Anxious People by Fredrik Backman

FIRST CHAPTER: 
A bank robbery. A hostage drama. A stairwell full of police officers on their way to storm an apartment. It was easy to get to this point, much easier than you might think. All it took was one single really bad idea.

TEASER: 
“Dad? The phone that we sent in for the perpetrator, where did we find it when we came in?” Jack suddenly asks.
“It was there on that little table,” Jim says.
“That explains it,” Jack sighs.
“Explains what?”
“We’ve been thinking about this wrong all along.”

Laugh Out Loud:

40 Women Humorists Celebrate Then and Now…Before We Forget

by Allia Zobel Nolan

FIRST CHAPTER:
You know how people say they wish they had been born in a different era? Like they wish they had been a flapper, or grew up in the age of The Big Bopper and sock hops?

Not me.

I was born in early 1963 at precisely the right time. I was just the perfect age to experience the 80’s dance clubs. And, boy, did I love dance clubs. That’s where big-haired women and sockless men gathered. That crowd fit me like a glove.

TEASER: 
The waistband on these always seemed to cling precariously to my ample hips, while the crotch hovered somewhere just north of my knees like a mama kangaroo’s pouch. Other girls had problems, too. Occasionally, as one of them was walking down the hall, this waistband would suddenly roll down, picking up momentum until it reached her ankles where it would roll down, picking up momentum until it reached her ankles where it trapped and tripped her. Once in a while she’d be joined on the floor by one of her peers who had plummeted off her platform shoes.

Miss Cecily’s Recipes for Exceptional Ladies by Vicky Zimmerman

FIRST CHAPTER: Prologue Cecily Finn is ninety-seven-and -a half years old. Her hair is as stiff and bright as a firmly beaten egg white, and her dark eyes hold the look of a permanently unimpressed owl. She claims that all she wants is death-because boredom and institutional fish pie are worse than dying-but Cecily has endured far greater horrors than overcooked haddock.

TEASER: Five months earlier…
Kate Parker is ravenous. She sits on a deck chair in Nick Sullivan’s tiny patch of North London garden, gazing contentedly at his back as he stands by the barbecue. The smell of grilled meat is making her stomach audibly rumble, but there’s no point hurrying him. This man does things in his own sweet time.