I'm Dreaming of a Wyatt Christmas , livre ebook

ABRAMS BOOKS - Schmidt Tiffany Schmidt

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148 pages

English

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Ballet and babysitting bring two teens together in this very merry holiday rom-com from the author of the acclaimed Bookish Boyfriends series Noelle Partridge is known for three things: being the best ballet dancer, babysitter, and person with the most Christmas spirit in her small town. But lately she's bored by the lessons at her dance school, and her friends and father are more bah humbug than deck the halls. So when her favorite babysitting clients ask her to accompany them on a ski trip over winter break, she packs her bags for the slopes. It helps that they're offering double her rate--she'll need the money for Beacon, an elite ballet academy that has granted her an audition. Noelle is ready to have fa la la la fun, until Wyatt, the older half-brother of her babysitting charges, decides to surprise his family for the holiday. He's one of the best dancers at Beacon, and makes Noelle's head spin faster than pirouettes. Unfortunately, she also manages to step on his toes--spoiling his surprise and complicating his secret plans. After a few missteps, Noelle and Wyatt begin to thaw toward each other and bond over the big decisions looming in each of their lives. With enough Christmas magic, Noelle might just start the New Year with lots of babysitting cash in her pocket and a chance with the pas de deux partner of her dreams.

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Christmas

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Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	26 octobre 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781647004279
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0650€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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PUBLISHER S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4197-5401-2
eISBN 978-1-6470-0427-9
Text copyright 2021 Tiffany Schmidt
Illustrations copyright 2021 Monika Roe
Book design by Hana Anouk Nakamura
Published in 2021 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.
Amulet Books is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
ABRAMS The Art of Books 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007 abramsbooks.com
Knock, knock.
Who s there?
Kate.
Kate, who?
I dedi-Kate this book to my amazing agent and also to my babysitter/ballet expert (whose name I couldn t fit in this joke).
Kate Testerman Haley Zelesko, this one s for you.
Babysitting Tip 1:
It s good to have a plan, but plans can change. Kids get bored, cranky, or just don t want to play the game or the craft you prepared. It s important to be flexible.
My blisters have blisters. I scrunch my toes, then wince as that pulls the skin tighter. Even on their best days, my feet don t look cute in flip-flops, but right now, after I cut corners breaking in a new pair of pointe shoes, they re worse than normal. At least it s November, no longer flip-flop weather. But still- ouch . I put another Band-Aid over an especially angry spot on my big toe.
They re gross, Noelle, Mae Primavera says. Normally I want my best friend agreeing with me, but this time I wouldn t have minded the lie. Put those things away.
I ball the bandage wrappers in my hand. Can t. The Primaveras house is strictly shoes off. I don t have any socks. I never do. Like always, I d swapped my pointe shoes for slouch boots at the studio. Trading those cardboard, glue, and satin torture devices for the ratty size-too-big shearling boots that had been my mom s was essentially a cozy foot hug, but it s also a reminder that she s gone. When they become tattered beyond fixing, there won t be another pair.
It feels impossible that this September I started high school without her-that I m going to celebrate another round of holidays without her-and yet I m at a Christmas kickoff planning meeting. It was her favorite holiday, and every year since she died I ve vowed to celebrate it bigger, better .
Wait! I can fix this! I have something for you. Our friend Autumn Hayworth-Macintosh hefts her backpack onto the couch beside her and begins to sift through it. I swear she could survive a week lost in the wilderness off the contents of her bag. Not that she d ever get lost, because she probably has three map-apps on her phone and two spare battery packs. I saw these last week when I was shopping with my moms for favors for this weekend s parties and I couldn t resist!
Autumn holds up a pair of fuzzy chenille socks-they re printed with Nutcrackers. I squeal and make grabby hands. She laughs and pulls out a tiny pair of scissors-of course-to snip off the tags before tossing them over.
I love them. I hug the socks before carefully easing them over my toes. I ve got something for you three, too, but I want to wait for Coco.
Since she has her backpack open, Autumn pulls out her planner and colored pens and lines them up on the Primaveras coffee table-shifting some half-done chemistry homework and tucking a receipt in a splayed romance novel so she has space. Surprising no one, Coral isn t here yet. I knew I should ve stopped at her house on my walk over.
Coco Sanderson s real name is Coral, but the only people who ever call her that are announcers at swim meets and her best friend when she s annoyed that Coco s late-which is most of the time. I think she does it on purpose to give Autumn something to grumble about. Grumbly Autumn is a kitten practicing her pounce-adorable and harmless, but totally convinced she s ferocious.
