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“I downed this book in one gulp. It is fast, fun, and full of dips and turns. Foxy is a great heroine, a former beauty queen and divorcee who is starting anew in DC by opening an antique shop. Even better, she's surrounded by the perfect supporting cast—a surly teenage daughter, a hilarious gay assistant, and, oh yeah, the world's most incompetent vampire who just "happens" to be renting a room in her house. A great read—and I'm delighted that it looks like the authors have left the door open for a sequel.”
—Kim Wright Wiley, author of Love In Mid Air
“Full of snappy characters, laughs, and mystery, peppered with lively details of Washington, DC., and brimming with enough shoe shopping to satisfy any fashionista. This new joint effort from Karen Cantwell and L B Gschwandtner is guaranteed to please! Can’t wait for the next installment in this lively new series!”
– Misha Crews, Author of Her Secret Bodyguard
A comic, chick lit, coming-of-age, vampire tale (sort of) where family triumphs over adversity and mother and daughter learn how to face the world as grownups—together.
Foxy Anders has a list of problems as long as a shopping spree receipt from Neiman Marcus. She’s a retail spender with no money to spare and a former beauty queen with no man in her life. After a nightmare divorce she’s left with one asset, a building off Washington, D.C.’s classy DuPont Circle. By turning the ground floor into an antique shop, Foxy figures she has an excuse to spend money … that she doesn’t have.
Foxy also has a teenaged daughter, Amanda, who likes to blog secretly about her biggest problem—Foxy. At least, she thinks Foxy is her biggest problem. But that’s all about to change when she hooks up with Nick, a cute guy at school who evidently has a gift for attracting older women. Amanda just doesn’t know HOW much older they really are.
When Foxy rents the garden apartment to stylish, shoe-fettishista Knot, who turns out to have a knack for talking wealthy Washington A-listers into Foxy’s antiques, it looks as if Foxy will make it on her own after all. Except that Knot is also a genius at creating problems … in his love life.
They’re a quirky threesome to be sure, but when mysterious, bumbling, Myron Standlish arrives on the scene with a suitcase full of Yiddish-isms, he brings along his own set of problems, larger and stranger than all of theirs put together. Oy vey. How will Myron’s personal journey affect their lives? Well … that’s Foxy’s Tale.
Book Excerpt from Foxy's Tale:
It is dark when Foxy returns, a large shopping bag clutched in each hand at her sides as if she were a milkmaid with buckets on a yoke. She can’t decide which one to put on the ground so she can feel around in her purse for the house key and then, as if he appeared from thin air, Myron Standlish is standing next to her.
“Vell,” he says. “I can open the door for you maybe?”
Foxy looks up, or rather down, and he is smiling that little crooked smile. In the dark she can’t see much of his face.
“Oh thank you, Mr. Standlish,” Foxy says in her most gracious, charming, southern-girl voice. “I’ve been out all day.”
Myron reaches forward and sticks the key in the slot. He swings the door open and beckons for her to precede him inside. They stand awkwardly in the small foyer for a few seconds and, in the light, Foxy notices that Myron’s color has returned to his cheeks and he looks a bit boyish. He carries a small black satchel, like an old fashioned doctor’s bag. She also notes a small red stain on his collar.
“Oh, did you eat Italian tonight?” she asks, just for small talk, as she follows him up the stairs to her apartment.
“Me?” He seems stunned that she would ask such a thing. “I never.”
“You never eat Italian?”
“Never.” His head shakes emphatically and scowls as if eating Italian would kill him.
Foxy tries to hide her smile. He’s such a funny little man. They reach the second floor and Foxy veers off to her door and places her bags on the floor.
“I never heard of anyone not liking Italian,” she says, just conversational, her head down, searching for her keys again.
Myron continues to the next landing and his room on the third floor. When he’s almost to the top of the staircase he leans over to look back down at Foxy who has finally located her keys. As she’s sliding the key into its slot, she hears him say, softly, as if they are conspirators, “With me it’s simple. Italian, Greek, Chinese, eh, who needs?” He disappears behind his own door and Foxy lets herself into her apartment where the faint aroma of roast chicken and chocolate soufflé welcomes her.
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