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Catch of the Day, by Kristan Higgins
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What's the market price on a decent guy these days?
Maggie Beaumont's luck is about to change. Sure, she's known for her bad romantic choices—her former boyfriend broke up with her by bringing his new girlfriend home for a visit. And then there was the crush she had on a gorgeous young Irishman, who turned out to be Father Tim, the parish's new priest.
But romantic salvation has arrived in the form of handsome, if surly, fisherman Malone. It turns out there's a heart of gold underneath his barnacle-clad exterior. Will this catch of the day turn into the dish of a lifetime?
- Sales Rank: #253843 in Books
- Brand: Kristan Wiggins
- Published on: 2012-02-28
- Released on: 2012-02-28
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.00" w x 4.21" l, .40 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 384 pages
Review
"A funny, poignant romance....Readers will be cheering for Harper all the way."
- Publishers Weekly, on My One and Only, starred review
"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 (Top Pick, 4½ stars) on Catch of the Day
Winner-2008 Romance Writers of America RITA® Award
About the Author
Kristan Higgins is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author and two-time winner of the Romance Writers of America RITA Award. Her books have been praised for their "genius level EQ, whippet-fast, funny dialogue and sweet plots with a deliciously tart edge" (USA TODAY). She lives in Connecticut with her heroic firefighter husband and two extremely advanced children, one shy little mutt and an occasionally affectionate cat.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
"Good mornin', Maggie," Father Tim says, sliding into his usual booth. "Lovely out, isn't it?" He smiles pleasantly, and my insides clench.
"Good morning, Father Tim. What can I get for you today?"
"I think I'll be tryin' your French toast, shall I? Brilliant idea, the almond glaze."
That brogue is just not fair. "Thanks. I'll get that right in." I've had sinful thoughts about you. Again. I wrack my brain for something to say. "How was Mass this morning?"
He nods. "Ah, the celebration of the Eucharist always nurtures the spirit," he murmurs. "You're welcome to come and see for yourself, Maggie. I'd love to hear your thoughts on my homily any time."
Father Tim often urges me to drop by. Something stops me. Guilt, no doubt. I might be a lapsed Catholic, but I draw the line at having lustful thoughts about priests in church. "Well. Sure. One of these days. You bet."
"Mass can give a person a chance for some insight. Sometimes we tend to overlook what's important in life, Maggie. It's easy to lose perspective, if you take my meaning."
Oh, I do. Losing perspective is something at which I excel. Case in point—still in love with the priest. He looks ridiculously appealing in black, though granted, the white collar takes away some of the zing. Rolling my eyes at my own ridiculous thoughts, I turn away, fill a few coffee cups and slip into the kitchen, where Octavio is deftly flipping pancakes. "French toast for Father Tim," I tell him, grabbing an order of eggs on unbuttered toast. Returning to the counter area, I slide the plate in front of Stuart, one of my regulars. "Chicks on a raft, high and dry," I say. He nods appreciatively, a big fan of diner slang.
"Anything else for you, Mrs. Jensen?" I ask the seventy-year-old woman in the first booth. She frowns and shakes her head, and I leave her check on the table. Mrs. Jensen has come from church. She goes to confession every week. She's in Bible study and on the altar decoration committee. It seems I'm not the only one smitten with Father Tim.
Without meaning to, I look once again at the impossible ideal. He's reading the paper. Profiled against the window, his beauty sends a rolling warmth through me. If only you were a regular guy….
"He'll catch you looking," Rolly whispers, another regular fixture at my counter.
"That's okay," I admit. "It's not like it's a secret. Make sure you fill out a ballot, okay?" I tell Rolly, dragging my gaze off the object of my desire. "You, too, Stuart. I need all the votes I can get."
"Ayuh. Best coffee in the state," Rolly announces.
"Best breakfast, Rolly." I smile and pat his shoulder.
For the last two years, Joe's Diner has placed fourth in Maine Living's Best Breakfast contest, and I'm determined to win the county title this year. The magazine holds a lot of sway with tourists, and we could use a little more of the summer nuisance. Last year, we were creamed by Blackstone Bed & Breakfast in Calais (even though they make their pancakes from a box mix).
"We'll win, boss," Octavio calls through the window that links the counter area with the kitchen. "We do have the best breakfast."
I smile back at him. "True enough, but being the best-kept secret on coastal Maine isn't doing us much good financially."
"We'll be fine," he assures me. Easy for him to say. He makes more than I do, and he doesn't have to balance the books every month.
"Hey, Maggie, as long as you're up, can I get a refill?" asks Judy, my waitress. I oblige, then bring Father Tim his breakfast, sneak a glance at his smooth, elegant hands and scurry off to clear a table.
