One day in December A novel

Josie Silver

Large print - 2018

"Through a misted-up bus window one snowy December day, Laurie sees a man and knows he's the one. Their eyes meet, there's magic, and her bus leaves. For a year she scans London's bus stops and cafes. Then, at a Christmas party, her best friend introduces him as her new boyfriend."--Provided by publisher.

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LARGE PRINT/FICTION/Silver, Josie
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Subjects
Genres
Christmas fiction
Romance fiction
Published
Waterville, Maine : Thorndike Press, a part of Gale, a Cengage Company 2018.
Language
English
Main Author
Josie Silver (author)
Edition
Large print edition
Item Description
Includes recipes.
Physical Description
563 pages (large print) ; 23 cm
ISBN
9781432857837
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

It's love at first sight when, a few days before Christmas, Laurie looks out of the window of a London bus and spots an appealing guy sitting in a bus shelter. He seems to see her, too, but the bus pulls away. Laurie spends the next year searching for bus boy with the help of Sarah, her gorgeous and more glamorous flatmate and best friend. Then, when the holidays roll around again, Sarah brings home new boyfriend Jack bus boy himself. Silver's novel follows her twentysomething characters over the next 10 years as Laurie struggles with her love for Jack and her loyalty to Sarah. It turns out that Jack, who shares narrative duties with Laurie, has not forgotten that first encounter, but his and Laurie's timing is never right. He and Sarah break up, but not before Laurie has accepted a marriage proposal from dependable Oscar. Silver writes with verve and charm in this debut, and readers will be pulling for Laurie and Jack as they detour through missteps and misunderstandings before their happy ending is finally achieved.--Mary Ellen Quinn Copyright 2018 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Silver's lovely debut follows two young Londoners after a missed connection alters the course of their lives. Laurie, newly out of university, spots Jack while on the bus one December afternoon. Seated in the bus shelter along the sidewalk, Jack gazes back at Laurie and something electric happens. Over the next year, Laurie contemplates the moment, searching for Jack in vain until he shows up at her door for a holiday party-as her friend's boyfriend. Laurie doesn't mention anything, and neither does Jack. Silver, who is keenly aware of her influences (there is an immediate reference to the film Love Actually, and Laurie has a self-described love of Nora Ephron), divvies up chapters between Laurie and Jack. The story follows them through awkward dinners, double dates, and birthday celebrations that are full of highly flirtatious scenes where the two attempt to keep their mutual affection hidden. As they age, flaws also slowly rise to the surface, such as Jack's cruel streak and Laurie's problematic consumption of alcohol. Silver's propulsive narrative is enjoyable, and the mix of tension and affection between Jack and Laurie is charming, addictive, and effective. Readers who like quirky love stories will be satisfied by this cinematic novel. (Oct.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Strangers Laurie and Jack catch each other's eye one December evening, but momentary hesitation and a crowded London bus prevent them from meeting. They spend the next year hoping to find each other in a city of millions, only to reconnect when they are introduced as Sarah's roommate and Sarah's new boyfriend, respectively. They recognize each other right away and spend much of the next decade navigating their relationships with Sarah, work and family considerations, and their continued mutual pull. Silver provides her protagonists with rich platonic and familial bonds and depicts the changes that many adults experience throughout their 20s. Narrators Eleanor Tomlinson and Charlie Anson ably voice characters of different ages, genders, nationalities, and social classes. VERDICT Although the events in this story span all times of the year, the centrality of December and Christmas would make this a nice addition to collections featuring holiday romances. ["Readers who enjoy contemporary romance will root for Laurie and Jack as they work through laughter-through-tears experiences and toward a happily-ever-after worth fighting for": LJ 9/15/18 review of the Crown hc.]-Nicole Williams, New York © Copyright 2019. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

