The Summer Job

by Lizzy Dent Narrated by Emma Sidi

Overview

“My perfect summer read! Sure to be one of the sweetest, funniest, and sexiest books of the year.” -Emily Henry, #1 New York Times bestselling author of People We Meet on Vacation
 
Named a Best Beach Read by Cosmopolitan, Entertainment Weekly, New York Post, Bustle, Country Living, Parade, Fortune, and more.

What if you could be someone else? Just for the summer...

Birdy has made a mistake. Everyone imagines running away from their life at some point. But Birdy has actually done it. And the life she's run into is her best friend Heather's. The only problem is, she hasn't told Heather.

The summer job at the highland Scottish hotel that her world class wine-expert friend ditched turns out to be a lot more than Birdy bargained for. Can she survive a summer pretending to be her best friend? And can Birdy stop herself from falling for the first man she's ever actually liked, but who thinks she's someone else?

One good friend's very bad decision is at the heart of this laugh-out-loud love story and unexpected tale of a woman finally finding herself in the strangest of places.

Editorial Reviews

JULY 2021 - AudioFile

Narrator Emma Sidi performs this escape audiobook set in a resort in Scotland. Birdy Finch, at loose ends for the summer, impulsively decides to impersonate her best friend and take a job as a sommelier for an up-and-coming restaurant, despite knowing almost nothing about wine. She muddles her way through the job, avoiding near mishaps and tentatively starting a new romance. Sidi excels at projecting Birdy’s emotional growth as the young woman begins to understand that her cavalier attitude toward the job and her friend could have serious consequences, though she does less well in voicing the various Scottish accents. Sidi’s overall pleasing performance, however, cannot compensate for the unlikely premise that inexperienced Birdy could fool professional restaurateurs, food critics, and wine experts. C.B.L. © AudioFile 2021, Portland, Maine

Publishers Weekly

02/01/2021

Dent’s stressful debut sees a woman living out a classic anxiety dream as she fudges her way through a job she’s way underqualified for. When Birdy Finch’s best friend, Heather, decides against taking a job as a sommelier at a Scottish inn, Birdy offers to let Heather’s potential employers know. But, on a whim, she doesn’t—deciding a summer in Scotland is just what she herself needs. Though Birdy has no knowledge of wine, the inn’s website shows a run-down cottage with a small, manageable wine list. So when she arrives, posing as Heather, she’s shocked to find a newly renovated Loch Dorn Estate with a Michelin-starred chef helming the restaurant. She flails through her first days on the job before buckling down to study the extensive wine list. She also discovers an interest in cooking and an equal fascination with dedicated but reserved chef James. But can their budding relationship and her friendships among Loch Dorn’s staff survive after they learn she’s not who she claims? The romance is solid, but a key emotional moment happens off-page, making the ending feel unearned, and the side characters outshine self-centered Birdy, making it hard to forgive her deception as her bumbling puts their jobs at risk. Readers will need a high tolerance for anxiety-inducing humor to get into this one. (May)

From the Publisher

One of Cosmopolitan’s New Books to Feed Your Wanderlust
One of Marie Claire’s Ultimate Summer Beach Reads
One of Entertainment Weekly’s 20 Best New Books to Read in May
One of New York Post’s 30 Best Books on Our Summer Reading List 
One of Bustle’s 20 Best Beach Reads of 2021
One of PopSugar’s Best Romance Books about Travel to Read This Month
One of Real Simple’s 31 Best Beach Reads
One of Country Living’s 30 Can’t Miss Beach Reads for This Summer
One of Parade’s 25 Books You’ll Want to Read This Sizzling Season
One of Fortune’s 10 Entertaining New Books to Read This Summer
One of The Pioneer Woman’s 20 Best Beach Reads of Summer 2021
One of SheReads’s Most Anticipated Romance Books of 2021
One of PureWow’s 18 Best Beach Reads of Summer 2021
One of Life Savvy’s 17 Can’t Miss Books Hitting Shelves This May
One of Glitter Guide’s 9 Books To Add To Your May Reading List
One of Hello Giggles’s 11 Best New Books to Read in May
One of Bon Appetit’s 15 Must-Read Novels to Gift Everyone on Your List
 
