Women's Fiction
![Debbie Macomber - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B000AQ451E.jpg)
All Roads Lead Home: A 2-in-1 Collection: A Friend or Two and Reflections of Yesterday
Available in one book for the first time: A Friend or Two and Reflections of Yesterday, two of Debbie Macomber's classic novels that explore the power of hope and forgiveness
A Friend or Two: Elizabeth Wainwright, an East Coast heiress, moves to San Francisco and takes a job at a Fisherman's Wharf café, eager to live a simpler life and separate herself from her wealthy background. There, she meets Andrew Breed, a handsome, mysterious, and charismatic customer who claims to be a longshoreman. As she gets to know him, however, Breed's words and actions don't quite add up-is Elizabeth falling in love with someone who's pretending to be something he's not?
Reflections of Yesterday: Twelve years have passed since Angie Robinson fled her hometown of Groves Point, South Carolina, with ten thousand dollars and a broken heart. She knows Simon Canfield still lives there. His powerful family practically owns the town. Now she's back, if only to return the money Simon's mother paid her to leave. For too long Angie has lived with her regrets, her mistakes, and her suffering. If there's forgiveness to be had, the time has come.
A Friend or Two: Elizabeth Wainwright, an East Coast heiress, moves to San Francisco and takes a job at a Fisherman's Wharf café, eager to live a simpler life and separate herself from her wealthy background. There, she meets Andrew Breed, a handsome, mysterious, and charismatic customer who claims to be a longshoreman. As she gets to know him, however, Breed's words and actions don't quite add up-is Elizabeth falling in love with someone who's pretending to be something he's not?
Reflections of Yesterday: Twelve years have passed since Angie Robinson fled her hometown of Groves Point, South Carolina, with ten thousand dollars and a broken heart. She knows Simon Canfield still lives there. His powerful family practically owns the town. Now she's back, if only to return the money Simon's mother paid her to leave. For too long Angie has lived with her regrets, her mistakes, and her suffering. If there's forgiveness to be had, the time has come.
Short Excerpt Teaser
One
The ever-present odor of fresh fish and the tangy scent of saltwater followed Elizabeth as she sauntered down Fisherman's Wharf. The wharf wasn't far from where she was staying at the St. Francis, one of San Francisco's most prestigious hotels. A little breeze ruffled her golden-brown hair and added a shade of color to her otherwise pale features.
With the morning paper tucked under her arm, she strolled into a small French café. It had only taken three days for the restless boredom to make its way into her thoughts. How could she sit in one of the most beautiful cities in the world with the homey scent of freshly baked bread drifting from the restaurant kitchen and feel this listless?
A friendly waitress dressed in a crisp pink uniform with a starched white apron took her order for coffee and a croissant. She wasn't hungry, but she had noticed this morning that her clothes were beginning to hang on her and decided to make the effort to eat more.
Lackadaisically her eyes ran over the front page of the newspaper. Nothing had changed. The depressing stories of war and hate were the same on this day as they had been the week before and the month before that. Sighing, she folded the newspaper and waited for the waitress to bring her food.
"Are you looking for a job?" the young waitress asked eagerly as she delivered Elizabeth's order.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I saw you looking through the paper and thought you might be job-hunting. I wouldn't normally suggest something like this, but there's an opening here, if you'd like to apply. You could start right now."
Elizabeth's pale blue eyes widened incredulously. What was this girl talking about?
"I know it's not much, but a position here could tide you over until you find what you're really looking for. The other girl who normally works with me called in this morning and quit." She paused to forcefully release her breath. "Can you imagine? Without a minute's notice. Now I'm left to deal with the lunch crowd all by myself."
Elizabeth straightened in her chair. Why not? She didn't have anything better to do. "I don't know that I'd be much help. I've never been a waitress."
"It doesn't matter." The younger girl's relief was obvious. "I can guarantee that by the end of the day you'll discover everything you ever cared to know about waitressing and a few things you didn't." Her laugh was light and cheerful. "By the way, I'm Gilly. Short for Gillian."
"And I'm Elizabeth."
"Glad to meet you, Elizabeth. Boy, am I glad." The breezy laugh returned. "Come on back to the kitchen, and I'll introduce you to Evelyn. He's the owner and chef, and I'm sure he'll hire you." With determined, quick-paced steps, Gilly led the way across the room to the swinging double doors. She paused and turned around. "Don't be shocked if Evelyn kisses you or something. He's like that. I think it's because he's French."
"I won't be surprised," Elizabeth murmured and had trouble containing her smile. What would Gilly say if she knew that Elizabeth spoke the language fluently and had lived in Paris?
A variety of pleasant smells assaulted her as she entered the spotless kitchen. As a little girl, her favorite place in the huge, rambling house had been the kitchen. The old cook would often sneak her pieces of pie dough or a cookie. Her childhood had been happy and untroubled.
"Evelyn," Gilly said, attracting the attention of the chef who was garbed completely in white and working busily at the stove. "This is Elizabeth. She's going to take Deanne's place."
