{"product_id":"you-with-a-view-isbn-9780593548400","title":"You, with a View","description":"\u003cb\u003e\"Jessica Joyce is a new and forever fave!\"\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eAli Hazelwood\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eA\u003ci\u003e USA TODAY \u003c\/i\u003eBESTSELLER!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne of Amazon's Best Romances of July\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwo high school     enemies must reunite for a road trip inspired by their grandparents’ broken     engagement in this electric debut romance.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Noelle Shepard is unemployed, living with her parents, and grieving the     loss of her beloved grandmother when she discovers decades-old photos of     Gram and a smitten man, tucked alongside a love letter. She creates a     TikTok to search for the mystery man, which goes viral, and she’s shocked     when his grandson responds—a man who happens to be her high school nemesis,     Theo Spencer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Noelle refuses to let Theo’s annoying accomplishments in adulthood—or his     sexy smirk—stand in the way of meeting his grandfather and unlocking the     secrets he knew about her gram as a young woman. When she learns that their     plans to elope were thwarted, Noelle decides to take the honeymoon road     trip they planned but never got to carry out. There’s a catch, though:     Paul, Theo's grandfather, asks to come with her, and he insists that Theo     join them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’ll be a miracle if they make it through the trip without Noelle throwing     Theo out of the moving car—or the bed they end up sharing. As the miles     tick by, the tension simmers hotter between them...until she discovers that     Theo’s hiding a secret that could cause their tenuous relationship to end     before it can restart.\"Jessica Joyce has gifted all of us with an electrifying debut, and the perfect summer read! If you love your flirting paired with a healthy dose of roasting, rivals turned lovers, road trips that become journeys of self discovery, hilarious but sexy banter, and steamy love stories, this is the beach read you want to pick up! A million out of five stars!\"\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eAli Hazelwood, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eLove, Theoretically\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sometimes all it takes to get back on track is a road trip with your oldest rival . . . Jessica Joyce's debut, \u003ci\u003eYou, with a View\u003c\/i\u003e, stole my heart and had me absolutely sweating at the chemistry between Theo and Noelle. I will never see a vintage red Bronco, a TikTok travel video, or a man's thighs the same way again.\"\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eAlicia Thompson, national bestselling author of \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eLove in the Time of Serial Killers\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Stunningly heartfelt and sexy beyond words. Jessica Joyce writes with a deeply empathetic pen, drawing each character with profound tenderness and crafting the perfect amount of rivals-to-reluctant-road-trip-companions-to-lovers tension — incidentally, my new favorite trope. I want to live inside this book.\"\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eRachel Lynn Solomon, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eWeather Girl\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“You, with a View\u003c\/i\u003e is angsty, atmospheric perfection. While navigating grief's pain as well as its transformative power, this road trip romance is an unforgettable journey of tenderhearted healing, scorching chemistry, and divinely witty banter.”\u003cb\u003e—Chloe Liese, author of \u003ci\u003eTwo Wrongs Make a Right\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Jessica Joyce's debut is a treasure! \u003ci\u003eYou, With a View\u003c\/i\u003e is a romantic adventure that will make you want to pack your bags and take a chance on love. This heartwarming love story is a gift for romance readers who want to laugh, cry, and swoon.\"\u003cb\u003e—Denise Williams, author of \u003ci\u003eDo You Take This Man\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eYou, with a View\u003c\/i\u003e is a sexy-as-hell romance that I couldn’t put down, a heartfelt tribute to the love of grandparents, and an achingly relatable exploration of the search for “success” in your twenties. Noelle and Theo’s road trip is as epic as their emotional journey, leaving my heart a happy, mushy mess by the end. I love this book.”\u003cb\u003e—Anita Kelly, author of \u003ci\u003eLove \u0026amp; Other Disasters \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e Something Wild \u0026amp; Wonderful\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Jessica Joyce wields razor-sharp prose with emotional poignancy and the perfect dose of unbelievable romantic tension with spice to create an instant classic in the romance genre. I’ll read anything she writes.”\u003cb\u003e—Mazey Eddings, author of\u003ci\u003e The Plus One\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You, with a View\u003c\/i\u003e is the total package: swoony, sexy, funny, and profoundly moving. Noelle and Theo’s irresistible chemistry had me tearing through the pages, and the depth and beauty of Jessica Joyce’s writing lingered with me long after I finished. This is a book that nestles deep into your heart and stays there.”\u003cb\u003e—Ava Wilder, author of \u003ci\u003eHow to Fake it in Hollywood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Simultaneously escapist and deeply intimate, \u003ci\u003eYou, with a View\u003c\/i\u003e is a love story about soulmates–both romantic and familial–and the importance of seizing the present while honoring the past. Debut author Jessica Joyce’s prose and voice shine on every page, threading her leads’ simmering tension and tangible chemistry through a vividly drawn travel adventure. The result is a soul-satisfying romance about the genesis of beautiful things out of grief, and of two people discovering that what they truly seek has been there on the journey with them all along.”\u003cb\u003e—Jen Devon, author of Bend Toward the Sun\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“If you’re looking for excellent banter in your romances, look no further. This book balances big emotions with lots of tension and joy.”