Accidental Texting: Finding Love despite the Spotlight

by Kimberly Montague

  Okay, point taken. You seem nice. You seem like you've had a tough time. I'd like to help.

  Still doesn't make sense to me.

  I don't have any ulterior motives here, sweetie. I've got friends who sit around bored.

  Another message lit up my screen immediately. It'd be nice to help someone out who isn't begging for it. Someone who deserves help.

  A handful of messages is enough to tell him I'm deserving? I wasn't sold on that, but a handful of text messages was more than enough to make me suspicious again. You sure are quick to pass judgment on people.

  I'm actually a very good judge of character, sweetheart.

  Really? And how do you see your own character?

  Touche. And you're just pushing me away because you want so badly to do everything on your own..

  Him accusing me of being some man-hating, overly independent woman who refused to take help from anyone pissed me off, but when he phrased it that way, that I "wanted so badly to do everything on my own," well he was pretty right. Touche.

  I actually really admire you're stubborn independence. Haven't met someone like you in a while. You took my mind off my own crap, let me do something small to help you.

  I don't know.

  Look, I can always get him to hack your site and change it for you anyway, you know? :)

  He was really pushy, but for some reason I couldn't quite explain, I liked the guy. Do you ever give up?

  Nope. Email your info. It's the least I can do for pestering you all morning with text messages about my sex life.

  I laughed at that, almost forgetting it was what led me to start talking to him. No, that was entertaining. You took my mind off my own crap, too… a meeting with my financial advisor to be exact.

  Then I'm both sorry and glad. Sorry for the meeting, and I'm always happy to entertain. It's what I do.

  Now was a good time to appease my curiosity. Are you a photographer?

  Not entirely.

  An athlete?

  Sometimes.

  Well I wasn't about to play twenty questions here. Okay, what do you do?

  A little of this and a little of that.

  Seriously? That was all he was going to give me. You aren't going to tell me when I've just spilled my guts to you?

  Hmm. Let's leave that conversation for another day. Tell me about the inn.

  Another day? He planned on texting me again? That was a little sus—but was it really suspicious? Didn't people meet up in bars and have short conversations that led to going out? Not that we were going out or anything remotely close, but I supposed it wasn't a stretch to make a new acquaintance through texting. People did it online all the time.

  "Morgan!" Cerise yelled from the other room. "Annalisa needs to talk to you, but she says she's too busy with the wedding cake samples."

  "Okay, I'm coming!" I yelled back

  I have to go. Duty calls.

  Email me later with your info or I'll keep bugging you. asshatsghw007@mail.com

  I laughed out loud at that and got up, walking toward the kitchen as I typed. Asshat? At least you admit it. Poor Michelle.

  You sure you aren't a friend of hers?

  No, but I don't have to be a friend to be a fellow female who's been burned by a guy.

  For the record, we didn't have a commitment to each other AND she screwed her personal assistant twice and who knows how many others!

  So that's what PA stands for. But why did she have a personal assistant? Maybe they were both actors or CEOs of some major company, and I hadn't even considered fashion designers. I could imagine designers probably got pretty annoyed by models.

  Yes. And in my world, that's what a lot of them do.

  I stood outside the kitchen door, finishing my conversation like some sort of secretive teenager hiding her texts to the boy she isn't supposed to see. It made me chuckle. I'd actually laughed a few times since his first text, and on a day when I was ready to bawl my eyes out, that was a pleasant surprise. Still, I wanted to know more. He said, "in my world." It begged the question I typed. What world is that?

  Another time, sweetheart, another time.

  Right. Bye.

  Bye.

  Sean—No Last Name

  "What are you smiling at?" Cerise came up behind me, looking over my shoulder. "I haven't seen you smile like that in a while. Who are you talking—is that that guy?" She wiggled her eyebrows in a suggestive way.

  "Stop. I was just chatting."

  "With that guy? Mr. Can't-Keep-it-in-His-Pants? Are you pretending to be Michelle?"

