Today is the cover reveal for Eat Dessert First by Michelle Paris. Eat Dessert First is a heartwarming story of hope.
The cover is designed by Apprentice House Press designer Lindsey Bonavita.
Eat Dessert First by Michelle Paris
Genre: Women’s Fiction/ ChickLit
Age category: Adult
Release Date: 7 May, 2024
Blurb:
Baker Abbey Reilly has heard you have such a pretty face enough to know that it’s code for but an ugly body. At thirty-three, she has been particularly unlucky in love and convinced that no one will ever see beyond her plus-size. So she’s stunned when a handsome regular customer not only shows interest but asks her to dinner.
Let down and devastated when she learns her would-be beau is married, Abbey is resigned to live a lonely existence. Until a sweet encounter with a dreamy guy at a bachelorette party gives her hope that her luck in the romance department has changed. But his horrible ex-fiancee has different plans.
Can this big-hearted baker find the recipe for happiness and romance?
With light humor and loving insight, Michelle Paris weaves a delightful tale of learning to believe in yourself. Juggling elder parent care, tight finances, and deeply ingrained insecurities, Abbey Reilly will charm any reader fond of rooting for an underdog.
Eat Dessert First is a heartwarming story of hope. If you like relatable heroines, chasing a dream, and maintaining hope while searching for happiness, then you’ll adore Michelle Paris’s sweet story of fulfillment.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Abbey’s finger hovered over the little blue arrow on her phone— the point of no return. She read the text again.
How are you?!?! Been thinking of you. Then, hastily added Happy Valentine’s Day!! And immediately second-guessed the addition.
She had been plotting this day ever since New Year’s Eve when Charlie broke up with her via text. So, this “make him want you back” text had to be just right.
Charlie was her last (okay, in truth only) long-term boyfriend. At thirty-three, Abbey was a late bloomer when it came to romance. But it had taken almost a decade for her to get up the courage to download a dating app. She set up her profile and loaded carefully cropped pictures, only showing from the waist up. Within seconds, she got a match. He was a fitness model with glistening, tanned six-pack abs and owned a business in Nigeria. They communicated back and forth for the better part of two weeks, only using text because of the difference in time zones. And then, it all quickly fell apart when her fitness model crush asked her to text a photo of a hundred-dollar gift card with the pin numbers scratched off. Hmm. Really? Nudes she had expected and even planned for with dim lighting and a full-length, flesh-toned Spanx bodysuit. But she drew the line at his request for money.
Her boss, Caroline, explained, “Oh dear, I think you’ve been catfished. It happens to us all.” And Caroline should know. At seventy-ish (she never divulged her age but had mentioned she
had thoroughly enjoyed Woodstock “back in the day”), Caroline had no trouble meeting men even if she did have trouble keeping them—not because they sent her breakup texts on New Year’s Eve, but because she liked them older—much older. She tended to date men well into their later years in life. She had buried four husbands and was in hot pursuit of number five.
After Caroline’s lesson on catfish red flags, Abbey was more careful with the suitors who seemed too good to be true and limited her search to within a thirty-mile radius from her home near Baltimore. Three months later, she’d swiped right so often she got a callous on her thumb. Her response rate was in the .0001 range. She was ready to cancel her membership and assume she’d be the first Bumble subscriber to not get pollinated when a sandy-haired, pimply-faced computer tech named Charlie swiped right, too.
It didn’t matter that they had nothing in common. He boasted he could recite every word of every episode of the original Star Trek—a television show she’d never seen. And he played a lot of video games. Sadly, his skills with the joystick did not translate to the bedroom.
Their romance lasted just a bit longer than her three-month Bumble subscription. His text to her on New Year’s Eve was short and to the point: I want to break up. He was never the best communicator, but there was no way to misinterpret this message. Her venture into the world of dating apps had taught her one thing: Charlie was the only man in a thirty-mile radius of Baltimore who swiped right on her. For that reason, she’d let her plan to make him want her back play out, no matter how humiliating a plan it was.
She reread her text to him and removed one exclamation point. Two gave the appearance that she was shouting. Oh, but one seemed desperate. She changed the exclamation point to a period and hit send. Then she returned her phone to her coat pocket and
began walking the few blocks to the bakery.
A few steps later, she retrieved her phone to see if he’d responded. Nope. Not even the three jumping dots indicating he was sending a text. Even though it was just before 5 a.m., she knew he was up. He was an early riser. She hesitated for a second or two before typing: In case you were wondering, I’m doing great.
Send. She walked a little further before looking down at her
phone again. Damn him! Still no response. She moved to phase two of her plan. Her fingers glided furiously over the phone screen as she typed: I’ve lost weight and am very happy now!!
Even though the part about losing weight was an exaggeration, okay, maybe an outright lie, it still felt good to let him think about it. She read the text over and added the words a lot before weight.
She took a deep breath. Send. Any guy who breaks up with a
girl on New Year’s Eve—via text – and then cuts off all communication deserves the torture and mental image of his slimmed down ex. Surely, that’d prompt him into thinking he’d made a big mistake.
She put her phone back in her pocket and continued walking the two blocks down Ellicott City’s Main Street to Sweet Caroline’s Bakery. It was cold outside, but then again, it was February. She sank her hand deep into the pocket of her navy pea coat, checking for the telltale vibrating sign that she had a text message. Then, a cringy thought crossed her mind. What if he does respond? What if he wants to get back together only to realize she lied about the weight thing? She bit her lip before deciding Spanx would have to work some serious magic and that she’d cross that bridge when and if she came to it.
When she reached the bakery a few minutes later, sleigh bells above the door announced her arrival to no one. It wasn’t unusual to be there before Caroline. At this time of morning, the bakery
was peaceful. It’d be at least an hour before the first customer would arrive.
Meet the Author
Michelle Paris is an award-winning Maryland writer who writes about hope with humor. Eat Dessert First is her second novel that deals with a serious subject told with a mixture of heartfelt and comedic moments. Her debut novel, New Normal, loosely based on her own experience of being a young widow, received First Place in The BookFest Fall 2023 Awards and was a Finalist in The Independent Author Network Book Awards.
Michelle’s personal story of overcoming grief was featured in the Wall Street Journal. And her essays about grief and mid-life dating have appeared in multiple editions of the Chicken Soup for the Soul and in other media outlets. She is a member of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association and the Maryland Writer’s Association.
Currently, Michelle is enjoying chapter two of her life with her new husband, Kevin, who keeps her from being a cat lady but only on a technicality.
Connect with Michelle
Website | Goodreads | Amazon | Instagram | Twitter
Giveaway
There is a cover reveal wide giveaway for the cover reveal of Eat Dessert First. One winner wins a paperback copy of Eat Dessert First when the book is released. Open Internationally.
For a chance to win, enter the giveaway here.
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