For the last eight years, I've run Joe's Diner, taking it over from Jonah Gray, my grandfather, after he had a heart attack. The diner is one of the larger employers in our tiny town, having four people on the payroll. Octavio is the most irreplaceable, running the kitchen with tireless efficiency. Judy came with the diner. She's somewhere between sixty and one hundred and twenty, gifted at not working, though when pressed, she can handle a full diner, not that we get that a lot. Georgie gets some help in the summer, when we hire a high school kid to deal with the light tourist business that makes it this far north.
And there's me, of course. I cook the daily specials, do all the baking, wait tables, balance the books, maintain the inventory and keep the place clean. Our final, though unofficial, employee is Colonel. My dog. My buddy. My precious boy. "Who's your mommy?" I ask him. "Huh, Colonel McKissy? Who loves you, pretty boy?" His tail thumps at my idiot talk, but he knows not to leave his place behind the register. A Golden Retriever takes up a lot of room, but most people don't even see Colonel, who has nicer manners than the queen of England. At thirteen, he's mellow, but he's always been incredibly well-behaved. I give him a piece of bacon and get back to work.
Father Tim rises to settle his check. "Hello, Gwen, love, how are you today? Don't you look smart in that lovely shade of yellow," he says to Mrs. Jensen, who simpers in pleasure. He smiles at me, and my knees soften. "I'll see you both tonight, won't I?"
"That's right," I answer. I may not be able to bring myself to Mass, but Father Tim has worn me down for Bible study. I stifle the urge to shake my head at myself. Bible study. My social plans for the week. Well, it's not like I'm turning away dozens of suitors. Sadly, Father Tim is closer to a boyfriend than anything I've had in some time.
"Nancy Ringley's bringing the snack?" Father Tim frowns.
"No." I smile. "I am. Her daughter's under the weather, so she called me."
His face lights up. "Ah, wonderful! About the snack, at any rate. Not her dear little daughter. I'll see you later, then, Maggie." He pats my shoulder with avuncular affection, causing lust and exhilaration to flow down my arm, and turns for the door. I love you, I mouth. I can't help myself.
Did he hear me? My face flushes in mortification as Father Tim glances back at me with a smile and a wink before going out into the cold. He waves as he crosses the street, ever kind where I'm concerned. Mrs. Jensen, who is not so tolerant, glares at me. I narrow my eyes in return. She doesn't fool me. We suffer from the same disease—I'm just a little more obvious.
It's a frigid March day, the wind howling off the water, slicing through the thickest wool hats and mi-crofiber gloves. Only a few brave souls venture out, and the day drags. We don't get more than a handful of people at lunch. I wait for Judy to finish her crossword puzzle before sending her home, as she's really only here for show, anyway. Octavio takes off his apron as I scrape the grill.
"Tavy, take the rest of the pie, okay? Your kids will like it," I tell him. He has five children.
"They will if they get to taste it. I already had two pieces." Octavio grins his engaging gap-tooth smile.
I grin back. "Did Judy get any more ballots?"
"I think she gave out a few."
"Great." I've been relentless in asking my patrons to fill them out. Last year we lost by two hundred votes, so I need every one who crosses the threshold to pitch in. "Have a nice afternoon, Octavio," I say.
"You, too, boss."
"Here, take these cookies, too." My cook grins his thanks, then goes out the back door.
Colonel knows what time it is. He gets up from his spot and comes over to me for a little pat, pushing his big head against my thighs. I stroke his white cheeks. "You're such a good boy, aren't you?" He wags in agreement, then returns to his spot, knowing I'll be a while yet.
I flip the Open sign to Closed and wipe down the last table. This is one of my favorite times of day…three o'clock. We're done for the day. Joe's opens at six, though I usually don't roll in until seven (the joys of ownership), but I make up my time by doing all the baking each afternoon. I'm proud to say that Joe's desserts are locally famous, especially the pies and coconut macaroons.
Joe's is a Jerry Mahoney design. Red-and-cream porcelain with stainless steel siding on the outside, red vinyl seats, cream-colored walls and a black-and-white tile floor on the inside. Ten swivel stools are bolted to the floor at the counter. At one end is the requisite pastry display case where my sweets tempt the patrons. There are seven booths with nice deep backs and seats that are just bouncy enough. At some point, my grandfather had those little jukeboxes installed and, as kids, we loved flipping through to see what the new selections were. The kitchen is through a swinging door with a porthole, and there's a tiny supply room and unisex bathroom. In the corner window, a neon sign blinks those timeless words, Eat at Joe's.
For the next half hour, I add up the receipts, check the inventory, print out more ballots and mop the floor. I play the jukeboxes as I work, singing along with Aretha and the Boss. Finally, I go back into the kitchen and start baking the desserts for tomorrow. And the snack for tonight.
