The Next Best Thing. Kristan Higgins

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       Praise for the novels of award—winning author

       kristan higgins

      ‘Cheeky, cute, and satisfying…perfect entertainment for a girl’s night in’

       -Booklist

      ‘Kristan Higgins proves that she is emerging as one of the most creative and honest voices in contemporary romance. Too Good to be True is simply delightful storytelling!’ -Romance Junkies

      ‘Higgins provides an amiable romp that ends with a satisfying lump in the throat.’

       -Publishers Weekly

      “A true masterpiece” -Dee & Dee Dish on Books

      ‘Smart, fresh and fun! A Kristan Higgins book is not to be missed!’

       -New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

      ‘A touching story brimming with smart dialogue, sympathetic characters, an engaging narrative and the amusing, often self—deprecating observations of the heroine. It’s a novel with depth and a great deal of heart.’

       -RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars Top Pick

      ‘Higgins is a talented writer who will make you want to search high and low for anything that she has written’

       -Chicklit Romance Writers

      Dear Reader,

      The Next Best Thing is Lucy and Ethan’s story. It’s about second chances. After the death of her husband shattered her heart, Lucy’s positive that she doesn’t want to fall in love again…She’d rather find some safe, slightly boring guy who’d be more of a companion than the new love of her life. But Ethan, her faithful neighbour, is determined to bust out of the role of ‘friend with privileges’ and get Lucy to see him as a lot more.

      As with all of my books, I hope you’ll have a lot of laughs and shed a few satisfying tears as well. There’s something new this time…a cat! Fat Mikey is a nod to my own regal pet, Cinnamon…as for Fat Mikey’s name, I ‘borrowed’ it from my neighbours down the street. I hope you’ll bond with the curmudgeonly kitty.

      Growing up, I was blessed with a large Hungarian family centred around babies, laughter and food—especially desserts, so it was great fun to set this story in a bakery. There’s a lot of great food described in this book…I’ll post a few recipes on my website if you’re interested. And while the Black Widows in the story are fictional, they were inspired by my own three great—aunts, Anne, Mimi, Marguerite, and my grandmother, Helen, whose nickname was Bunny. Our family tradition of baking is firmly embraced by my lovely and loving aunts—Rita, whose cakes are the stuff of legend; Hilary, who makes the best apple pie this side of the Mississippi; and Teresa, who doesn’t bake but was smart enough to marry a man who does, and does so incredibly well.

      Let me know how you enjoyed the book! It’s always such a pleasure to hear from readers.

      All the best,

       Kristan

      About the Author

      KRISTAN HIGGINS divides her time between home in Connecticut and summers on Cape Cod. She is the mother of two lovely kids, the wife of a brave firefighter, and a devoted Ben & Jerry’s fan. Previously a copywriter, Kristan began writing fiction when her children graced her life with simultaneous naps…so much more satisfying than folding laundry. She holds a BA in English, which enables her to identify dangling participles and quote many great novels. She loves to connect with readers on her website www.kristanhiggins.com and her Facebook page www.facebook.com/KristanHigginsBooks.

       The Next Best Thing

       Kristan Higgins

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      This book is dedicated—finally!-to my patient, funny,

       generous and lovely mother, Noël Kristan Higgins.

       Thank you, Mom, for everything. I love you so.

       CHAPTER ONE

      “YOU HAVE A WHISKER.”

      Though I hear the loudly whispered comment, it doesn’t quite register, as I am rapt with adoration, staring at the wonder that is my hour—old niece. Her face still glows red from the effort of being born, her dark blue eyes are as wide and calm as a tortoise’s. I probably shouldn’t tell my sister that her baby reminds me of a reptile. Well. The baby is astonishingly beautiful. Miraculous.

      “She’s amazing,” I murmur. Corinne beams, then shifts the baby the slightest bit away from me. “Can I hold her, Cory?” My two aunts mutter darkly—only Mom has held the baby so far, and clearly, I’m breaking rank.

      My sister hesitates. “Um…well…”

      “Let her, Cory,” Chris encourages, and my sister reluctantly hands over the little bundle.

      She’s warm and precious, and my eyes fill with tears. “Hi there,” I whisper. “I’m your auntie.” I can’t believe how much I love this baby…she’s fifty—five minutes old, and I’m ready to throw myself in front of a bus for her, should the need arise.

      “Pssst. Lucy.” It’s Iris’s voice again. “Lucy. You have a whisker.” My seventy—six—year—old aunt taps her upper lip. “Right there. Plus, you’re holding her wrong. Give her to me.”

      “Oh, gee, I don’t know about that,” Corinne protests, but Iris deftly takes the baby from me. My arms feel lonely without the sweet weight of my niece. “Whisker,” Iris says, jerking her chin at me.

      Almost against my will, my finger goes to my upper lip…gah! Something thick and almost sharp, like a piece of barbed wire, is embedded in my skin. A whisker! Iris is right. I have a whisker.

      My tiny aunt Rose sidles up to me. “Let’s take a look here,” she says in her little—girl voice, studying my lip. Then, before I know it, she seizes the offending hair and yanks.

      “Youch! Rose! That hurt!” I press a finger against the now smarting hair follicle.

      “Don’t worry, honey, I got it. You must be coming into the Change.” She gives me a conspiratorial smile, then holds my whisker up to the light.

      “I’m thirty years old, Rose,” I protest weakly. “And come on, stop looking at it.” I brush the whisker from her fingers. The whisker was a fluke. I’m not menopausal. I can’t be. Could I? Granted, I’m feeling a bit…mature today, given that my younger sister has had a baby before I did…Rose scrutinizes my face for another hair. “It can happen. Your second cousin Ilona was thirty—five. I don’t think you’re too young. A mustache is usually the first sign.”

      “Electrolysis,”