The ruddy-faced man with a thick mustache that was shaped like an open umbrella over a full mouth turned and stared blankly at Elizabeth.
Giving in to impulse, she took a step forward and extended her hand. In flawless French, she explained that she hadn't done any waitressing but would be pleased to help them out this afternoon.
Laughing, Evelyn broke into a wild speech in his native language while pumping her hand as if she were a long-lost relative.
Again in perfect French, she explained that no, she wasn't from France or Quebec, but she had spent several years studying in his country.
An expression of astonishment widened Gilly's eyes. "You should have said you were from France."
"I'm not. I studied French in school." Elizabeth didn't explain that the school had been in Paris.
"You know, that's one thing I'm sorry for," Gilly said, thoughtfully pinching her bottom lip. "I wish I'd studied French. A lot of good Spanish does me here. But then"-she paused and chuckled-"I could always end up working in a Mexican restaurant."
Elizabeth laughed. Gilly was delightful. Amiable and full of en...
The ever-present odor of fresh fish and the tangy scent of saltwater followed Elizabeth as she sauntered down Fisherman's Wharf. The wharf wasn't far from where she was staying at the St. Francis, one of San Francisco's most prestigious hotels. A little breeze ruffled her golden-brown hair and added a shade of color to her otherwise pale features.
With the morning paper tucked under her arm, she strolled into a small French café. It had only taken three days for the restless boredom to make its way into her thoughts. How could she sit in one of the most beautiful cities in the world with the homey scent of freshly baked bread drifting from the restaurant kitchen and feel this listless?
A friendly waitress dressed in a crisp pink uniform with a starched white apron took her order for coffee and a croissant. She wasn't hungry, but she had noticed this morning that her clothes were beginning to hang on her and decided to make the effort to eat more.
Lackadaisically her eyes ran over the front page of the newspaper. Nothing had changed. The depressing stories of war and hate were the same on this day as they had been the week before and the month before that. Sighing, she folded the newspaper and waited for the waitress to bring her food.
"Are you looking for a job?" the young waitress asked eagerly as she delivered Elizabeth's order.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I saw you looking through the paper and thought you might be job-hunting. I wouldn't normally suggest something like this, but there's an opening here, if you'd like to apply. You could start right now."
Elizabeth's pale blue eyes widened incredulously. What was this girl talking about?
"I know it's not much, but a position here could tide you over until you find what you're really looking for. The other girl who normally works with me called in this morning and quit." She paused to forcefully release her breath. "Can you imagine? Without a minute's notice. Now I'm left to deal with the lunch crowd all by myself."
Elizabeth straightened in her chair. Why not? She didn't have anything better to do. "I don't know that I'd be much help. I've never been a waitress."
"It doesn't matter." The younger girl's relief was obvious. "I can guarantee that by the end of the day you'll discover everything you ever cared to know about waitressing and a few things you didn't." Her laugh was light and cheerful. "By the way, I'm Gilly. Short for Gillian."
"And I'm Elizabeth."
"Glad to meet you, Elizabeth. Boy, am I glad." The breezy laugh returned. "Come on back to the kitchen, and I'll introduce you to Evelyn. He's the owner and chef, and I'm sure he'll hire you." With determined, quick-paced steps, Gilly led the way across the room to the swinging double doors. She paused and turned around. "Don't be shocked if Evelyn kisses you or something. He's like that. I think it's because he's French."
"I won't be surprised," Elizabeth murmured and had trouble containing her smile. What would Gilly say if she knew that Elizabeth spoke the language fluently and had lived in Paris?
A variety of pleasant smells assaulted her as she entered the spotless kitchen. As a little girl, her favorite place in the huge, rambling house had been the kitchen. The old cook would often sneak her pieces of pie dough or a cookie. Her childhood had been happy and untroubled.
"Evelyn," Gilly said, attracting the attention of the chef who was garbed completely in white and working busily at the stove. "This is Elizabeth. She's going to take Deanne's place."
The ruddy-faced man with a thick mustache that was shaped like an open umbrella over a full mouth turned and stared blankly at Elizabeth.
Giving in to impulse, she took a step forward and extended her hand. In flawless French, she explained that she hadn't done any waitressing but would be pleased to help them out this afternoon.
Laughing, Evelyn broke into a wild speech in his native language while pumping her hand as if she were a long-lost relative.
Again in perfect French, she explained that no, she wasn't from France or Quebec, but she had spent several years studying in his country.
An expression of astonishment widened Gilly's eyes. "You should have said you were from France."
"I'm not. I studied French in school." Elizabeth didn't explain that the school had been in Paris.
"You know, that's one thing I'm sorry for," Gilly said, thoughtfully pinching her bottom lip. "I wish I'd studied French. A lot of good Spanish does me here. But then"-she paused and chuckled-"I could always end up working in a Mexican restaurant."
Elizabeth laughed. Gilly was delightful. Amiable and full of en...
