New Release_ Lessons from a Two Year Old by Pete Abela

Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com 
Genre: FICTION / Romance / Contemporary
Release Date: November 6, 2014
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-067-1 ISBN 10:1631120670
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-068-8 ISBN 10:1631120689
Purchase link : http://www.5princebooks.com/buy-links...

Lessons from a Two Year Old 
Johnny, an IT geek, still lives at home with his parents. When his brother and sister-in-law help a sick friend, he gets coerced into babysitting his two year old niece, Zoe, on a weekly basis. Johnny reluctantly takes on the challenge with humourous and often near-disastrous results. Over time, Zoe's independence-seeking and outgoing personality inspires Johnny to try to improve his health, his fashion sense and even his love life. However, after a couple of setbacks, Johnny wonders if it’s worth the effort and retreats to his former habits. Can Zoe show him the way to true love?



About Pete Abela 

Pete heralds from the city of Wollongong, just south of Sydney in the state of New South Wales, Australia, where he lives with his wife and four kids. His love of reading eventually led him to take up writing, a difficult task which presents rewards and challenges in equal measure. Lessons from a Two Year Old is Pete’s third book and follows A Painted Room (2014) and Wings (2012).
When he’s not working, reading, writing or enjoying the company of his family, Pete likes to sneak away for a bit of exercise – either tennis, golf or a refreshing swim. 
You can find more about Pete at his website and blog (http://peteabela.com). The blog contains a number of bad jokes and puns. You have been warned.

http://www.facebook.com/PeteAbela 
Twitter: @PeteAbela
Website: http://www.peteabela.com 
Blog: http://blog.peteabela.com 



