What if your croque-monsieur turns out to be just another bologna sandwich?
Susie Page-Winthrop’s life in upper-class suburbia is unraveling. Not only is she hopelessly inept at her yoga poses and edged out of the kitchen by the hired cook, but her husband has had one too many affairs for her taste. The only remedy for her discontent is her brother’s cramped-but-homey city apartment and a new job as French chef for a family of five – although she hasn’t cooked much since losing her parents to a cement mixer almost twenty years ago.
Susie’s break from the superficial existence of her past doesn’t mean her struggles have ended. Someone is intercepting her letters to her deeply-missed son, widening the already considerable gap between them. Her boss is interested in more than her croquembouche. And when Susie falls for a man with a dubious history (and who also happens to be a clown), her circumstances go from complicated to treacherous as she faces an unreasonable use of nanny cams, and a store-bought birthday cake that wreaks havoc in one decisive hour.
In the face of an indefinite future and after the loss of a dear friend, a note appears that might alter the course of her life – and Susie finds herself residing in that sweet spot between instability and hope, where a girl might sit awhile and catch her breath. A place where vagrant sunflowers grow in the trimmed hedgerow, and compassion is more than just a word to say at dinner parties. Where even a three-headed hell hound might not be so bad, after all.