“My perfect summer read! Sure to be one of the sweetest, funniest, and sexiest books of the year.” —Emily Henry, author of Beach Read

“Witty and funny and it packs an emotional punch…Loved it, I'm in the queue for more Lizzy Dent.” —Josie Silver, author of One Day in December

“Fresh, funny and filled with delicious food and wine.” —Beth O’Leary, author of The Flatshare

“A rom-com-esque adventure in which a girl steals her best friend’s identity to spend the season at a luxury Scottish Highland resort. Lol, same.” –Cosmopolitan

“Funny, romantic, hilariously chaotic and full to the brim with Scottish charm.” –Parade

“The secluded Scotland setting makes it easy to immerse yourself in Birdy's world…Plenty of bad decisions and dramatic disasters, a cast of supporting characters to love and hate, and a sweet and tender romance despite all odds. But through it all, you can't help but root for Birdy!” –PopSugar

“If you’re a fan of Outlander but want an adventure in the Scottish Highlands with a little more Wi-Fi, this is the read for you.” –Shondaland

“A soul-soothing delight…When you can’t choose between the many rom-coms on the many streaming services, reach for The Summer Job to get a similarly wholesome dose of fluff.” —Bon Appetit

“Dent hits a home run with her first novel...A sure bet for fans of Jenny Colgan.” –Library Journal, starred

“Escapist fun…Fans of Emily Henry and Katie Fforde should add this to their summer-read list.” —Booklist

“Fans of Emily Henry or Sophie Kinsella will fall for debut novelist Lizzy Dent.” —Shelf Awareness

“Fun with a capital F…If you've ever felt you're getting left behind in life, or don't have everything worked out quite yet, this is the book for you.” —Sophie Cousens, author of This Time Next Year

“Birdy has kicked off her summer job as sommelier at a remote Scottish hotel with a bit of a fib — well, a whopper … What could possibly go wrong?”—New York Post

“This book is begging to be read on the beach. But it's so much more than a beach read…The Summer Job is fun, feel-good, and full of heart.” –Hello Giggles

“Endearing and funny but still packing a surprising emotional punch, this sparkling debut from Lizzy Dent is the perfect title to kick off the summer reading season.” –Book Riot

“A hilarious rom-com.” –PopSugar

“Engaging, heart-warming and so much fun. I bloody loved it.”—Marian Keyes, author of Sushi for Beginners
 
“A charming and funny read about how our worst mistake can be the very thing that helps us become a better person.” —Julia Whelan, author of My Oxford Year
 
“An enthralling escapist story…Perfectly balances emotion with wit, humor, and joy.” —Sarah Smith, author of The Faker

“Gossipy, warm and funny. Like Goldie Hawn’s Private Benjamin, but with wine!” —Beth Morrey, author of The Love Story of Missy Carmichael
 
“I fell for Birdy on the very first page and inhaled the rest of her story…A brilliantly original plot paired with fabulously funny writing - a pure joy to read!” —Helly Acton, author of The Shelf

“The literary equivalent of going out on an amazing night out with your best friends…I'll be recommending it to everyone!” —Katherine Webber, author of The Heartbeats of Wing Jones

Library Journal

★ 04/16/2021

DEBUT Dent hits a home run with her first novel. Elizabeth "Birdy" Finch and her best friend Heather could not be more different. Birdy flits from job to job and relationship to relationship, never really giving it her all. Heather has worked hard to become a sommelier. When Heather decides to chase romance in Italy, Birdy attends a wine awards ceremony in her place. A case of mistaken identity ensues, and Birdy, jobless and near homeless, travels to a hotel in Scotland to take a sommelier job under Heather's name. We follow Birdy on her journey of self-discovery as she makes new friends, deals with her somber past, falls in love, and learns everything she can about wine. VERDICT This witty, banter-filled novel seems frothy at first, but aptly balances the humor with darker subjects. Lovely descriptions of Scotland, quirky supporting characters, and a thoroughly lovable heroine make this a sure bet for fans of Jenny Colgan.—Nanci Milone Hill, M.G. Parker Memorial Lib., Dracut, MA