Since Father Tim's face brightened when he heard I was on snack duty, I decide to do something special. In the tiny kitchen, I take out the necessary ingredients and set about making apricot squares, one of his favorites. Once those are in the oven, I roll out a few pie crusts and throw together a couple of blueberry pies.
Colonel's tail starts thumping, and I hear him scramble to get up off the tile floor. I reduce the heat on the pies and move them to a higher shelf so the bottom crusts won't burn. Without checking, I know my sister is about to come in.
I'm right, as I usually am about Christy. She's just pulling the baby stroller in through the door. We haven't seen each other for three entire days, which is a long spell when it comes to us. "Hey, Christy." I smile, holding the door for her.
"Hey, Mags," she answers. She glances at me, then does a double take. "Oh, for God's sake." She wrestles the carriage the rest of the way in, Violet sleeping undisturbed, and pulls off her hat. "Me, too."
My mouth drops open. "Christy!" We start laughing simultaneously, reaching for each other's hands at the same moment.
Christy and I are identical twins. And we are quite identical still, though Christy had a baby eight months ago. We weigh exactly the same, have the same bra size, shoe size, pants size. We each have a mole on our left cheeks. We both have a slightly crooked pinky on our right hands. Though Christy dresses a little better than I do, most people can't tell us apart. In fact, only Will, Christy's husband, has never once confused us. Even our parents goof once in a while, and, Jonah, who is younger by eight years, doesn't try awfully hard to distinguish us.
We often call each other only to get a busy signal because the other had the same thought at the same moment. Sometimes we get each other the same birthday card or pick out the same sweater from the L.L.
Bean catalog. If I buy tulips for my kitchen table, it's a good bet that Christy has done the same thing.
But once in a while, in order to create some sense of individuality, one of us will get the urge to try something new. And so, on Monday when the diner was closed, I went to Jonesport and got my hair layered a little, had a few highlights put in. Apparently Christy had the same thought. Once more, we are identical.
"When did you get yours done?" I ask.
"Yesterday. You?" She smiles as she reaches out to touch my new 'do.
"Monday, so the haircut is really mine." I grin as I say it. I don't mind. In fact, I've always kind of liked being mistaken for Christy. "I wear mine in a ponytail most of the time, anyway," I say. "Plus, you have better clothes."
"Unstained, anyway," she smiles, sitting at the counter. She takes off her coat and drapes it over the next stool. I go over to the stroller, which is one of those complicated Swedish affairs with everything from a wind guard to a cappuccino maker, and twist my head inside. Stretching my lips, I can just about kiss my sleeping niece. "Hello, angel," I whisper, worshiping her perfect skin and feathery eyelashes. "God, Christy, she gets more beautiful every day."
"I know," Christy answers smugly. "So what's new?"
"Oh, not much. Father Tim was in. I think he may have heard me tell him I love him."
"Oh, Maggie." Christy chuckles sympathetically. She knows better than to spout the platitudes that everyone else does… Why are you wasting your time on a priest? Can't you find somebody else? You really should meet someone, Maggie. Have you tried the Internet/volunteering/church/dating services/speed dating/singles clubs/singles nights/singles cruises/prostitution? (This last one was suggested by my brother's friend Stevie, who has been hitting on me since he was twelve years old.)
I've tried volunteering. And church, of course, contains the root of my problem. But singles nights and those speed dating things… Well, first of all, we don't have much of that in rural Maine. The nearest big city is Bar Harbor, and that's at least an hour and a half south, if the weather is clear. As for the Internet, those services smack of deceit. A person could say anything, after all. What better way to lie about yourself? How many stories have I heard about a person being sorely disappointed by his or her Internet date? So, while there may be merit in that venue, I've never tried it.
Most helpful customer reviews
55 of 56 people found the following review helpful.
Absolutely charming
By Tracy Vest
When it comes to love, nobody has worse luck than Maggie Beaumont. And unfortunately, most of her humiliations are public, providing her neighbors and friends with plenty of unplanned comic relief. Her first serious boyfriend broke up with her publicly when he brought his new girlfriend home for a visit after getting signed by the Boston Red Sox; and then there's the crush she has on her parish priest that has made her the laughing stock of her tiny Maine town (she unknowingly told everyone that she met her soul mate, not realizing he would be their new priest). And it doesn't help that she has an identical twin sister with a seemingly perfect life. The only guy she can count on is her lovable dog Colonel. And thank goodness she loves her work - running the family-owned diner that she painstakingly revitalized. When surly and silent lobsterman Malone rescues her from a blind date no show then plants a wet one on her with no notice, she suddenly finds his gruff personality hard to resist. Not much of a talker, she's not sure he just doesn't want a body to warm his bed.
