The Cafe Birds

by Alicia Hope

Genres: Friendship; Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction; Second Chance Romance; General Fiction

Synopsis

In the style of the JANE AUSTEN BOOK CLUB comes a tasty slice of suburban life and a hearty serving of true friendships.

Five Aussie BFFs calling themselves the 'Cafe Birds' meet regularly to share the ups and downs of life, love, and bird ownership over skinny and not-so-skinny cappuccinos and cake.

Paige's marriage to a PTSD-afflicted soldier and her newly established business both hover on the brink, but will the solution to one push the other over the edge? A devastating discovery rocks the foundations of Caitlin's world, thrusting her into the arms of an unconventional - did someone say imaginary? - new friend.

Burdened with a generous helping of secrets, a bad-tasting batch of guilty conscience, and a disagreeable serving of gluten intolerance, dinner party doyenne Megan has a lot on her plate. As does lonely widow Nita, who feels her life and relationship with her recently 'Goth' teenage daughter have come adrift.

And gorgeous Grace appears permanently typecast as trophy girlfriend to a succession of unworthy suitors, a situation that can't go on forever - not if her friends can help it!

'The characters in this book are truly human. Readers will laugh, cry, and hope that they too can become members of The Cafe Birds.' - reviewer K M Lance

Release date: February 3, 2017

Publisher: A Hope

Print pages: 343

Sample

Extract from chapter eleven, The Magpie's Secret....

 

The instant her foot touched the bottom step Megan jerked it back again, wringing her hands in agitation. This first encounter with Brad since the disaster she now secretly referred to as ‘the Lucy incident’ was proving harder than expected.

When she sensed someone approaching from behind, she whirled around and strolled up the footpath with feigned nonchalance, air-whistling a tune. Once a little distance away, she risked a peek over her shoulder and saw an older woman open the bakery door and disappear inside without glancing her way.

With an irritated click of her tongue, Megan scuffed the pavement with the toe of her shoe.

What’s wrong with me? He’s just a baker, that’s all. And I’m here, at his bakery, ’cos I need … well, want … a fresh spelt loaf.

Deep in thought, she didn’t notice the old-fashioned van with a side mural of golden-crusted pies and pastries below the words ‘Brad’s Bakery’ pull up nearby.

All I have to do is climb the steps, go inside, make my purchase and leave. What’s so hard about that? I’ve done it plenty of times before. And Brad may not even be there, so I might be dilly-dallying like a feeble twit for nothing.

Despite her efforts to bolster her courage, the scene from her last trip to the bakery, of Brad gazing down at the little girl and tousling her hair while proudly introducing his daughter, replayed in Megan’s mind. She felt a familiar stab of guilt. Why had she been so very unprepared for what had followed her sunny greeting of, ‘Hello, Lucy, I’m Megan. What’s that you’re doing?’

Remembering the way the little girl had squinted up at her, wrinkling her freckled nose as she replied, ‘Dwawing,’ Megan covered her face with her hands as shame scorched through her. She saw again Brad’s eyes narrowing at the sound of her startled gasp, and then turning to flint when she reeled back in shock. And his dismissive, ‘Right. Well if that’s all?’ echoed stonily in her ears.

It dawned on her that she was standing in the middle of the footpath with her head in her hands. Dropping her arms to her sides, she walked purposefully to a nearby shop, where she stood pretending to gaze at the window display. It didn’t register that she was feigning interest in home nursing care products until a deep voice behind her said, ‘You must be way older than you look.’

She gave a start and colour flooded her cheeks. Her brain snapped to attention and her eyes focused on the mobility aids and incontinence products she’d been peering at, ostensibly enthralled. She blinked hard and whirled around.

A white-aproned Brad stood gazing at her, two large bags of flour in each hand. Beneath the apron she glimpsed a checked shirt and blue jeans.

Despite being startled by his unexpected appearance, she couldn’t help but notice the bulge of biceps beneath his shirt sleeves. And when she spotted smudges of flour on his tanned face, she was hit with a sudden, crazy impulse to reach up and wipe them off, to feel the rasp of his close-shaven jaw under her fingertips. Scrunching her hands into fists to quash the urge, she composed her expression into the best depiction of cool detachment she could muster, which was neither particularly cool nor detached.

Brad stood gazing levelly at her. He had spotted her as soon as he pulled up outside the bakery, having returned from making a rushed school delivery of freshly baked sausage rolls, meat pies, and lamingtons. Although anxious to check on a batch of loaves and pastries he’d put in the ovens just before leaving – burnt crusts and overdone fruit glazes were definite no-nos in his book – he had remained sitting in the van, undecided whether or not to approach Megan.

Their last parting still stung. But there was something about the way she was standing so dejectedly, while trying to look composed, that plucked at his heart. She was the image of regret … or was that just wishful thinking on his part?