\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A stunningly emotional debut that wrapped itself around my heart from page one. Brimming with BIG GRANDPARENT ENERGY and crackling chemistry, this road trip romance is guaranteed to sweep you off your feet!\"\u003cb\u003e—Amy Lea, author of \u003ci\u003eSet on You\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Joyce's delightful debut skillfully blends love stories from two different times with a photo-ready travel tale.\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"With crisp prose and twisty plotting, this romp should win Joyce many fans.\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eJessica Joyce\u003c\/b\u003e is the bestselling author of relatable, character-driven contemporary romance stories that feature as much yearning as she can stuff into them. When she's not working on a new book, you can find her making a playlist, watching \u003ci\u003eSleepless in Seattle \u003c\/i\u003eand the 2005 version of \u003ci\u003ePride \u0026amp; Prejudice \u003c\/i\u003eon repeat, or curled up with a book she didn't have to write.One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I wake up to two million views.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I don't know it at first. With my eyes closed, my hand traverses the obstacle course of cups, food wrappers, and ChapStick tubes on my nightstand to find my phone. All I want is to know the time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Or maybe I don't. From the sunlight piercing my screwed-shut eyelids, it's embarrassingly late.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My fingers wrap around the charger cord, and I drag the phone across the nightstand, knocking the ChapSticks down like bowling pins.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Whatever. Future Noelle can deal with that mess.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I finally get a hand on my prize and illuminate the screen. But instead of the time, my bleary eyes snag on an avalanche of TikTok notifications. Even as I blink at the astronomical number, it keeps ticking, growing by five, by seventeen, by forty-two.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What the hell,\" I croak.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then I remember: my video.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My already sleep-weak grip fails me, and the phone drops onto my face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The door flies open at my pained howl. Through watery eyes, I make out the general shape of my mom. \"Noelle, what in the world?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e If this were a sitcom, this is where it would freeze: on me, twenty-eight years old, rolling around in my childhood bed, blinded in a freak iPhone accident after going viral on a social media app meant for teenagers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The only thing that doesn't make me want to die inside is how many people have seen this video. My heart skips a beat. Maybe even the right person.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I knife into a seated position, my fingers pressed against my aching orbital bone as I fumble for my phone. From the doorway, Mom watches in bafflement, decked out in Peloton gear instead of a power suit. Must be Saturday.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Are you okay?\" Brown eyes that match mine slide to the bike in the corner of the room. On the wall, a neon sign cheers be awesome.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I can tell she's dying to turn it on. I wish I could tear it down. Nothing like waking up to aggressive positivity every morning when you're a grown adult who had to move back into your parents' house after getting laid off from a job you didn't even like.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yes, Mom, I'm great.\" I sigh, a headache blooming. \"Just dropped my phone on my face.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Sorry, sweetie. Hey! Since you're up, I'm going to get a quick ride in.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She says all of this in one breath, already at the bike with her special, extra-loud shoes in hand. The number of times she's woken me clacking across the hardwood these past four months can't be counted on all my appendages. It's not her fault she turned my childhood bedroom into a shrine to her two-thousand-dollar bike, though. None of us anticipated I'd be here again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Do your thing.\" I burrow back under my duvet and pull up my account on TikTok, my heart pounding.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Right there, on my latest video posted just over a week ago, is the number of views: 2.3 million. There are over four hundred thousand likes and sixteen hundred comments.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Holy shit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What the hell happened? When I fell asleep at nine last night, I held steady at a paltry eighty likes. And, most crushingly, no comments.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My expectations were low, but they should've been lower. I created the account last September on a bored whim, then started posting my photography after seeing other photography accounts take off, though no one gave a shit about mine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But hope starts with a seed, right? At least, that's what my gram used to tell me with a wink.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I keep all of the advice she gave me tucked in my pocket for when I need it, which was often before her death, and near constant now that she's gone. She was a fixture in my life from the start, the person I turned to when anything happened, good or bad. It's unconventional to call a grandparent your best friend, but Gram was mine from the time I knew what best friends were.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It took two months after she died before I could look at pictures of her without instantly crying. I have a voicemail of her singing \"Happy Birthday\" that I can't listen to, even six months later.