About the Book
Author: Cheryl Robinson
Genre: Women’s Fiction
Two people in the same city but worlds apart.
Until Ray is an unconventional love story of how two young people transitioning into adulthood find each other and develop a bond that will be tested through three decades.
HE IS LOST…
Ray lives in northwest Detroit in a four-family flat with his mother. When he’s not at home, Ray’s either at the mall selling women’s shoes or in the club. In both places, he’s focused on one thing—picking up women. Dissatisfied, dysfunctional, and leagues behind his peers, Ray’s ready for a change but isn’t sure how to make it happen.
THEN SHE ARRIVES…
At twenty-four, Sarita has an MBA, is a CPA, and works in upper-level management at GM. But all that success comes at a cost: she’s lonely and craves the one thing she’s never had—attention from men. Until now. Dr. Graham Emerson wants to marry Sarita, and her parents expect her to, but Sarita isn’t convinced he’s the one for her. On a blind date, she meets Ray Saint and is immediately drawn in by his good looks and sense of humor. But his reputation for being a ladies’ man raises several red flags. Ray swears he’s changed. Is giving up a sure thing for a maybe worth the risk?
Set in the mid-eighties, Until Ray explores life and love through the lenses of colorism, classism, and family dysfunction.
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About Author Cheryl Robinson
Cheryl Robinson was born in Detroit, Michigan, the youngest in a family of five. She grew up in Palmer Woods, a residential historic district that is now one of the settings in her forthcoming novel, Until Ray. For the past fifteen years, she has been busy writing contemporary women’s fiction. For Penguin/NAL, Cheryl wrote six novels: If It Ain’t One Thing, It’s Like That, Sweet Georgia Brown, In Love with a Younger Man, When I Get Where I’m Going, and Remember Me. Cheryl is now an independent author and the owner of Rose Colored Books. With her company, she has published The One, Like Mom, and the forthcoming Until Ray Trilogy.
Cheryl currently resides in Florida.
To learn more about Cheryl and the Until Ray trilogy, please visit www.untilraytrilogy.com
Celery. Baby carrots. Yogurt. Alfalfa sprouts. Whole wheat bread. Lots of cheese. Raisins (I do love those). Leftover salmon. Milk—now I have an idea. I plan to drive to the Boston-Edison area to Mr. Fo-Fo’s and get one of those huge slices of chocolate cake that’s large enough to feed three, even when one of them is Boone. That’ll go great with a tall glass of milk.
I take a deep sigh. When the highlight of my Saturday afternoon is eating chocolate cake, something’s gone terribly wrong. I’m not that old.
The doorbell rings.
“Sarita,” my mother says through our intercom system.
I walk over to the unit and press down the button to talk. “Yes, Mother.”
“Please answer the door. That’s the new landscaper who’s coming to take a tour of our grounds. If you don’t mind starting it off, I’ll take it over in just a bit. I’m on the phone with Mrs. Emerson, and we’re discussing you.”
“Yes, you. I’ll tell you later.”
It’s a good thing this isn’t one of my lazy Saturdays when I sleep in until noon and then dwell on the fact that I still don’t have the life I want. This is one of those Saturdays where I got up and got fully dressed, opting for one of my Norma Kamali dresses, which has huge shoulder pads and two oversized pockets that flare at my hip in a way I really like. It’s the same color as my mood usually is—gray, which is the color of independence and self-reliance as well as evasion, noncommitment, and loneliness. Half of my wardrobe is that color.
“Oh, and don’t get any thoughts. From what I hear, if it’s the son, he’s a good-looking man. Just remember he’s here about our lawn. He’s not a doctor making house calls.”
I stroll to the door, and as soon as I open it, I see stars. Good looking is an understatement. He’s not as beautiful as Presley Okafor at Georgetown, but close enough for me.
“Hi, I’m Raphael Adams—the landscaper. Are you Dr. Sarah Deering?”
“No, that’s my mother. I’m Sarita, her daughter. But I guess I didn’t need to say that part. If she’s my mother, then I’m obviously her daughter, right?” I clear my throat when he doesn’t respond and instead stares at me as if I have two heads and I’m talking out the side of both of them.
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