  "No! Of course not," I scolded. That she would think I would do such a thing was a shock. Now her, she would definitely go through with something like that. "He didn't believe me that I wasn't Michelle so I told him to go to our website and—" I rolled my eyes and handed her the phone. "Just read it for yourself. I have to go check on Annalisa's meltdown."

  She quickly turned on the screen and pushed buttons. Her entire focus was on my phone as she followed me into the kitchen.

  "Okay, Annalisa. Where's the fire?"

  "I can't work under these conditions, Morgan. You know I can't. She wants teal inside the cake? Inside the cake? In—side?" She was waving her hands around like a crazy woman with her bouncy blonde curls coming loose from the braids here and there as she shook her head vehemently.

  "Calm down. We talked about this. Whatever she wants, she gets. She's the bride."

  "She's delusional. Do you know how disgusting teal cake is going to look? It'll look like a swamp monster threw up inside." She put her hands on her waist and blew a curl away from her eye.

  It took a great deal of restraint not to laugh at her. With her little button nose and soft blue eyes, it wasn't possible for her to look mean although how she managed to become a good-natured adult, I had no idea. In high school, she was very overweight. Cerise and I were always close to fighting someone or other because they'd said something cruel and incredibly hurtful to Annalisa about her weight. But as she got older and moved out of her parents' house, she changed her eating habits and became more active, resulting in healthy curves. To me, she looked amazing and perfect, but she was still incredibly shy around guys, and I worried that she'd always harbor some fear that they would make fun of her.

  I put on my best, lets-just-remain-calm face and put my arm around her shoulders. "She gave you free reign on the flavor, so make it the most delicious gangrene cake anyone has ever had."

  She stared at me from the corner of her eye. "Very funny. I just don't see why—"

  "Because we need this income, Annalisa." I moved away from her and sat down heavily on the stool by the door. I hated sounding so desperate. I put my fingers to my temples, squeezing hard and closing my eyes. When I looked back up, I could see the guilt in her eyes, which just made me feel worse. "I'm really sorry, Annalisa. We just can't be choosey right now."

  She nodded and pushed her chin up. "They won't be able to resist my almond sponge cake, and I can easily drop some disgusting teal dye into it."

  I let out a breath and rolled my shoulders back. "Thank you, Annalisa."

  "But I am not putting gold ducks on the cake." I let out a very loud groan, but she put her hands up, smiling. "Okay, but they'll be really small."

  I nodded and walked back out of the kitchen, Cerise on my heels.

  "This guy is cute," she said dreamily.

  I stopped abruptly and turned to look at her like the crazy person she was. She nearly plowed into the back of me.

  Her shrug contained a sort of practiced innocence that was completely guilty. "What?"

  "How in the—" I closed my eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath before trying again. "How would you know he's cute?"

  "The way he talks. I bet he's gorgeous. He's confident, obviously sexy or he wouldn't have gotten another girl to sleep with him let alone Michelle. You should go for this. He's giving you the opportunity."

  My jaw dropped open. I was used to Cerise's insane antics, bu
t this was going a step too far. "Are you serious? You want me to go after some other chick's man who is obviously a man-whore. And your reason for encouraging this is a bunch of text messages? I thought Annalisa was delusional, now I know you both are!" I walked away from her and back into my office.

  Throwing myself into my work, I managed to get some filing accomplished, a few bills paid, and my mail sorted before my thoughts drifted back to Mr. Wrong Number. As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop myself from going to our website and clicking on the "About Us" section to scrutinize the picture I had pointed him to. It certainly wasn't the best picture of me, but at least I was standing in Wessex—the room decorated in blues—which made my freckles stand out and the brown flecks pop against the gray of my eyes. I hadn't noticed before that I had little flyaway hairs on the top of my head, and my makeup was a little sparse that day, but I wasn't perfect and was fine knowing I never would be. I looked like me as I straightened a vase of wildflowers, and was more than happy with that. And really, I had no reason to be worrying about his impression. He was likely 400 pounds and covered in zits.

