Sweater Weather {Coming}

Sweater Weather {Coming}

  • WpView
    Reads 751
  • WpVote
    Votes 27
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, May 1, 2014
Is it possible to fall in love with someone, in a matter of two weeks? Coffee addict and sweater/jumper enthusiast, Noelle Johnson, reluctantly, joins her family for her Aunt's Christmas Wedding in the snow top mountains of the French Alps. Noelle is a hopeless romantic. She would rather spend her Christmas in Paris, the City of Love. Noelle hoped she would meet a cute French boy, who would teach her the language of love, whilst they would drink coffee in a vintage Parisian café. Despite being in love, with the idea of love, Noelle has never experienced it. So, imagine her disappointment when she's forced to fly to the not-so-romantic French Alps for her overbearing Aunt's wedding. But, is romance and a chance of love really that far from her? William Mathieu is a handsome, French ski instructor. He runs skiing classes for the hotel 'Le Moreau' in Chamonix, and just so happens to be an excellent teacher. Noelle's cute French boy is closer than she thinks. He's only a ski lift away.
All Rights Reserved
#282
french
WpChevronRight
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
Illustration

You may also like

  • Accidently in love
  • First Kiss, First Love, First Heartbreak
  • Ski Lodge
  • Christmas in the Mountains {Christmas Novelette} ✓
  • SNOW KISSED {NOW PUBLISHED}
  • Snowflakes
  • Staying for the Holiday
  • IN YOUR ARMS I MELT LIKE A SNOW ☆ KIMCHAY AU
  • Snow Boots (#3)
  • Christmas with Nick Klaas

Hello dear people, here I am again. This is a new attempt to bring the chaos and ideas in my head to (digital) paper in a story about friendship, courage, and hope for true love. Trigger Warning: May contain traces of smut, coarse language, mentions of homophobia, illness, and death. --- **The Changing Seasons** Meeting you was like spring. Sun rays, the first green, and delicate blooms of a feeling I thought the snow and cold had buried. Getting to know you was like summer. I began to burn for you, more and more each day, each meeting like a mild evening by the lake that never wanted to end. Seeing you with her was like autumn. The strength that slowly but steadily leaves the leaves. The hope that crumbles and lies on the rain-wet ground. Losing you was like winter. Cold and icy, seemingly never-ending, swallowing every light. And when I thought I'd find joy in the snow masses, they turned into gray, slippery mud. Here comes spring again, hope blossoms anew, only to be torn apart once more.

More details
WpActionLinkContent Guidelines