Higgins sophomore effort is a bittersweet and humorous slice of life, proving that her success with "Fools Rush In" was no fluke. She had me laughing hysterically and in tears. Many readers can connect with Maggie and appreciate her quest for love (and to be voted best breakfast in Washington Country). "Maloner the Loner" is an intriguing character - at times sexy as hell (loved the hand cream scene). His lack of communication combined with Maggie's verbal diarrhea make for some hysterical situations, and I found myself trying to guess what his first name could possibly be (and glad it was revealed). Tossing in another secondary couple, as well as marital strife for Maggie's folks round the story out. Higgins is an auto buy for me!
18 of 18 people found the following review helpful.
Has some highs and some lows
By Jacqueline
I mostly enjoyed this book and parts of it brought tears to my eyes (the dog story line) but it really should be marketed as Chick-Lit not as a romance. The heroine spent very little time with the hero and it was difficult to see how she could have ever fallen in love with him given the sparse amount of time she spent with him. I loved the idea of his character but it was very underdeveloped. We never are shown why he is the way he is much less the heroine ever getting any conversation out of him that would show her the character of the man she's supposedly in love with for all of the maybe 40 pages of the book she spends with him.
Also I had a pretty hard time with how she kept embarrassing herself. I'm not real fond of wincing through an entire book.
Like the other book I read by this author, Too Good to be True, the heroine makes a mistake and the hero immediately condemns her and breaks up only to come back later and say never mind I changed my mind. If he were going to change his mind, he should have let her explain and tried to forgive her in the first place.
I did not like that the book was written in first person present tense. That's just hard to read. I prefer 3rd person but I can take first person past tense. But with 1st person present I can't help wondering if the heroine is wandering around with a piece of paper jotting notes to herself..."I walk in the room, I look to the left. Malcolm is here. He takes me in his arms and kisses me." Are you scribbling your notes on his back while he's doing so?
32 of 36 people found the following review helpful.
PLEASE do a book 2 for Maggie and Malone!!!!
By A. S. Thomas
Quick plot summary: Maggie, bighearted, single and devoted to her beloved golden retriever Colonel, lives in the small Maine town of Gideon's Cove, runs a diner and is always willing to whip a huge meal for the church supper, firemen or other cause. Everyone has witnessed her romantic screw-ups and humiliations and her close network of family and friends often compares her to her perfect identical twin with a doctor husband and beautiful baby. This is the kind of town where everyone knows everything about everything you and your family ever did and everyone, especially her mother, can't let Maggie forget that she is still single at 32 and running out of townsmen and men from the not so nearby environs to date. When Maggie meets a seemingly perfect newcomer, she tells one too many people that she's found her soulmate leading to yet another humilation in front of the town when she finds out who he really is. She's so busy fixating on him that she fails to notice an unconventional but great guy that she has overlooked for years. Will Maggie ever find a soulmate? Is that the one man she can't have? Or is it taciturn and surly Malone, a friend of her brother who is so silent and unfriendly the town calls him Maloner the Loner? *********************************************
I loved this book. I thought Ms. Higgin's first book, Fools Rush In, was well-written and plotted but somehow did not do it for me. I think the ick-don't-go-there factor of the heroine hooking up with her ex-brother-in-law was the sticking point on an otherwise great book. I almost did not buy this book because I remembered being put-off by that plot point. What a mistake that would have been. I stayed up until 2 AM reading this book straight through. This book was almost perfect. It was funny, making me laugh out loud, moved me to tears (and actual choking sobs at one point), portrayed a charming (ala Marcia Evanick) but not too unrealistically cutesy (Sherryl Woods, I am looking at you!)tiny Maine lobstering town. The book has a wonderful, moving heroine with a first POV, which I normally hate with a passion but felt right here. She is strong but flawed, smart, sticks up for herself when it matters and has some funny screw-ups that seems like they could really happen to you or I. It's hard to find a good romantic comedy anymore. Authors usually try too hard with the wackiness, create characters too stupid to live or otherwise fall flat. This book's tone is spot-on. I love the dog, who is treated in a great way so that he supports but does not steal the book away; Maggie's family and friends, especially her twin are also well drawn.
My one complaint: the end feels rushed to the point I was anxiously checking the page count as I got near the end to make sure the book wasn't mising pages because so much was unresolved. I'm not sure by the end that a happily-ever-after had been fully earned and that the hero's, (Malone), behavior had been fully explained. Dare I hope this is because the author plans Book 2 and we will pick up with these characters again? Please say so. Malone is so uncommunicative and many of his actions so inexplicable that he essentially remains a maddening but intriguing enigma still by the last page. I would have like another couple chapters or a different climax to make us feel that this couple was going to be able to live together and communicate going forward. The author make the reader want everything to work out for them but I was left with a nagging feeling that no happily ever after was guaranteed for these two still. DO NOT let this stop you from buying the book, you will love it. Just consider this my plea to the author for book 2 for Maggie and Malone.
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