dyed T-shirts that proclaimed tag! in fluorescent green, they could have been twins, except that my father’s gray curls dead-ended just over his ears, while my mother’s continued up to the top of her head.

  My brother getting famous was the best thing that had ever happened to them. They’d been recreational Deadheads since the ’60s, and once my sisters and brother and I were born, they just threw us into the car whenever there was an outdoor Grateful Dead concert anywhere within striking distance. I grew up thinking summer vacation meant standing in a field somewhere, jumping up and down to “Sugar Magnolia.”

  My parents took it hard when Jerry Garcia died. They’d been counting on becoming full-time Deadheads in their retirement. For a few years they followed tribute bands like Dark Star Orchestra halfheartedly, then they took up bowling. No one was happier than they were when my brother became the family rock star a few years ago.

  Like everything else in his life, the whole guru thing had pretty much landed in my brother’s lap. One minute he was just another guy playing his guitar, with a gift for inspirational gab between sets. Then a fan put a snippet of one of his over-the-top motivational orations up on YouTube, and a week later a producer from The Ellen DeGeneres Show was on the phone booking him. And of course, my brother b
eing my brother, he was a big hit. And the rest is history.

  I yawned and stretched and got ready for the onslaught. Once my brother did his thing, his followers would buy anything that wasn’t nailed down. My parents handled this end of things, both online and at events like this one, and earned a retirement-friendly commission on every item sold. I straightened a pile of T-shirts packaged in little boxes shaped like guitars. I moved the CDs and DVDs a little closer to the books because they were blocking the energy beads.

  A short group meditation was followed by deafening, mountain-moving applause. My parents hurried back and slid next to me behind the table.

  My mother adjusted the No. 2 pencil behind her ear and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I think that was his best job ever,” she said, like she did every time.

  “That’s my boy,” my father said. He alternated this with “way to go.”

  “How’d I do on the lights?” I asked.

  My father laughed. “What a card,” he said, as he swung his arm over my shoulder. I noticed we were almost the same height now. Either he was shrinking, or I was having a vertical growth spurt to match my horizontal one.

  I kissed my father on the cheek and ducked out from under his arm. I had to make my way up to the front fast so I could herd my brother to the signing table before his rabid fans waylaid him.

  “Single file,” my mother was saying to the people already approaching the table as I walked away, “and no pushing. We’ll start when you’re ready.” There was no mistaking my mother’s former profession. She still had that fifth-grade teacher’s vibe going on, and everybody always obeyed her and funneled right into a single line. Two security guys from the hotel crossed their arms over their chests for reinforcement.

  I entertained myself by turning sideways and chasséing through the crowd, homing in on Tag by the booming, melodious sound of his laugh. “Excuse me,” I said when someone wouldn’t get out of my way, and when that didn’t work, I used a discreet elbow.

  “Unbelievable,” I heard my brother say. “What a blast from the past! What are you doing in Austin?”

  I worked my way up to him, fully expecting to see some woman he’d once slept with and whose name he was frantically trying to remember. I knew the drill. I’d stick out my hand and introduce myself so she’d have to tell me her name. And then my brother would pretend he’d known it all along.

  “Dee,” my brother said, turning to me. “You’ll never guess who showed up. Steve Moretti. I went to UMass with him.”

  I swallowed back another yawn. The more famous my brother became, the more old friends came out of the woodwork.

  “Steve,” my brother said, “this is my sister Deirdre.”

  And then the Austin crowd parted to reveal the guy who’d last seen my underpants.

  Download Wallflower in Bloom now.

  More novels by Claire Cook

  “Fun and inspiring…Cook’s humor and narrative execution are impeccable.” -Publishers Weekly

  Deirdre Griffin has a great life; it’s just not her own. She’s the round-the-clock personal assistant to her charismatic, high-maintenance, New Age guru brother, Tag. As the family wallflower, her only worth seems to be as gatekeeper to Tag at his New England seaside compound.

  Then Deirdre’s sometime-boyfriend informs her that he is marrying another woman, who just happens to be having the baby he told Deirdre he never wanted. While drowning her sorrows in Tag’s expensive vodka, Deirdre decides to use his massive online following to get herself voted on as a last-minute Dancing with the Stars replacement. It’ll get her back in shape, mentally and physically. It might even get her a life of her own. Deirdre’s fifteen minutes of fame have begun.

  Irresistible, offbeat, yet with a thoroughly relatable and appealing heroine, Wallflower in Bloom is an original and deeply satisfying story of one woman who’s ready to take a leap into the spotlight, no matter where she lands. Read Wallflower in Bloom now.

  Fans of HGTV and of Cook’s previous charming fiction (Seven Year Switch; Must Love Dogs) will adore this light, funny read.” -STARRED Library Journal review!!

  Sandy Sullivan is a professional home stager who lives and works in the Boston suburbs. So getting rid of her own house and downsizing should be a breeze, right?

  Well, best staged plans and all, Sandy’s husband, Greg, is dragging his feet and their son, Luke, has returned home and moved into the “bat cave” in the basement.