True love flares between two people, but they find that circumstances always impede it.On a winter day in London, Laurie spots Jack from her bus home and he sparks a feeling in her so deep that she spends the next year searching for him. Her roommate and best friend, Sarah, is the perfect wing-woman but ultimatelyand unknowinglyends the search by finding Jack and falling for him herself. Laurie's hasty decision not to tell Sarah is the second painful missed opportunity (after not getting off the bus), but Sarah's happiness is so important to Laurie that she dedicates ample energy into retraining her heart not to love Jack. Laurie is misguided, but her effort and loyalty spring from a true heart, and she considers her project mostly successful. Perhaps she would have total success, but the fact of the matter is that Jack feels the same deep connection to Laurie. His reasons for not acting on them are less admirable: He likes Sarah and she's the total package; why would he give that up just because every time he and Laurie have enough time together (and just enough alcohol) they nearly fall into each other's arms? Laurie finally begins to move on, creating a mostly satisfying life for herself, whereas Jack's inability to be genuine tortures him and turns him into an ever bigger jerk. Patriarchyit hurts men, too! There's no question where the book is going, but the pacing is just right, the tone warm, and the characters sympathetic, even when making dumb decisions.Anyone who believes in true love or is simply willing to accept it as the premise of a winding tale will find this debut an emotional, satisfying read. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