  At lunchtime, I wondered if Alvin was going to ask me to meet him for lunch. As I dug through my purse, looking for my cell phone, I debated the wisdom of my relationship with Alvin. I mean, we were friends, but I knew he wanted more. I also knew that he was willing to take what he could get. That had been friendship with some alone time in a bed every once in a while. I felt guilty about it, but so much had happened in the past year with Brent, Mom's death, and taking over the business that I just let myself fall into what was easy.

  Mom's words rang through my head as if she'd just said them. "Just because it's easy, darlin', doesn't mean it's right."

  "Looking for something?" Cerise stood in the doorway with my phone in her hands. "Or I should say someone is looking for you."

  "Don't read my messages," I said grumpily, knowing she was referring to Alvin. "I let you look at the messages from Mr. Can't-Keep-it-in-his-Pants not all my text messages."

  "Morgan." Her stern tone made me sigh loudly in anticipation of the inevitable lecture. "I just don't think this whole Alvin thing is a good idea anymore. I mean, I know I encouraged you to find a no-strings-attached guy, but everyone in town knows there are strings with Alvin—big, long, complicated strings."

  "Cerise…" I was going to argue or tell her to butt out of my business, but in the end, it wasn't worth fighting it anymore. "I know okay. I just—I don't want to hurt him. I really do care about him. He's a good guy, and we've all been friends for so long. I just—"

  "You don't love him." I shook my head, the weight of my guilt and sadness pressed down on me, which Cerise immediately read on my face. She wrapped her arms around me. "I think he knows that, but you really need to say the words." She held out my cell phone. The screen was lit up, and I could see a text message shining up at me. She pointed to the screen. "How many times has he said this?"

  Are we on for lunch? Seeing you makes my whole day better.

  I winced and scrubbed my hand over my eyes, knowing I couldn't let whatever this was I had with Alvin continue.

  Cerise squeezed my shoulders once then let go. "I don't blame you, you know? But I also know you'll do the right thing." I nodded, and she let go, leaving me alone in my office.

  I suddenly felt very tired. It was turning into an almost record-breaking bad day. We need to talk, Alvin. Can you come here for lunch? Meet me at my place?

  I didn't want to discuss it in the restaurant, which is where we always had lunch. The least I could do was hurt him privately. I wasn't even sure what to say despite the fact that I'd known the end was coming for several weeks. Guilt made my stomach flop.

  Is this a conversation I want to have?

  Please, Alvin?

  On my way.

  As I put on my coat and grabbed my keys, my cell phone chirped again. The cowardly part of me was hoping that Alvin couldn't make it for lunch. Instead, it was Mr. Wrong Number.

  31

  Confused by his message, I tapped back to the previous screen, thinking perhaps it hadn't been him. But not only did it confirm that the message was from him, but that our conversation contained over 150 messages. I flared my eyes wide in surprise.

  "Cerise!" Walking out of my office, the front door swung open to admit the old bitties. With difficulty, I smiled and vowed to scream my head off at Cerise later for her little conversation with Mr. Wrong Number. Walking toward my office, another text message came in.

  And the answer is yes.

  "Yes?" What was that in response to? Flipping back through the screens, I found the conversation in its entirety.

  Cerise had started it. So do you have a name?

  I thought you had work to go do.

  Morgan does. This is her friend. I'm screening her text messages for douchebags. You're number one on my hit list today. Well at least she started on the right note, but obviously the conversation led to her trying to get me to give it a shot with the guy, so I figured he really must have won her over.

  Really? Does she get a lot of douchebags chasing after her?

  She's had her fair share of complete assholes. Are you an asshole?

  Right to the point, huh?

  Just looking out for her. She's like a sister to me. I could definitely say the same thing about her and with sincere pride. We'd seen each other through a lot of crap.

  I can be an asshole, I won't deny it.

  Then stop texting her. She's got enough to deal with.