JULY 2021 - AudioFile

Narrator Emma Sidi performs this escape audiobook set in a resort in Scotland. Birdy Finch, at loose ends for the summer, impulsively decides to impersonate her best friend and take a job as a sommelier for an up-and-coming restaurant, despite knowing almost nothing about wine. She muddles her way through the job, avoiding near mishaps and tentatively starting a new romance. Sidi excels at projecting Birdy’s emotional growth as the young woman begins to understand that her cavalier attitude toward the job and her friend could have serious consequences, though she does less well in voicing the various Scottish accents. Sidi’s overall pleasing performance, however, cannot compensate for the unlikely premise that inexperienced Birdy could fool professional restaurateurs, food critics, and wine experts. C.B.L. © AudioFile 2021, Portland, Maine

Product Details

BN ID:	2940172941306
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	05/18/2021
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

1

May

You here for a wedding?" the driver asks, his cheery eyes focused on me and not on the tiny track we're careering up.

"No, no," I reply, as my fingers begin to ache from all the seat clenching they're having to do. He's got to be doing at least seventy.

"Aye, you're not dressed for a wedding," he agrees.

I look down at my shirt, self-consciousness pushing away fear for a moment. I'd bought a white silk shirt for sixty percent off from T.J. Maxx, but several hours into my journey I'd remembered that white silk shirts were only for rich people or anyone who liked doing laundry. The deal clincher for me, when buying clothing, is whether it will come out of the dryer like it's been ironed.

The car takes a sharp turn and the single lane thins to a ribbon before the woods clear completely and we drive through a simple iron gate fixed to two old stone pillars. Vast lawns rise slowly upward, and along the approach, rows of towering trees stretch their branches across to meet in a tunnel of crooked wood and leaves. Everything is sepia in the fog.

Ahead, the house comes into view, though in truth it looks more like a small castle. A gray-and-sandstone mother ship, with pointed turrets flanking the sides and an enormous staircase leading from the circular drive to the entrance. It's far grander than I'd imagined, but strangely bleak. I text Tim immediately.

I'm in a fucking gothic novel.

I'm pleased with my tone. Funny, irreverent, mysterious. I think about calling him to elaborate but I'm not entirely sure he'd get the joke. Tim isn't exactly well-read.

The car tires skid, jolting me back to the reality of the speeding vehicle. We are momentarily stuck as the tires spin hopelessly in the mud and the driver revs the engine. He switches gears and we thrust forward.

"Round the back there's a short road to the stables and cottages. And then a small car park," I say, double-checking the instructions on my phone.

"Staff entrance?" he questions, with a single raised eyebrow.

"Yup," I say, nodding, then stare wistfully out the window.

The back of the house is just as grand as but arguably more beautiful than the front. The ground drops away from a pebbled courtyard and rose garden down to a river, which I can hear but not see. The stables sit about a hundred meters to the side of the house, and the car pulls to a halt between them and a trio of small stone cottages. I look at the house, which is barely in view through a small grove of oaks.

The largest of the three cottages has wood smoke rising in pleasing spirals from the squat chimney, and there's a small slate-and-silver sign on the wooden door that I can just make out. staff only.

"This is it," I say, getting out and handing the driver 200 pounds in Scottish notes, trying not to wince as I say good-bye to all the money I had left in the world. "Thanks for the ride. Who knew you could get to the west coast in under one and a half hours from Inverness? It must be a world record."

He looks inordinately proud.

There are about a dozen cars in the car park, a white van, some four-wheel drives, a few of those big, black, expensive-looking SUVs, and a couple of golf carts-but still no humans. A dog barks once, far in the distance, the sound echoing ominously around the estate.

I feel my anxiety blossom into full nerves. This is it. The literal end of the road, and potentially the craziest thing I've done since walking out on that stupid West End play. Right before my first line.

"Hope you enjoy Scotland, lass," the driver says, then takes off with a screech of tires on gravel.

I knock a few times on the wooden door. For late spring, it's far colder than I'd imagined, and my thin trench coat is proving a nonsense kind of cover-up for this weather.

My phone beeps and it's Tim.

What do you mean? 

I chuckle. He's so predictable.

There is still no sign of anyone. Crossing my arms to try to brace myself against the icy breeze, I look around the courtyard for some sign of life. I can hear the horses scuffing at the hay-covered stone floor in the barn, and I can sense the smell of mossy earth. I lean forward to look through the small window of the end cottage, and a small motion light springs on, blinding me to my surroundings.