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But this video-the one that now has millions of views-is as much a love letter to her as it is a question to the universe. Or a plea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When you find out your grandmother had a secret lover when she was twenty, you want to know more. And when she's not around to answer the tornado of questions that kicked up the second you pulled those pictures out of a timeworn envelope in a box transferred from a dusty corner in her garage? Well, you have to find alternate means.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My dad was my first stop. I asked if he knew anything about Gram's romantic history, keeping it vague. I had to tread lightly-if he didn't know about the relationship, it might upset him. His grief was still as raw as mine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It was only ever Pop for her, and Mom for him. She always talked about how he was her greatest love,\" he told me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His parents' relationship has always been a point of pride. Their love story set his own expectations sky-high, turning him into a hopeless romantic, and those expectations trickled down. It was a long-standing joke in our family-if it's not like Gram and Grandpa Joe, we don't want it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dad's eyes had narrowed with curiosity, maybe suspicion, at my ensuing silence. \"Where'd that question come from?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Oh, nowhere,\" I said while a picture of her and another man burned a hole in the back pocket of my jeans.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So, Dad was out. And if he was out, everyone else in my family was, too. They'd just turn around and tell him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I'd spent enough time on TikTok to know it was equal parts useless and transformative-insipid dance routines mixed with reunion videos that made me sob into my pillow at two a.m. If I posted the information I'd found and made it compelling enough, there was a chance someone would see it. There was a chance someone would know.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Maybe they'd know something about the collection of photos and the single letter Gram squirreled away for over sixty years. Maybe they'd know the handsome man in the pictures with wavy dark hair and a deep dimple named Paul-it was written on the back of the pictures in a steadier version of her loop-happy handwriting, along with the years: 1956 and 1957.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She married Grandpa Joe in 1959 after a whirlwind romance. I know their story by heart-Gram loved to tell it to me. But she never uttered Paul's name, not once, and that's strange. We played a game we affectionately called Tell Me a Secret constantly. I always told her mine, and she told me hers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So I thought.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Before gathering up the nerve to look at the comments and confirm whether my answer is there, I decide to rewatch the video.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I press my thumb to the screen, and it starts up, playing the Lord Huron song I chose for maximum heartstring pullage. The text I added overlays each picture I hold up in the frame, the chipped mint polish on my thumb a stark contrast to the black-and-white prints.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There's a bite of grief looking at her face, which in its youth looked so much like mine. The architecture of our features is the same; people have always told us that. Twins separated by fifty or so years. Soulmates born in different decades.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The first picture is Gram and Paul standing in front of a house I don't recognize. The text on the screen reads: My grandmother passed away recently. I found these pictures of her and a man I never knew.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then it's them at the beach, her looking up at Paul with a flirty grin on her face: The only info I have is his name is Paul and they knew each other in Glenlake, CA, sometime around 1956.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Next, it's a picture of them embracing, her cheek pressed against his chest, eyes closed: Her name is Kathleen, and I believe she was twenty in these photos.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The last is Paul sitting at a picnic table, his chin propped in his hand, gazing into the camera in a way that reveals who was behind it: This is a long shot, but if you recognize him, please reach out. Gram never mentioned him, but he looks important. I really need to hear their story.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There's a thread of commonality running through each picture: they were always looking at each other and smiling. Often in each other's arms. In many of the shots, Gram was looking up at Paul with hearts in her eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And his heart clearly belonged to her. If I hadn't known it by the way he looked at her, the letter he wrote said it out loud.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I peel back the duvet to make sure Mom is still occupied. There's sweat dripping down her face, her attention laser-focused on the screen in front of her. I might as well not be here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Perfect. I pull out the letter I stashed under my spare pillow, smoothing over a crease with my thumb.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e July 1, 1957\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dearest Kat,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I understand why we can't elope. I truly do. I just want you to be well.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The end of our relationship won't stop me from loving you for the rest of my life. I don't know if that helps or hurts. The only thing I ask is that you remember what we promised each other: never forget our time together, and think of it with happiness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I promised you it would be okay, do you remember? And it will.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yours always,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Paul\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I can say with certainty no one has ever loved me like that. So why did she say goodbye?