The NEW YORK TIMES Bestseller In this irresistible tale, Sarah Addison Allen, author of the bestselling debut, Garden Spells, tells the stoy of a young woman whose family secrets—and secret passions—are about to change her life forever. Josey Cirrini is sure of three things: winter is her favorite season, she'll never be good enough, or beautiful enough, for her mother's love, and sweets are best eaten in the privacy of her closet. Josey has settled into an staid and solitary existence in her mother's house, but her one consolation is the stockpile of sugary treats and romances she escapes to each night. Then she finds her secret closet harboring Della Lee Baker, a local waitress who is one part nemesis—and two parts fairy godmother. With Della Lee's tough love, Josey's narrow existence quickly expands. She bonds with Chloe Finley, a young woman who is hounded by books that inexplicably appear when she needs them, and who has a close connection to Adam, to the source of Josey's unrequited love. Soon Josey is living in a world where the color red has startling powers, and passion can make eggs fry in their cartons. And that's just for starters. Brimming with warmth, wit, and a sprinkling of magic, here is a spellbinding tale of friendship, love—and the enchanting possibilities of every new day. Praise for The Sugar Queen "Like the most decadently addictive bonbons, once started, Allen's magically entrancing novel is impossible to put down." —Booklist  (starred review) "Bewitching . . . Such a pleasurable book." — Publishers Weekly “Like the most decadently addictive bonbons, once started, Allen’s magically entrancing novel is impossible to put down.” —Booklist (starred review) “Bewitching…. Such a pleasurable book.” — Publishers Weekly Sarah Addison lives in Asheville, North Carolina, where she is at work on her next novel. Chapter One Everlasting Gobstoppers When Josey woke up  and saw the feathery frost on her windowpane, she smiled. Finally, it was cold enough to wear long coats and tights. It was cold enough for scarves and shirts worn in layers, like camouflage. It was cold enough for her lucky red cardigan, which she swore had a power of its own. She loved this time of year. Summer was tedious with the light dresses she pretended to be comfortable in while secretly sure she looked like a loaf of white bread wearing a belt. The cold was such a  relief . She went to the window. A fine sheen of sugary frost covered everything in sight, and white smoke rose from chimneys in the valley below the resort town. Excited, she opened the window, but the sash stuck midway and she had to pound it the rest of the way with the palm of her hand. It finally opened to a rush of sharp early November air that would have the town in a flurry of activity, anticipating the tourists the colder weather always brought to the high mountains of North Carolina. She stuck her head out and took a deep breath. If she could eat the cold air, she would. She thought cold snaps were like cookies, like gingersnaps. In her mind they were made with white chocolate chunks and had a cool, brittle vanilla frosting. They melted like snow in her mouth, turning creamy and warm. Just before she ducked her head back inside, she looked down and noticed something strange. There was a ladder propped against the house, directly underneath her window. She leaned back in quickly and closed her window. She paused, then she locked it. She turned and walked to her closet, distracted now. She hadn't heard anything strange last night. The tree trimmers from yesterday must have left the ladder. Yes. That had to be it. They'd probably propped it against the house and then completely forgotten about it. She opened her closet door and reached up to pull the string that turned on the light. Then she screamed and backed away, stopping only when she hit her desk and her lamp crashed to the floor. "Oh for God's sake," the woman sitting on the floor of her closet said, "don't have a cow." "Josey?" She heard her mother's voice in the hall, then the thud of her cane as she came closer. "Please don't tell her I'm here," the woman in the closet said, with a strange sort of desperation. Despite the cold outside, she was wearing a cropped white shirt and tight dark blue jeans that sat low, revealing a tattoo of a broken heart on her hip. Her hair was bleached white-blond with about an inch of silver-sprinkled dark roots showing. Her mascara had run and there were black streaks on her cheeks. She looked drip-dried, like she'd been walking in the rain, though there hadn't been rain for days. She smelled like cigarette smoke and river water. Josey turned her head as her bedroom door began to open. Then, in a small act that changed everything, Josey reached over and pushed the closet door closed as her mother entered the room. "Josey? What was that noise? Are you all right?" Margaret asked. She'd been a beautiful woman in