To you, the reader. You holding this book means more to me than I can possibly express. Thank you for coming back for more. I hope you enjoy the escape. Let’s talk about it on social media (@emilybelden) or at your next book club.

And finally, a shout-out to Margo Lipschultz, who initially acquired Husband Material after hearing a short synopsis of the idea. Her faith in my storytelling allowed me to explore a world unlike my own for a few years, which to me, is the greatest perk of being a writer.

“Full of Fire.”

—Library Journal (starred review)

“Exhilarating.”

—Booklist

“Satisfying.”

—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick)

“Provocative.”

—Abby Stern, author of According to a Source

Keep reading for a sample of
Emily Belden’s delicious first novel,
Hot Mess, a juicy look behind kitchen doors.

Available now wherever books are sold.

Hot Mess

by Emily Belden

Chapter 1

“Are you going to be okay?”

His question gives me pause. Will I be okay? Was “okay” a hypothetical three exits ago?

All things considered, I’m hurtling through time and space with a guy whose recovery from a serious cocaine addiction matters as much as the rise of his chocolate soufflé tonight. So I answer honestly.

“I don’t know.” My voice sounds far away.

“Well, if you’re not sure, change. You’ll be walking at least five miles between ushering people to tables and the bathroom and running back and forth from the kitchen.”

“Oh, shoes. You’re asking if I’m going to be okay in these shoes.” I glance down at my black platform wedges.

“Yeah, babe. What the hell else would I be talking about?”

He grabs the bottom of my chin and plants a quick kiss on my lips before he rinses a whisk in the sink.

The shells of seventy-five hard-boiled eggs are in the trunk of a car I rented to shuttle all the shit required for tonight’s guests, I took an unpaid day off from work to be here to help and my parents are about an hour away from arriving to this special “comeback dinner,” which will be the first time they’ve seen Benji somewhere other than the headlines in the last thirty days.

And he’s worried about my shoes?

“I’ll be fine,” I say sweetly, knowing now is not the time for a true audit of my emotional well-being. Tonight is about Benji’s big return and my confidence that all—including my shoe choice—will go as smoothly as the house-made butter at room temp that he’s just whipped up.

I find my reflection in a nearby Cryovac machine and take out a tube of my go-to matte pale pink lipstick from my makeup bag. I sweep it across my bottom lip, then fill in just above my lip line on the top for the illusion of a slightly fuller mouth. After all, I know at least half the guest list is here to see what the woman behind the man looks like.

Speaking of lists, I can see Benji in the reflection as well, leaning over a stainless-steel counter consulting the prep list for tonight’s dinner service. He takes a black Sharpie from the pocket of his apron and puts a quick slash through each item as he recites them out loud to himself.