“It’s still there!” he joked, looking at me.
“Well, that’s a relief,” I joked back. “Think you’ll be ready to try skateboarding when you come out here?”
He gave me a wry look. “Sure,” he said. “Add it to the list.”
“You know I will!” I said, shooting him an air kiss.
And you know I did.
CHRISTOPHER’S POST-CAST BUCKET LIST
Buy a ticket to Philadelphia ✓
Learn to ice-skate
Ride a unicycle
Kick a real field goal
Go to a 76ers game
Dance with Tess
Go on a bike ride with Tess
Go swimming with Tess
Go hiking with Tess
Go skateboarding with Tess
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to my amazing editor, Wendy Loggia, for bringing me back into the Penguin Random House fold. I had so much fun working on this book, and I couldn’t be happier to reunite with one of my earliest working partners. Special thanks go out, as well, to my fellow author and loyal cheerleader, Jen Calonita, as well as to my family, who were kind enough to give me alone time here and there so I could bring Tess and Christopher to life. Finally, thank you to everyone at Underlined for all the hard work you’ve done on this novel. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all that you do!
Don’t miss another great romance from Underlined!
I should realize it’s a bad sign when I trip hard over the entry to Winslow’s Bookshop.
“Whaaaaa!” I yelp as I give the typically sticky front door my customary push…and unexpectedly go flying into the store, the shop’s brass bell announcing my unceremonious entrance.
“Carl finally put a little oil on that door so we don’t have to work so hard to get in here,” Victoria, the owner of Winslow’s, says, looking up at me with a bemused smile. Nothing ruffles her. She’s on her knees, putting a stack of books on a wooden shelf. “Hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”
My eyes dart around. Luckily the only people to witness my epic fall are Victoria, who has the decency not to laugh in my face; a mom preoccupied on her phone while pushing a baby stroller; and Victoria’s basset hound, Fred. He gazes balefully at me, a pair of reindeer antlers perched on his large head.
“Nope, I’m fine.” I take in a deep breath. “Ahhh, my favorite smell: peppermint, pine cones, and new books.” I’d started working at Winslow’s last summer, and despite what my friends who lifeguarded, camp-counseled, and taught dance thought, bookselling was the best summer job ever. I’ve actually been lucky enough to stay on part-time during the school year. Victoria and her husband, Carl, own the bookshop and they are supercool. Everyone who works here loves to read and talk about books. Winslow’s is a popular place in our town for people to come and spend time. It is, as Victoria likes to say, a community.
Victoria is always encouraging us to take books home to read. “Read more, sell more,” she’ll say, handing me copies of the latest romances (my favorite). The store also runs a mystery book club and an award-winner book club, and it has tons of events for kids. There are strands of twinkly lights, comfy chairs filled with pillows, old wooden bookshelves worn smooth from years of use, and a café in the back that sells the most delicious panini and acai bowls and gives us a 20 percent employee discount.
If I could live here, I would.
Victoria stands up, a pair of pink tassel earrings swinging from her ears. “You’re not scheduled to work tonight, are you?” she asks, her brow puckering.
I shake my head. “Wrapping.” I’ve been averaging around ten hours a week at the store this fall, but tonight I am here strictly in a volunteer capacity. Each holiday season, Victoria and Carl invite students from my school, Bedford High, to staff the wrapping station and accept donations. All the money goes to support the arts at our school, and I’d signed up for a weekly shift.
“Ahhh, right.” Victoria clasps her hands together. “Okay, off to special-order The Atlas of Amazing Birds for a young naturalist before I forget. Coffee’s made in the back if you want a cup.” She walks off. “French hazelnut,” she calls over her shoulder before I can ask.
In the staff room in the back, I shrug out of my blue parka and pink scarf and pull out my light-up Christmas bulb necklace from my GOT BOOKS? tote bag.
“Ah, there she is, Miss Bailey Briggs, a cup of Christmas cheer.” My coworker Bill bustles past me, a pencil behind his ear and a coffee mug in his hand, his standard white cotton shirt rumpled as usual. Originally from Ireland, and about the same age as my grandpa, Bill is as much a fixture in the store as the comfy sofas in the Fiction section and Fred at the cash register. And with his heavy Irish brogue, he is one of the most popular readers at Saturday Storytime.
“Hi, Bill,” I greet him. “Did you finish that mystery you were reading last week? The one about a murder in Dublin?”
He chuckles. “I did, I did. Already on to the next in the series. I’m addicted, I am, Bailey. Tana French. You should give her a read.”
I pull on my plush Santa hat and arrange my hair. “Not my thing, Bill. Sorry.”
“I know, I know. You want what all the young girls want. A loooooove story.” He gives me a dismissive wave.
Even though I find his attitude slightly patronizing, I have to admit he’s right—at least when it comes to me. I do want a love story. Specifically, a Christmas one. A sweet one, filled with snuggles under blankets and hot chocolate and text messages filled with red and green hearts and Santa emojis. I’ve watched more than my fair share of Hallmark Christmas movies, and even though I’m not a big-city lawyer who has moved back to my hometown to save the family business or a world-weary writer who falls in love with a recently widowed baker, I still believe in the power of Christmas Magic.
A holiday romance is in my future.
At least a girl can dream.