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Zusatztext Praise for THE SOMEDAY JAR : "A reminder that the idealism of childhood dreams is something we should always hold onto! this novel sparks hope with its whimsical story. From heartwarming to heart-wrenching! the ups and downs of the main character’s journey! through romance! loss and new beginnings! might just inspire readers to follow some long-lost dreams of their own."-- RT Book Reviews Informationen zum Autor Allison Morgan Klappentext Fans of Sophie Kinsella and the Shopaholic series will fall in love with Lanie Howard—young! fabulous! and desperate to transform her life—in this funny! quirky! and endearing story about finding perfect happiness in life's most imperfect moments. WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMON-DROP MARTINIS... Real-estate broker Lanie Howard figures she has the perfect man! the perfect job! and the perfect life. Then she stumbles across her old Someday Jar! the forgotten glass relic where she stashed all the childhood wishes—no matter how crazy—that her father encouraged her to write down on the backs of Chinese restaurant fortunes. She used to be fun once! What happened to her? DON'T CHOKE ON THE RIND. Although Lanie is wary of uncorking her past! when an attractive stranger saves her from a life-or-death encounter with a lemon peel at the bottom of a martini glass! she realizes that life is way too short for regrets. Now! jar in hand! Lanie decides to throw caution to the wind! and carry out everything she had once hoped to do! even if it means leaving her perfectly "perfect” life behind... Leseprobe one Don’t panic, Lanie. Don’t freak out. Don’t shove your hand into the paper shredder. It won’t fit. Sifting through the contracts piled high on my desk—I swear twelve trees are chopped down each time a house is sold—checking the trash can and digging through my purse, I find nothing. Nothing! How is this possible? I’m twenty-seven years old with dental floss, multivitamins, and spare staples in my desk drawer. I have no past due library books or expired tags on my car. I never litter. Never chew with my mouth open. I lift heavy things with my legs, not back. A responsible adult by any account. Yet, someway, somehow, I’ve carelessly gone and lost the single most important thing I shouldn’t lose. My engagement ring. “Lanie?” Evan, my fiancé, calls from his office. Crap. “Just a minute.” I push my chair aside and search underneath the desk, finding no more than a few paper clips and a fuzz ball. Apparently, the maid has gotten a bit lax with the vacuuming. Oh right, that’s me. “Where are you?” he calls, sounding closer this time. Quick to stand, I bonk my shoulder on the desk and hear the silver picture frame of the two of us from last year’s Realtor Awards ceremony fall over. “Oh, there you are.” Evan strides toward me in his crisp Armani button-down shirt and creased pants, with a smooth gait that only good breeding spawns—his mom’s a tenured English professor at Stanford and his dad’s a venture capitalist. Evan is smiling, the same smile that garnered him a number six spot on last month’s most-attractive-businessmen poll in the Arizona Republic . More than his Ken-doll good looks and crackerjack genes, Evan’s a proven asset in the real estate community. He’s respected and admired. And he’s mine. But great. Just great. I’ve gone and lost his token of love. Obviously, I could ask him to help me search, but what would I say? Hey, funny thing, I’ve misplaced my ring. You know the one—diamond-encrusted platinum band, passed from generation to generation. Wasn’t it your great-grandmother’s? As a perfectly timed distraction, the office door swings open and in walks my dear old friend, Hollis Murphy. He’s decked in his usual navy blue, one-piece jumper. The...