"Heather?"

I jump at the voice behind me-deep, with a thick but soft Scottish accent. I hold my hand up to my face and try to make out the figure emerging from behind the white van. He is tall, dressed in chef's whites underneath a dark coat that is open and flapping in the wind, with a dark woolen beanie pulled down over his forehead. Tall, mysterious, and can poach an egg. I am instantly intrigued.

"Hello! Yes, I am. That's me," I say, saluting him like a general, my nerves apparently turning me into a comedy idiot.

"We need you to start right away," he says nervously, pulling up the collar on his coat.

"Right this minute?" I reply, desperate for a hot cup of tea and a shower.

"Our emergency cover fell into the river while taking a tinkle," booms a posh English accent, as a much older, shorter man in a dark suit with a bulging belly arrives, dragging one of those fancy bellhop trollies behind him. The light shines onto his reddish face, which is heavily lined but jolly. "Hospitalized with exposure."

"Double exposure," I reply with a giggle-I can't resist-and he shoots me a wicked grin.

"I'm William. But everyone calls me Bill. And this is James, here to welcome you on behalf of the kitchen," he continues, glancing down at my bag. "Well, I won't need the trolley. You travel light. Goodness gracious me. You should have seen last night's late arrival-poor night porter had to make a dozen trips up and down the stairs. And he's got a dicky leg."

"I don't like having more than I can manage on my own," I say, smiling at him.

"Well, I hope you brought some wellies," he says, glancing down at my shoes.

"No. I'll need to get some. And a coat. Didn't anyone notify Scotland it's May, for God's sake?" I say, clutching at my arms.

"Northerly. They're bitter, even in summer," says Bill as he sticks the key into the lock of the cottage, and it makes a heavy thunk as he turns it. He pushes the door open, but instead of showing me in, he pops my suitcase just inside and pulls the door shut. "Couldn't grow a Pinot in this wind chill, eh?"

I stutter, then scramble for a quick reply. "Yes. Certainly it needs to be warmer. Except when there's a frost. You also sometimes need frost." He's staring at me, so obviously I continue my verbal drivel. "For the grapes, because sometimes they need frost. To make the wine, er, better."

"We need you to start tonight," James says again, cutting through the chatter. He and his tense shoulders are looking back toward the main house as if he's left a pan of hot fat on full.

I start to feel a little panicked. "I'm not dressed," is all I can think to say. "I thought there would be some kind of formal orientation first? Watch one of those Welcome to the company films. Spend hours getting your e—mail set up? Meet the boss? Go for a welcome drink?"

"My kinda girl," Bill chortles again.

"We've got you a uniform." James furrows his heavy brow my way, then turns sharply away to do more brooding.

Bill turns to me with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, this is all very sudden. But I'm sure you'll take to it just fine, with your incredible experience. Oh, don't look so sheepish-I was the one who hired you, remember? I've seen your CV."

"Right. Of course. Okay, let's go," I say as confidently as I can. No need to discuss my CV in front of James, or anyone.

Bill jumps into the nearest golf cart and turns on the ignition. James offers an impatient smile and nods toward the passenger seat.

"Cheers," I say as he jumps on a little platform on the back and hangs on.

"If James is edgy, it's because he needs to go over the menu with you, like, now," Bill whispers.

I'm going to have to be careful with everything I say. Play the new girl. With the number of jobs I've had, that's one thing I can do.

We pull up at the entrance to the kitchen, and as the heavy modern door is pushed open, the light and noise spill out onto the courtyard, and suddenly a new set of senses comes fiercely alive.

The back kitchen is buzzing. There are three chefs in whites preparing for the evening service. Piles of small new potatoes are being scrubbed, and another chef has a great sheet of tiny herbs, which are being forensically picked through with what look like tweezers. There is a kind of rhythmical chorus as knives hit wood, pans slam on granite, and my block heels clip-clop across the stone floor.

"Hi, Chef," says the youngest-looking of them. He's covered in blood splatters and holding a comically large butchering knife. James nods in approval at the young lad, who blushes and smiles shyly back at him. It's a cute exchange, and I warm a little to James.