Excerpt of Lessons from a Two Year Old 
CHAPTER ONE

Johnny reached out with an unseeing hand, knocking his spectacles off the bedside table and bumping the reading light. He fumbled about, exhaling a sigh of satisfaction when his fingers grasped the vibrating phone. He slid the icon across the screen to answer it, silencing the standard ring-tone.
"H-hullo?" he mumbled in a drowsy tone.
Running his left hand through his tousled dark hair, his eyes remained obstinately closed.
"Hi, Johnny. It's me. Brian. I haven't interrupted anything, have I?"
Johnny opened his eyes and looked across the wide expanse of his king size bed. He lay close to the right hand side. The greater part of the quilt was smooth and undisturbed.
"Just my sleep," replied Johnny. 
“You haven’t spoken to me for months. What’s so important that you have to call me at this time of day?”
"Oh, sorry. We've been up for hours. Zoe came in and woke us up at five thirty."
Johnny shuddered. "Inhumane. What's the time now?"
"It's nine thirty. Did you have a big night?"
Johnny frowned. "You could say that. I was playing World of Warcraft and didn't finish until three thirty."
"No wonder you're sleeping in." Brian paused. "Listen, do you want me to ring back a bit later?"
Johnny pulled himself upright. His eyes wandered over the darkened bedroom. It was a large room. In addition to the king-sized bed, a pine desk in the corner held a computer monitor, keyboard and large speakers. Next to it sat a matching bookcase, full of messily stacked books. The doors to the built-in wardrobe were open, revealing half-opened drawers, overflowing with scrunched up T-shirts and single socks. The floor was cluttered with a backpack and the clothes Johnny had discarded before hopping into bed. He sighed.
"No, it's alright. I'm awake now."
"Good. I was calling to ask you a favor."
"I'm listening."
"You know Amber's friend has cancer?"
"Uh, yeah. I think I remember you mentioning something about that. Chrystal, right?"
"Christine."
"Go on."
"Well, Amber has been trying to support her, but it's difficult with Zoe always under her feet. We were talking about it last night, and we came up with an idea about how we can help."
Brian paused. Johnny waited silently for him to continue.
"We thought we could go over to her place for a few hours every weekend. Amber can spend some time with her; just talking, or if she's up to it, go for a walk or catch a movie."
"That sounds nice."
"Since she lives on her own and has been so sick with the chemo, she hasn't been able to do any work around the house. The grass is long, the gardens are full of weeds and the place is looking rather dishevelled. We also thought I could go over when Amber does and spend the time fixing up her place."
Johnny nodded. "That’s thoughtful. I'm sure Christine will be grateful."
"There's only one problem."
"What's that?"
"Zoe. I can't supervise her if I'm doing yard work, and if she's with Amber, it'll defeat the purpose of spending some quality one on one time with her."
Johnny frowned. "And you're telling me this because?"
"We thought you could look after Zoe."
Johnny laughed. "Me? Look after Zoe? Are you nuts? I wouldn't know the first thing about looking after a kid."
"It's not hard. Now she's two, she's so much more independent."
"What about Mum?"
"She plays her tennis competition on Sunday. Zoe has a sleep every afternoon, so if we do it at that time of day, you might not have to do anything at all. She often sleeps for a couple of hours."
Johnny threw the quilt off and scratched his crotch. "Don't you have any other friends who can do this?"
"We did consider them, but most have activities on the weekend." Brian coughed. "You're the only one we could think of who is always free."
"I'm not always free," protested Johnny. "It wasn't long ago I caught up with my high school friends."
"About four months ago," Brian corrected. "I remember because you were late getting to Amber's birthday."
Johnny scratched his head again. "Are you sure there's no one else."
"Quite sure."
"And are you sure you want me, your little brother Johnny - the one you said doesn't have a single paternal instinct - to look after your precious first born?"
"We think it'll be good for Zoe to get to know her uncle."
Johnny threw himself back on the pillow. "If you need to do this, and if there's no one else, then, I guess -"
"Great, Johnny. Thanks very much."
The sound of a screaming child came down the phone. "Listen, I've got to go now. Zoe needs me.  We'll see you after lunch. Say, one o'clock?"
Before Johnny could reply, Brian spoke again.
"Great. See you then."
The phone went silent. Johnny threw it onto the bed with a curse. Pulling the sheets over himself, he lay down, closing his eyes.
"What now?" he mumbled to himself, as the sound of a gentle knocking on the door invaded his senses.
"Johnny, dear. Are you awake? I thought I heard you talking."
The door opened a crack, letting a shaft of bright light into the cavernous interior of Johnny's room.
Johnny squinted. "Mum, is that you?"
The door opened wide, flooding the room with light. "Hi, Johnny. I thought I heard your voice. I'm just about to go to tennis."
Johnny's mother, Janice, wore a short blue skirt, a light pink top and a white cap. She was tall and slim, with tanned arms and legs.
"OK, Mum. Have a good time."
Janice lingered. "Were you talking to someone, dear?"
Johnny sat up again. "Just Brian," he mumbled.
"What did he want?"
"He asked me to look after Zoe today."
Janice's face broke into a wide smile. "That's lovely, dear. What did you say?"
"He talked me into it - eventually."
"Good luck. I'll be interested to hear how you go." She backed out of the room with a cheery wave, leaving the door open.
Johnny sighed. There was no way he could get back to sleep now. For one thing, the room was filled with light. The two conversations had also woken him up. He crawled out of bed and hit a button on the computer, bringing the screen to light. He logged onto RedHotPawn, his favorite chess site. He had thirty-seven games in progress, and he quickly scrolled through each of them. He took no more than thirty seconds to analyze each board and make his move, despite the fact that each game was with a different player and at a different stage. By the time he had completed his move on each game, some of his opponents had made their move, so he spent a few more minutes making follow up moves.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he walked down the hall to the kitchen. The sight did nothing to improve his mood. The face staring back at him belonged to a male in his late twenties, with messy black hair and a few days of scraggy growth on his cheeks and chin. The face was supported by a scrawny neck, narrow shoulders, a round belly and skinny legs. He poured a large bowl of Cocoa Pops and took them back to his room.
He ate sitting at his computer desk, his attention focused on the screen as he shoveled large mouthfuls into his mouth. He paid no attention to the drops of milk and individual pieces of cereal dropping onto the desk and floor. When he finished the bowl he burped, then shuffled back down the hall to the kitchen to refill it.
Re-entering the room, he shut his bedroom door, restoring the room to its cave-like state, and hunched down into his chair. He sat almost motionless for a number of hours. The only things moving were his hands dancing from keyboard to mouse and back again, and his eyes, which scanned the screen relentlessly. He had numerous windows open - he played multiple games of chess in one, World of Warcraft in another, chatted to strangers in a third and watched a movie in the fourth.
The phone rang and he turned away from the screen with an annoyed grunt. He looked at the caller ID.
"Hello again, Brian."
"Johnny. Where the hell are you? You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago."
Johnny looked at the clock in the bottom corner of the screen. One twenty. He swore. "Sorry, Brian. I lost track of time. I'll be there in ten."