Emma of 83rd Street


 CONTENTS
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Prologue
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Chapter 28
 Chapter 29
 Chapter 30
 Chapter 31
 Chapter 32
 Chapter 33
 Chapter 34
 Chapter 35
 Epilogue
 Acknowledgments
 About the Authors
 Copyright
 
 
 
 Guide
 
 Cover
 Start of Content
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Prologue
 Epilogue
 Acknowledgments
 About the Authors
 Copyright
 
 
 
 
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 “The best rom-com I’ve ever read.” —Lauren Layne, New York Times bestselling author Emma of 83rd Street A Novel Audrey Bellezza and Emily Harding ADVANCE PRAISE FOR “The best romantic comedy I’ve ever read. A sparkling take on Emma that would make Jane Austen proud.” —Lauren Layne, New York Times bestselling author of Made in Manhattan “Emma of 83rd Street is a compulsive page-turner with excellent slow-burn tension. A friends-to-lovers instant favorite!” —Sarah Hogle, author of You Deserve Each Other “A delightful debut… sweeter than candy.” —Marilyn Simon Rothstein, author of Husbands and Other Sharp Objects “Austenites and rom-com fans rejoice: Emma of 83rd Street is witty, wonderful, and the best retelling of Emma since Clueless. I loved every minute of it.” —Sarvenaz Tash, coauthor of Ghosting: A Love Story To our own leading men, Tom and Mike: Thank you for all our favorite love stories. PROLOGUE It was eight p.m. on Christmas Eve and in New York City that meant three things were certain: the annual Woodhouse Christmas Party was in full swing, the residents of East 83rd Street had already deemed it a roaring success, and Mr. Woodhouse was staring at the buffet table in his dining room in abject horror. “My God, Emma,” he murmured. “How could you do this?” Emma Woodhouse smiled and waved at Mrs. Crawford, who had just arrived and was mingling with the familiar crowd under the archway of fairy lights over the foyer. She didn’t have to follow her father’s gaze down to the carefully curated array of organic canapés and gluten-free desserts to know what he was glaring at. “Dad, it’s just a cheesecake.” “It’s an abomination.” She had anticipated this. It happened last year when he demanded the calorie count for the croquembouche that the caterers had decorated to look like a Christmas tree. The year before that, he had admonished her sister Margo for using real cream on a pavlova. This time, Emma was ready. “But there’s two different fruit platters, too, see? And a vegetable tray on the other end with whole wheat pita bread and hummus.” “Hummus?” he asked hopefully, turning to look further down the table. But then his expression deflated. “It’s next to the sugar cookies.” “Yes, but they’re Fran’s sugar cookies.” He rubbed his temples. “Jesus…” “They’re in the shape of angels, actually,” she said, biting back a smile. “This isn’t funny, Emma. Do you know how much butter is in that recipe?” She was about to tell him that yes, she obviously knew since they had been making them every Christmas since the beginning of time, but before she had the chance, a hand reached between them and grabbed her father’s shoulder. “Henry, these cookies are amazing! Just amazing!” Mrs. Pawloski exclaimed, waving a decapitated angel in her hand and dusting them with crumbs. “I think this is probably my fifth one! Can you believe it? Of course, it’s Christmas so calories don’t count, at least that’s what I’m telling myself!” “Helen, please be careful,” her father said, taking the cookie