  I don't know what I had been expecting when I opened the text conversation. Maybe I thought Cerise would flirt obnoxiously while she pretended to be me. Maybe I thought she would do her best to hook me up with the guy. I don't know, but I really didn't think she would be so protective. It was a little embarrassing if I was being honest. I had a past. Everyone has a past. But not every guy I'd been with was an asshole. And while I certainly did have a lot to deal with, it hurt my pride to hear my best friend telling a complete stranger that I was at a weak moment in my life. 25 years old was too young to be an old lady who's jaded and overwhelmed.

  I was trying to help, actually. I know something about small businesses and websites.

  Why would you help a complete stranger? Good. So I wasn't the only one wondering this. At least Cerise and I were on the same page where that was concerned.

  I've had a lot of success, and I never would have made it to where I am without the help I've received. Guess I want to give back.

  That was either really sweet or a damn good line. Thinking about his original purpose in accidentally texting me, I had to give a certain weight to the possibility that he was saying what he thought Cerise wanted to hear.

  There are plenty of people to help, why her?

  She's real. I meet a lot of people who excel at telling others exactly what they want to hear. I forgot how nice it was to talk to someone without second guessing motives.

  Really?

  Yes.

  Okay, so what's your name?

  Sean.

  No last name?

  "Sean." As silly as it sounds, the name fit him in my mind, and I smiled over that. Then I realized what I was doing and chastised myself. Why was I smiling over a complete stranger's name? How ridiculous.

  I sent her my email address. If you get her to give me the website info, my friend can make it a lot better. Needs more pictures.

  Yeah, okay, Sean no last name. I'll talk to her about it. She made that site on her own, you know. Well at least she didn't blurt out that I was too poor to afford a better website.

  She mentioned having to save up to pay for a new template. How bad is business?

  So what do you look like, Sean? I gave a silent thank you for Cerise's avoidance of the details of my debt. Although, I wasn't really surprised. She'd always been a very loyal best friend.

  You're not going to answer me?

  That's her business. We don't even know you.

  Okay, get to know me. I'm tall,
dark, and handsome.

  Sure he was. If he thought either of us would fall for a cheesy line like that, he wasn't too bright. How tall?

  6'2"

  How dark?

  I have a decent tan. Sort of a requirement living in Miami.

  How handsome?

  I've been called "One of the Most Handsome Men in America."

  Sure you have. Is that because you're rich? I laughed lightly at Cerise's nerve to actually ask that.

  So you think women are after me for my money?

  So you have money? I told myself I had to remember to tell her how nicely she'd played that when I got back from lunch.

  I'm not doing too bad.

  You're very vague.

  I know.

  I don't like vague. So how old are you? And just so we're clear, you think Morgan's hot, don't you? I didn't like "vague" either. It meant he had something big to hide. Perhaps a wife and kids or that he was really a she or seventy years old.

  I try not to be too open about myself. You never know who's listening.

  I won't talk to you again unless you at least answer my last two questions.

  31

  And the answer is yes.

  Giggly, nervous excitement bubbled up in my chest as I put the phone into my coat pocket and walked out the back door to my place. He thought I was hot.

  I thought about that the entire walk to my apartment, which was just a few minutes. The smile remained on my face as I looked up at the barn, which was my apartment. My little home gave me such peace. When I left for college, Mom had remodeled the second floor of a large barn that had been on the property and sold the small house I'd grown up in, which really wasn't much larger than the apartment in the barn. I guess I shouldn't say "barn" since we didn't have any animals—the building was really just used for storage—but it had once been a barn.

  As I climbed the stairs, I told myself how stupid I was being. Here I was, a single 25-year-old woman breaking the heart of a nice guy who really liked me because I didn't get the nervous giggles around him. Instead, I was getting nervous giggles about a strange man who sent me a text message by accident and was a self-proclaimed asshat. Tossing my keys on the counter, I roughly unbuttoned my coat and tried to forget about the mystery texter in favor of choosing my words for Alvin.