December 21 Laurie It's a wonder everyone who uses public transport in winter doesn't keel over and die of germ overload. In the last ten minutes I've been coughed on and sneezed at, and if the woman in front of me shakes her dandruff my way again, I might just douse her with the dregs of the lukewarm coffee that I'm no longer able to drink because it's full of her scalp. I'm so tired I could sleep right here on the top deck of this swaying, rammed-full bus. Thank God I've finally finished work for Christmas, because I don't think my brain or my body could withstand even one more shift behind that awful hotel reception desk. It might be festooned with garlands and pretty lights on the customer side, but step behind the curtain and it's a soulless hellhole. I'm practically asleep, even when I'm awake. I'm loosely planning to hibernate until next year once I get home to the nostalgic familiarity of my parents' house tomorrow. There's something soothingly time warp-ish about leaving London for an interlude of sedate Midlands village life in my childhood bedroom, even if not all of my childhood memories are happy ones. Even the closest of families have their tragedies, and it's fair to say that ours came early and cut deep. I won't dwell though, because Christmas should be a time of hope and love and, most appealing of all at this very moment, sleep. Sleep, punctuated by bouts of competitive eating with my brother, Daryl, and his girlfriend, Anna, and the whole gamut of cheesy Christmas movies. Because how could you ever be too tired to watch some hapless guy stand out in the cold and hold up signs silently declaring to his best friend's wife that his wasted heart will always love her? Though--is that romance? I'm not so sure. I mean, it kind of is, in a schmaltzy way, but it's also being the shittiest friend on the planet. I've given up worrying about the germs in here because I've undoubtedly ingested enough to kill me if they're going to, so I lean my forehead against the steamy window and watch Camden High Street slide by in a glitter of Christmas lights and bright, foggy shop windows selling everything from leather jackets to tacky London souvenirs. It's barely four in the afternoon, yet already it's dusk over London; I don't think it got properly light at all today. My reflection tells me that I should probably pull the tacky halo of tinsel from my hair that my cow of a manager made me wear, because I look like I'm trying out for Angel Gabriel in a primary school nativity, but I find that I really can't be bothered. No one else on this bus could care less; not the damp, anoraked man next to me taking up more than his half of the seat as he dozes over yesterday's paper, nor the bunch of schoolkids shouting across each other on the back seats and certainly not dandruff woman in front of me with her flashing snowflake earrings. The irony of her jewelry choice is not lost on me; if I were more of a bitch I might tap her on the shoulder to advise her that she's drawing attention to the skin blizzard she's depositing with every shake of her head. I'm not a bitch though; or maybe I'm just a quiet one inside my own head. Isn't everyone? Jesus, how many more stops is this bus going to make? I'm still a couple of miles from my flat and already it's fuller than a cattle truck on market day. Come on, I think. Move. Take me home. Though home is going to be a pretty depressing place now that my flatmate, Sarah, has gone back to her parents'. Only one more day and then I'll be out of here too, I remind myself. The bus shudders to a halt at the end of the street and I watch as down below a stream of people jostle to get off at the same time as others try to push their way on. It's as if they think it's one of those competitions to see how many people can fit into one small space. There's a guy perched on one of the fold-down seats in the bus shelter. This can't be his bus, because he's engrossed in the hardback book in his hands. I notice him because he seems oblivious to the pushing and shoving happening right in front of him, like one of those fancy special effects at the movies where someone is completely still and the world kaleidoscopes around them, slightly out of focus. I can't see his face, just the top of his sandy hair, cut slightly long and given to a wave when it grows, I should imagine. He's bundled into a navy woolen pea coat and a scarf that looks like someone might have knitted it for him. It's kitsch and unexpected against the coolness of the rest of his attire--dark skinny jeans and boots--and his concentration is completely held by his book. I squint, trying to duck my head to see what he's reading, wiping the steamed-up window with my coat sleeve to get a better look. I don't know if it's the movement of my arm across the glass or the flickering lights of dandruff- woman's earrings that snag in his peripheral vision, but he lifts his head and blinks a few times as he focuses his attention on my window. On me. We stare straight at each other and I can't look away. I feel my lips move as if I'm going to say something, God knows what, and all of a sudden and out of nowhere I need to get off this bus. I'm gripped by the overwhelming urge to go outside, to get to him. But I don't. I don't move a muscle, because I know there isn't a chance in hell that I can get past anorak man beside me and push through the packed bus before it pulls away. So I make the split-second decision to stay rooted to the spot and try to convey to him to get on board using just the hot, desperate longing in my eyes. He's not film-star good-looking or classically perfect, but there is an air of preppy disheveledness and an earnest, "who me?" charm about him that captivates me. I can't quite make out the color of his eyes from here. Green, I'd say, or blue maybe? And here's the thing. Call it wishful thinking, but I'm sure I see the same thunderbolt hit him too; as if an invisible fork of lightning has inexplicably joined us together. Recognition; naked, electric shock in his rounded eyes. He does something close to an incredulous double take, the kind of thing you might do when you coincidentally spot your oldest and best friend who you haven't seen for ages and you can't actually believe they're there. It's a look of Hello you, and Oh my God, it's you, and I can't believe how good it is to see you, all in one. His eyes dart toward the dwindling queue still waiting to board and then back up to me, and it's as if I can hear the thoughts racing through his head. He's wondering if it'd be crazy to get on the bus, what he'd say if we weren't separated by the glass and the hordes, if he'd feel foolish taking the stairs two at a time to get to me. No, I try to relay back. No, you wouldn't feel foolish. I wouldn't let you. Just get on the bloody bus, will you! He's staring right at me, and then a slow smile creeps across his generous mouth, as if he can't hold it in. And then I'm smiling back, giddy almost. I can't help it either. Please get on the bus. He snaps, making a sudden decision, slamming his book closed and shoving it down in the rucksack between his ankles. He's walking forward now, and I hold my breath and press my palm flat against the glass, urging him to hurry even as I hear the sickly hiss of the doors closing and the lurch of the handbrake being released. No! No! Oh God, don't you dare drive away from this stop! It's Christmas! I want to yell, even as the bus pulls out into the traffic and gathers pace, and outside he is breathless standing in the road, watching us leave. I see defeat turn out the light in his eyes, and because it's Christmas and because I've just fallen hopelessly in love with a stranger at a bus stop, I blow him a forlorn kiss and lay my forehead against the glass, watching him until he's out of sight. Then I realize. Shit. Why didn't I take a leaf out of shitty friend's book and write something down to hold up against the window? I could have done that. I could even have written my cell phone number in the condensation. I could have opened the tiny quarter-pane and yelled my name and address or something. I can think of any number of things I could and should have done, yet at the time none of them occurred to me because I simply couldn't take my eyes off him. For onlookers, it must have been an Oscar-worthy sixty-second silent movie. From now on, if anyone asks me if I've ever fallen in love at first sight, I shall say yes, for one glorious minute on December 21, 2008. Excerpted from One Day in December: A Novel by Josie Silver All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.