Smells of lemon zest and rich, dark chocolate fill my nose as we pass the pastry counter. Then the sting of onions hits my eyes as we duck under a low doorway into the preparation area. There are two rows of stainless-steel cooking surfaces and large ovens, and another serious-looking young chef, her dark hair stuffed into a hairnet, is standing over a huge pot, carefully spooning in what seems to be an enormous ladle full of tiny lobsters.

"Oh my God, baby lobsters," I whisper, aghast, but Bill has suddenly'disappeared'out through the swinging door into the restaurant. There's a glimpse of a dark, candle-lit room with accents of deep red and tartan.

"Langoustines, three minutes, fifteen seconds. Rolling boil," the chef says to herself as she starts a small timer. Langoustines. I blush at my stupidity and take a deep breath. I won't last five minutes if I don't keep my mouth shut.

"Heather?" James calls to me from the service area, where he is sorting through scribbled sheets of paper.

"Hey. Jamie for short, is it?"

"James, actually," he says abruptly, before glancing at the floor. "Are you ready?"

"Sure," I reply, painting on a face full of efficiency and confidence.

He waves a piece of paper at me. "We've matches for the langoustine and hot-smoked salmon, but not the beetroot and pickled cabbage. We also need a pairing for the blade steak. I would have gone for a Cabernet, but there's the spring greens and turnip foam to consider in the balance. What do you think?"

James puts the paper down and looks up at me, and for the first time I see his full face in the light. He's definitely a looker, if you like that kind of accidentally handsome, full-lipped, furrowed-brow, forgot-to-shave-for-a-week kind of thing, which I most certainly do. Dark hair, chestnut eyes, and cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. And in those starched chef's whites too. I try hard not to stare.

Okay. I'm definitely staring.

Still staring.

"Heather?"

I shake myself out of my daze and back to the job at hand.

"Do you have any ideas what we could pair them with?"

"What do you usually pair them with?" I ask, hoping for a shortcut.

"The menu changes all the time, with the season, so this is a new dish, I'm afraid. There's normally something new needs pairing every day. As I said, we often pair the blade steak with the Cabernet, but I think the turnip-"

"The menu changes all the time?" I gulp.

James takes a breath. "Sorry. I know this is a lot to take in. Before each service we sit and discuss the pairings for the degustation menu. The sommelier and me. Then I run it past Chef."

"Chef? I thought you were the chef."

"No," he says with a shy smile. "Russell Brooks, our new executive chef, will check over everything tonight. It has to be right first time," he says, somewhat apologetically.

"Russell Brooks." I smile. "Sounds like an electrical appliance."

My gag hangs in the air for a moment, then withers and dies.

"He's got two Michelin stars," James says, his eyes wide.

"Oh yes," I say quickly.

Two Michelin stars? That doesn't make sense. I thought this place was meant to be stuck in the Dark Ages. I glance around the kitchen and realize the whole setup does look rather too grand. "Of course I know who he is. Everyone knows Russell Brook."

"Brooks," he corrects.

"Yes." I nod quickly. "Two Michelin stars."

"Do you want a little time to familiarize yourself? I can give you thirty minutes, and then we have to get the draft ready for Chef." He offers me the menu.

I study James's face for a moment. I can't tell if he is desperately begging for my help or angry that I'm not helping already. One thing is for sure: He is waiting for me to take control, and up until this point I've been trying to delay the inevitable. Time to bite the bullet.

"Where do you keep the wine list? And the wine? I'll need to see the cellar and maybe do some sampling," I say, reaching for the food menu. Christ, it's complicated! This place is fancy as fuck. What the hell is smoked sea bacon? "What did you say I need to match again?"

"The guinea fowl, the crab, the beetroot, and the blade steak," replies James, the raised vein on the side of his neck dissipating somewhat. "The new wine list is here," he says, dumping a large black leather folder into my arms. "And the cellar is out back, the way you came in, and down the stone stairs by the deep freeze. I can show you?"

"No need. I'll be half an hour," I say, nodding in determination, deciding the quiet of the wine cellar will be the safest place to panic. New wine list?

"One sec. Anis?" he calls to the baby-lobster boiler, who frowns at the disruption. She is carefully pouring deep-green oil into a blender with all the steady seriousness of an open-heart surgeon. "Once you've finished the dill emulsion, make a tasting plate for Heather," James commands.

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