First line: "They tell me I've been shot." The speaker is poet Marc-Andre Paradis, slowly coming out of a coma. The woman at his bedside is Fiona Silk, a writer whose career has stalled and whose bank account is depleted. She has sat with him four days a week for months. He does not remember her.
As a counterpoint to her joy at Marc-Andre's beginning recovery, Fiona is beset by pesky people. There's her ex-husband who keeps stalling on the settlement of their property agreement, aided and abetted by his snippy secretary. There's a blowsy blonde who disappears into thin air after a deadly accident on the highway, and a rude redhead who pushes ahead of Fiona in the ATM line, then drops her wallet beside her car and drives off without it. Most of all there's her snobbish neighbor who keeps pressuring her to sell her home property for his planned riverside development.
In the nick of time, it seems, some celebrity chefs from the TV show Hot Stuff hit town to do a show. Fiona's agent has a contract and a check for an erotic cookbook. All Fiona has to do is dream up something involving whipped cream and get a couple of high-profile recipes from the celebrity chefs.
Meantime, the cops are dogging her about the auto accident she witnessed. Nobody believes her story about the mystery blonde, and the man who died in the crash was her ex-husband's partner. Fiona can no longer tell friend from foe.
A second banana who almost runs off with the show is Josey Thring, a 16-year-old string-puller, organizer, problem solver and all-around Whiz Kid. She attaches herself to Fiona as an assistant, hoping to make enough money for a driver's license. Josey jumps on the erotic cookbook idea, running interference with the rich and famous, and it almost gets her killed.
The closing paragraphs, coupled with the opening, make a great pair of bookends to this gentle and very funny cozy.