When Debbie Macomber first decided to write a novel, people called her a hopeless dreamer. As a young, dyslexic mother of four active children, no one believed she had what it took to write a book, except Debbie. She wrote â for years. But each time she completed a story and mailed it off to a publisher, the manuscript was returned, stamped âRejected.â As tough as it was to keep her spirits alive, Debbie never gave up.
But all her perseverance paid off and Debbieâs heart-warming novels have made her a New York Times bestselling author with sales of over fifty-one million novels worldwide.
By Debbie Macomber
THURSDAYS AT EIGHT
THE SHOP ON BLOSSOM STREET A GOOD YARN OLD BOYFRIENDS WEDNESDAYS AT FOURR
Dear friends,
When we were children, my cousins and I often lay on the grass during those warm summer nights, gazing up at the heavens and wishing upon a star. it seems the child in us never really goes away, does it? I was reminded of this some time ago, when I met a reader named Arliene Zeigler at an autographing and she told me about her list of wishes. They werenât resolutions, decisions or even goals. They were simply wishes. Some of them were places she wanted to go, people she longed to meet and experiences she hoped to have.
Donât we all have wishes in one form or another? Secret desires we rarely talk about because they might sound silly? As I started to write Twenty Wishes, I made up a completely new list of my own. I want to cuddle with my husband and reminisce about the years weâve been together. Iâd like to blow bubbles with my grandchildren and chase butterflies. I want to sing on Broadway. OK, thatâs carrying it a bit far, but one can dreamâ¦
I hope you enjoy spending a few hours with Anne Marie, her friends (especially the widows) and everyone else on Blossom Street. Alix has the coffee brewing over at the french Café, and Susannahâs setting out flowers on the sidewalk outside Susannahâs garden. I see that Whiskers has curled up in the display window at A good yarn, and lydia has turned over the open sign. The door at Blossom Street Books is open, too, so come on in!
Hearing from my readers is one of my joys as an author. you can contact me through my website at www.DebbieMacomber.com or at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98355, USA.
Chapter 1
It was six oâclock on Valentineâs Day, an hour that should have marked the beginning of a celebrationâthe way it had when she and Robert were married. When Robert was alive. But tonight, on the most romantic day of the year, thirty-eight-year-old Anne Marie Roche was alone. Turning over the closed sign on the door of Blossom Street Books, she glanced at the Valentineâs display with its cutout hearts and pink balloons and the collection of romance novels she didnât read anymore. Then she looked outside. Streetlights flickered on as evening settled over the Seattle neighborhood.
The truth was, Anne Marie hated her life. Well, okay, hate was putting it too strongly. After all, she was healthy, reasonably young and reasonably attractive, financially solvent, and she owned the most popular bookstore in the area. But she didnât have anyone to love, anyone who loved her. She was no longer part of something larger than herself. Every morning when she woke, she found the other side of the bed empty and she didnât think sheâd ever get accustomed to that desolate feeling.
Her husband had died nine months ago. So, technically, she was a widow, although she and Robert had been separated. But they saw each other regularly and were working on a reconciliation.
Then, suddenly, it was all over, all hope gone. Just when they were on the verge of reuniting, her husband had a massive heart attack. Heâd collapsed at the office and died even before the paramedics could arrive.
Anne Marieâs mother had warned her about the risks of marrying an older man, but fifteen years wasnât that much older. Robert, charismatic and handsome, had been in his mid-forties when they met. Theyâd been happy together, well matched in every way but one.
Anne Marie wanted a baby.
Robert hadnât.
Heâd had a familyâtwo childrenâwith his first wife, Pamela, and wasnât interested in starting a second one. When sheâd married him, Anne Marie had agreed to his stipulation. At the time it hadnât seemed important. She was madly in love with Robertâand then two years ago it hit her. This longing, this need for a baby, grew more and more intense, and Robertâs refusal became more adamant. His solution had been to buy her a dog sheâd named Baxter. Much as she loved her Yorkie, her feelings hadnât changed. Sheâd still wanted a baby.
The situation wasnât helped by Melissa, Robertâs twenty-four-year-old daughter, who disliked Anne Marie and always had. Over the years Anne Marie had made many attempts to ease the tension between them, all of which failed. Fortunately she had a good relationship with Brandon, Robertâs son, who was five years older than his sister.