I already texted, she s two minutes away. Mae does a happy wiggle in her chair-it s the massive leather wingback her parents have used for years of family photos. They dot the walls of the family room: starting with baby shots of Mae s oldest brother, Trevor; then toddler Trevor carefully holding Rachel; then Trevor and Rachel cradling the twins: Hudson and Booker. My favorite photo has all four of Mae s older siblings brawling over which of them gets to hold her swaddled bundle. Even in that picture-where they re practically playing tug-of-war with her receiving blanket-she s sleeping peacefully among their chaos.
I was here last weekend when they shot this year s Christmas card photo-all of them in ridiculous holiday sweaters, crammed in that chair. Trevor complaining about his drive back to college, Rachel roaring that someone was pulling her hair. The twins being the pullers and, based on Mae s I-refuse-to-laugh face, likely ticklers as well.
I love this family but know Mae s happy wiggle has to do with having the chair to herself, the fact that her house is miraculously quiet right now, and the latest text on her phone- Coco s three houses away. I can t believe we finally managed to get everyone together.
Seriously, says Autumn. I knew we wouldn t have as many classes together in high school, but I barely see you all.
I look down at my new fuzzy socks. While they d never say it, this is mostly my fault. Coco s swim schedule is no joke; she practices at least three hours a day. But some days I m at the studio for five. And between dance classes and nonstop babysitting jobs, I m the biggest complication in coordinating our schedules.
But -I reach down and pull a baggie from the backpack beside my chair- At least I come with cookies! Rosa and I baked last night and Ms. Hernandez insisted I bring some home. Help yourself.
They re red-and-green pinwheels. I have several cookie and one playdough recipe memorized. None of them are fancy-not like the things Autumn bakes. Mine tend to involve crushed candy canes and Santa cookie cutters. And if Ms. Hernandez was surprised that Rosa and I made Christmas cookies before Thanksgiving, it s only because she s new in town. Most people in Juncture, Pennsylvania, know that Noelle Partridge s Christmas season begins mid-November and stretches until the last seconds of the year.
If Mae s family were home, she d be diving for cookies before they re all claimed. Since they re not, she waits for Autumn to stack a few on a coaster before passing her the bag.
Mae s siblings-plus their equally boisterous dad-are off doing a Polar Plunge. Looking around the family room might make you think they stopped mid-task and decided to go jump in a freezing lake, but this charity fundraiser has been on their calendar for months. Leaving chaos in their wake is a lifestyle for five-sevenths of the Primavera crew, and chaos makes Mae itchy. So she opted to stay home and let her mom photograph it without her. Also, we all know they re going to reenact it once they return.
I m here! Coco calls from the foyer as she lets herself in, stopping to shed her coat and shoes and pat the Primaveras golden retriever, Remy, who is ancient and slightly deaf, which is the only reason she didn t pounce on the word cookies. Remy follows Coco as she joins us in the family room, so Autumn has to grab her cookies off their coaster while Coco flops on the couch beside her and steals one. Someone baked? Yes, please.
Me and Rosa Hernandez. Though I d also made peppermint bark with the Dylan kids the night before and snowflake-shaped sugar cookies at the Smiths on Thursday. Stress-baking is a real thing, okay? I learned it from Autumn. Maybe now that we re all finally together, I should use the chance to ask for some advice.
The first half of the reason for that stress is the list burning a hole in my backpack beside the brochure that s responsible for the second half. It s a list I look forward to all year, but I look forward to making it with my dad. This fall, he s been glued to his phone, his tablet, or his laptop. It s One more minute, kiddo, or Maybe later, kiddo, Tomorrow, kiddo. Promise.
Clearly he s invented a new definition of tomorrow -one that means a time that never arrives. Promise now means probably not. And if we haven t had time to make our list of Christmas plans-which until this year I thought was a pretty sacred tradition-when could I possibly talk to him about the brochure for Beacon Ballet Academy?
Autumn might get what it s like to have a parent suddenly go MIA; she s the only kid of workaholics -her word. Momma Hay and Momma Mac are party planners who own their own business, but they seem to be a sort of steady workaholics. Always busy, but never too busy to, say, remember to pick up their only daughter from the same dance studio she s been attending since she was four Good thing it s walk-able from our apartment.
Mae would not get it. Her parents have five kids, an elderly dog, and full-time jobs-yet they still find time for family dinners, Polar Plunges, and trips to the ER whenever the twins decide to test the rules of gravity or logic. Seriously, if a body part can get stitches or an object can be used as a lightsaber or parachute, they ve done it.
Coco definitely wouldn t get it-her family should give anti-stress classes. All of them are ridiculously relaxed. Well, relaxed in all instances excep