Perhaps you dialed the wrong number or were given the wrong number. Maybe you can't read the number written for you and then again, maybe they made it illegible on purpose. No matter the reason, it isn't hard to imagine a sending or receiving a text to the wrong person. This series of books jumps into the lives affected by wayward texting to find out where it could take any one of us.
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By Kimberly Montague. Morgan Edwards has been through a lot: being left at the altar by a man trying to use her, losing her mother to Cancer, and now she's trying to keep her mom's dream alive by running the Victorian inn they spent years restoring together. Her world is such a mess that she has no time for distractions.
But when it feels like things are hopeless, an accidental text message manages to pull her out of this pit of despair and infuse a little excitement into her life. Sean Wilder has it all: fame, fortune, and a very long list of ladies who've shared his bed. But what he finds in the girl he accidentally texts is entirely unexpected.
Too accustomed to a world where everyone has an ulterior motive, he's taken aback by Morgan's honesty, her sincerity, and her struggle to do everything on her own despite the incredibly tough spot she's in.
While similar life experiences draw them to one another, can they fit together when Morgan finds out Sean's true identity? And can she find a way to fit next to him in the spotlight? My ears flamed, and I closed my eyes as I stood in line, knowing the blue-haired old bitty was talking about me. Cerise was my right-hand girl, my best friend, my most trusted employee, and family all in one. She and I typically stopped for gourmet coffee at Questia's on supply-run days. I was entirely addicted to the Phenomenal ChocoMocha with low-fat whipped cream.
Questia's was just a small coffee shop that could technically be considered in competition with my inn. But since they sold my chef, Annalisa St. Croix's, muffins and pastries, it was still good business to patronize them.
The only down side to the Phenomenal ChocoMocha was enduring the old bitties who spent all morning occupying the only two tables inside Questia's as they sipped their tea and gossiped shamelessly.
Brent Foster was his name. The way Mrs. Martinetti put her hand to the side of her mouth as if trying to hide her words, but then spoke loud enough to be heard over both blenders had me clenching my fists. He had such strong hands. I tried not to let her words sink in, but my subconscious had already internalized them, leaving me cringing at the memory of Brent's strong hands and exactly what they'd been capable of.
I successfully pushed that aside in favor of focusing on my annoyance at the bitties. Their gossiping had bugged me even before they started targeting me, but now it almost turned me off of my Phenomenal ChocoMocha. I had to be the better person. Cerise's shoulder-length blonde hair sliced through the air as she turned to glare at them.
I didn't have to look at her to know that her blue eyes had gone steely with anger. As my best friend, she took it as her duty to defend me.
I put my hand on her shoulder and shook my head softly as Rachel, the barista, held out our cups. Hoping to avoid any more button-pushing from the bitties, I hurried Cerise to the door. Just as I was walking over the threshold, I took a deep breath, thinking I was home free. Morgan dear, can we ask you just a quick question?
Larson's super sweet voice immediately told me this would not make me happy. Still, I turned toward her. The glare from her thick, silver rimmed glasses thankfully obscured the eyes I knew were judging me.
I pulled up the corners of my mouth and settled my customer service mask over my features. Yes, Mrs. We were just wondering approximately how many, well, how to ask this— She turned to Mrs. Martinetti then leaned close to Mrs. Achere, giggling annoyingly. How many male patrons enjoy the amenities that you, she cleared her throat before continuing, offer them? Old, mean, nasty, snaggle-toothed, prune-faced— I took a very deep breath and stepped forward, preventing Cerise from coming back in the coffee shop.
Be Mom , I told myself. Just be Mom. I really wanted to smack the snickering right off their old, wrinkly faces, but I didn't. I maintained my smile. I kept my eyes down at the ground, reciting the familiar kids' rhyme, Step on a crack, break your mother's back , hoping it would keep my mind off the spiteful old women unwilling to keep their mouths shut. Why do you let them say those things?
Cerise asked as she pulled her red wool coat more tightly around her. Why don't you just tell them where they can shove their noses? I sighed, tired of the conversation already. It was the same one we had almost every morning we went out for supplies.
Because I'm a business owner, Cerise—I can't do whatever I want to. I'm not some kid who can mouth off to everyone she wants—. Hey, I resent that. The way she stared down at her coffee, adjusting the lid told me she wasn't just being dramatic. I didn't mean you. I just mean, ugh. I ran my hand through my hair for the hundredth time and tried to focus on Barclay's pink and red awnings.
Jensen of Jensen's Hardware next door to Barclay's had a fit for several months about the awnings, deeming them an eyesore and a public distraction since most of the rest of the main street had hunter green awnings.
Castleton wasn't a big town in Vermont, but we were a lively group with plenty of small town issues, some humorous and some not. I scrubbed my face with my hand and tried to get my mind back on diffusing Cerise.
I can't be young and impetuous anymore. I have to think about what's good for the business, and right now, I don't think pissing off a couple of my very few customers is going to help me make enough money to keep The Olde English up and running. She drew herself up, standing tall—well, relatively speaking, since she was still two inches shorter than my height of 5'4. I'm young and impetuous. She turned from me, moving back toward the coffee shop. She wrapped her fingers around her designer handbag and looked like she might use it as a weapon.
Nothing is stopping me from telling them they're a bunch of mean old hags," she called back. Stop, Cerise. You'll only make it worse. She took two more steps away from me, and I could feel my heartbeat kick up into a light panic. I so did not need this. Please, Cerise. She stopped with her back to me and let her shoulders slump. Slowly, she turned around and walked back to my side.
I just don't understand why you let them get away with it. They shouldn't be bringing Brent up after what he did. And they sure as hell shouldn't be asking how many male patrons you have. I mean come on now. That insinuation is even below their standards. You know they told Alvin that they were glad your mom isn't around to see the way you've turned her inn into a brothel? A brothel, Morgan! Yet they come in every freaking Tuesday and have their stupid quilting meeting in our tearoom.
I did my best to keep my voice even so as not to encourage her. I know all about what they said. I also know Alvin stood up for me, right?
Her beautiful red wool coat looked so bright and cheery against my gray one, and I momentarily envied her ability to wear it.
With my copper-colored hair and peach skin tone, red just made me look almost blob-like. I stuck with more subdued colors. But that was how we worked, Cerise and me. She was outgoing and ostentatious, and I was happy to stand back a bit and enjoy her energy. I wasn't a wallflower or anything, just a little more conservative than Cerise tended to be. She shook her head, smiling wide. He looked Mrs. Larson up and down like he looks at you and ran his finger down her arm. He said, 'Really? Is that why you're there every week, Betty?
You just tell me your usual day, and I'll be glad to patronize the business.
Accidental Texting: Finding Love despite the Spotlight
By Kimberly Montague. Morgan Edwards has been through a lot: being left at the altar by a man trying to use her, losing her mother to Cancer, and now she's trying to keep her mom's dream alive by running the Victorian inn they spent years restoring together. Her world is such a mess that she has no time for distractions. But when it feels like things are hopeless, an accidental text message manages to pull her out of this pit of despair and infuse a little excitement into her life.
Accidental Texting: Finding Love Despite the Spotlight