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I've never put my face or voice in anything I've uploaded. Even my username is anonymous, just user and a random mix of numbers. But now Gram and Paul's faces are there, and 2.3 million people have seen it, and I don't feel bad. My grandmother loved this man, but I can't ask her anything. She can't tell me this secret.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So, if Paul is still alive, I hope he'll tell me for her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I slip the letter back into its hiding place, then flip onto my back, picking my phone up to go comment diving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But before I can get there, the duvet is unceremoniously ripped off my head. For the second time today, I drop my phone on my face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Fuck!\" I yell, covering my face with my hands. My flailing legs connect with a body.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Fuck back!\" The familiar voice groans. \"You got me in the balls!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I can't hear Cody's instructions!\" Mom puffs over the instructor's shouts and her Lamaze-adjacent breathing pattern.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I uncover my face to find my younger brother, Thomas, doubled over, his forehead resting on my bed, hands tucked between his legs. His breathing pattern is Lamaze-adjacent, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the middle of all the ruckus, my dad pokes his blond head through my doorway, a bright smile on his face. \"Does anyone want eggs Benny? I thought we could do brunch since Thomas is here.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I rip my scrunched duvet out from under Thomas's head, yanking it back over my legs. \"I would love everyone to get out of my room. Remember my rule about not being in here when I don't have pants on?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'm almost done,\" Mom pants. \"I'm about to PR.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Thomas groans.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e God, same. My good eye strays back to my phone as a slew of notifications bubble up onscreen. I'm desperate to check, but I don't dare in a room full of Shepards who don't know about any of this.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Thomas rebounds, his sea-green eyes turning sharp with curiosity as he sees my lit-up screen. Looking at him is like looking in a mirror, minus the eleven months between us; we have the same honey-blond hair and dark eyebrows, but my eyes are the color of coffee dregs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He nods his chin toward my phone. \"What's going on?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I flip it on its face. \"Nothing.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Your Tinder blowing up, Beans?\" He smirks. \"What a catch.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dad has disappeared to start on the eggs Benedict, and Mom is busy celebrating the end of her ride, along with her PR. I take a risk, putting both of my middle fingers in Thomas's face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Knock it off, you two,\" Mom says, out of breath.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Thomas cackles, sliding out the door. If I didn't have chronic back pain, I'd swear I was fifteen again. Being in this house makes us both regress.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mom jumps off the bike, an exhilarated smile on her face. She turns to the be awesome sign behind her, pulling the string. It only gets illuminated if she feels it's deserved. It zaps on, the pink light turning her face even redder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her dark hair is damp around the edges of her ponytail, and her eyes go soft when they meet mine. Same as they always do lately.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You good?\" she asks, and it's not perfunctory, exactly, but we both know I'm not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Still, I say my line with ease. \"Yep.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her quiet sigh indicates she doesn't believe me. Fair. I don't, either. \"Well, it's eleven, so maybe you want to get out of bed?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Be awesome, indeed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e The unread comments whisper urgently all through brunch. I shovel my dad’s eggs Benedict into my mouth, nearly choking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Just what I need, death by Canadian bacon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I'm tempted to pull my phone out no less than one million times, but it'll invite questions I'm not prepared to answer. My family is nosy on a regular day. Since I had to move home, they've turned into helicopters, clearly concerned that I'm one job rejection email away from losing my shit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I finish my breakfast in record time, slamming my fork down like I'm the winner of a Benny-eating contest no one else entered. \"Done, see you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Why, do you have plans?\" Thomas asks over the screech of my chair and around a mouthful of food.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Why, does it matter?\" I shoot back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He lifts an eyebrow. \"I just got here, and you're already ditching me?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Mas, you slither up from the city whenever Sadie has plans that don't involve you. I'm sure I'll see you in mere days.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I don't slither,\" he grumbles, though his expression softens at the mention of his longtime girlfriend-and my best friend. The softness is replaced by mischief as he pulls a magazine from his lap, curled open to a specific page. \"We didn't have time to discuss this.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What, that Maxim still exists or that you're still subscrib-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What I'm looking at sinks in, and I snatch the magazine from Thomas's hand with a gasp.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300266692837,"sku":"NP9780593548400","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593548400.jpg?v=1767744779","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/you-with-a-view-isbn-9780593548400","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}