  Sandy reads them both the riot act and takes a job staging a boutique hotel recently acquired by her best friend’s boyfriend. The good news is that she can spend time in Atlanta with her recently married daughter, Shannon. The bad news is that Shannon soon receives a promotion and heads back up to Boston for training, leaving Sandy and her Southern son-in-law, Chance, as reluctant roommates. And Sandy finds herself in another delicate situation when she suspects her best friend’s boyfriend may be seeing another woman on the side. Fixing up houses may turn out to be easier than fixing up lives. Read Best Staged Plans now.

  “Bestseller Cook charms again in this lively, warm-hearted look at changing courses mid-life.” – People magazine

  Seven Year Switch is the story of a single mother whose husband ran off to join the Peace Corps, leaving her with a three-year-old. Seven years later, just when they’ve figured out how to make it on their own, he’s ba-ack – proving he can’t even run away reliably!

  Now Jill has to face the fact that there’s simply no way she can be a good mom without letting her ex back into her daughter’s life. They say that every seven years you become a completely new person, and it takes a Costa Rican getaway to help Jill make her choice – between the woman she is and the woman she wants to be. Read Seven Year Switch now.

  “THE WILDWATER WALKING CLUB…a quick smart read that will get you thinking about walking, friendship and making time for things you love.” -Bookreporter

  Just put one foot in front of the other. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? But when Noreen Kelly takes a buyout from her job of eighteen years and gets dumped by her boyfriend in one fell swoop, it’s one step forward and a huge slide back.

  She’s joined by Tess, the teacher next door, who thought she’d be spending the summer with her college-bound daughter, but now that daughter isn’t speaking to her. The Wildwater Walking Club is complete when they meet Rosie, the dutiful daughter who moved onto her parents’ lavender farm after her mother died —and dragged her family with her. Read The Wildwater Walking Club now.

  “Laugh out loud.” -Good Housekeeping

  Bella Shaughnessy is addicted to lipstick with names like My Chihuahua Bites and Kiss My Lips, an occupational hazard, since she works at Salon de Paolo, her family-run beauty salon, along with her four half-brothers and sisters. The owner is her father, Lucky Shaughnessy, a gregarious, three-times divorced charmer with Donald Trump hair who is obsessed with all things Italian. After Bella’s own marriage flames out spectacularly when her half-sister runs off with her husband, Bella decides she has seen enough of the damage love can do. She makes a vow: no more men.

  But then Bella meets a cute entrepreneur, and despite their bickering, they can’t seem to stay away from each other. He also gives her the business idea of her life: a makeup kit for everyone. A small, well-tressed dog also finds her way into Bella’s life, and her heart, and she decides to chance that, too. When the whole clan heads to Atlanta for a big Southern wedding, sparks fly – in a summer blowout no one will ever forget. Read Summer Blowout now.

  “Midlife love, laughter, sibling rivalry and self-discovery…Goes down as easy as it sounds.” -People Magazine

  Life’s a bit of a beach these days for Ginger Walsh, who finds herself single at 41 and back home living in the family FROG (finished room over the garage) in the fictional town of Marshbury. She’s spent a few too many years in sales, and is hoping for a more fulfilling life as a sea glass artist, but instead is babysitting her sister’s kids and sharing overnights with Noah, her sexy glassblower boyfrie
nd with commitment issues and a dog Ginger’s cat isn’t too crazy about.

  You can almost smell the salt air as you take this rollicking ride with one slightly relationship-challenged single woman, one older BlackBerry obsessed married-with-children sister on the verge of turning fifty, one dump picking father, one kama sutra t-shirt wearing mother, one movie crew come to town with a very cute gaffer, plus a couple of Red Hat Realtors and a pair of evil twins. Read Life’s a Beach now.

  Must Love Book Clubs!

  I’m a huge fan of book clubs, and I’m so grateful to all the fabulous ones who have chosen my novels!

  Book clubs tend to pick one of my novels after they’ve just finished something dark and depressing, and they’re ready to have some fun! Think beach read. Think vacation. Think quirky characters and dysfunctional family dynamics. Think OMG, I’m writing your life!

  You can find book club questions for all my novels at ClaireCook.com. Feel free to email or Tweet me your questions, and to post your comments and pictures of your book club on my Facebook author page! Love, love those pics!

  I’d also be delighted to schedule a virtual visit for your book club if we can make the times work. I’ll audio or video call your group using Skype and we can chat about the book and tell you all the fun stories behind the stories. All you need is a computer with internet access and an inexpensive microphone for an audio chat. If you have a webcam, we can make it a video chat.

  If you’d rather talk on the telephone, we can set up a speaker phone chat instead.

  We can talk about the story, and the story behind the story, the journey of writing a book, and even the thematically related food and wine you’re serving! I truly enjoy chatting with book clubs, and I can’t wait to meet yours!

  Just send an email to ClaireATClaireCook.com with BOOK CLUB in the subject heading and let me know when your book club would like to meet to discuss one of my novels. I’ll do my best to make the date work.

 

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