Accidental Texting: Finding Love despite the Spotlight

by Kimberly Montague

  "What? Why?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

  "I'm illegitimate. My dad walked away from my mom when he found out she was pregnant. Having a pregnant, unmarried daughter was embarrassing for her parents. When I got older, they allowed us to come to family gatherings, but they made it clear to my mom that she would never get money from them. And that was fine—we didn't want their money. My great uncle died—he loved my mom—and left her the house, which is now the inn. Every spare penny went into it. Every free moment, we were working on it. Brent even helped—well, he watched and handed me tools. He knew we weren't wealthy, but he said…" The memory of his words and how he said them and what he'd done to make sure I'd never forget—it all made it so hard to go on.

  "What did he say, sweetie?" Sean's voice was so encouraging and calm. Maybe he'd make a good therapist after all.

  "He said he didn't know I had been cut out of the line—cut out of the will—until our wedding day. He was talking to my grandfather, and he just blurted it out right there, right to Brent's face. I didn't see it, but he came right to me, his mother following right behind him. I was standing there in my wedding dress so happy and…" I swallowed hard, trying to push back the lump in my throat and the wave of fear that still managed to grab hold of me. "And then he walked away."

  "Jesus, Morgan." And there was the pity I didn't want. Unavoidable, it seemed. I just had to wait a moment and the apology would come next. "Where does this fucker live?"

  I was so taken aback by his sudden anger that I actually answered, "Providence," before thinking better of it.

  "What's his last name?"

  I had recovered from my surprise to not answer him this time. "Why? You gonna go tell him what an ass he is?"

  "I wouldn't say talking is too high on my list of priorities. I was thinking more of allowing my fists to speak for me. Any guy who'd do that deserves a hell of a beating."

  I started laughing. I couldn't help it. With all the tension from the day and telling him about it all and just everything, I cracked. To couple all that had happened with the idea of Brent—who was always such a freaking baby when it came to conflicts, with men that is—stammering as some guy wailed on him was just hilarious. I had no idea what Sean the Stalker looked like, but I could just bet he was big.

  "What's so funny?" he asked calmly. "I was serious."

  "Wait—" I managed to get out between laughs. "Wait—" I calmed down a bit. "I just need to get this visual right. What do you look like?"

  "Oh I could take him, sweetie. I've been doing martial arts since I was seven—second degree black belt in Karate and Tae Kwon Do, working on Jujitsu right now."

  "So I can add some fancy moves to my image, but what do you look like? You've at least seen a picture of me. Text me one of you."

  "How bout I just describe myself. It's faster. I'm 6'2" and very athletic. I'm mostly muscle with dark brown hair—almost black—and my eyes are almost your color of hazel but a bit darker."

  He sounded pretty hunky. "So you are a model."

  "Not quite, sweetheart. I'm not too good with pointlessness. I've always been about doing things that are worthwhile—that take some brain power."

  I smiled at his indictment of modeling. "You really don't have a high opinion of models. Does Michelle feel the same way?"

  He chuckled, but there was very little humor in it. "She used to. Apparently she doesn't anymore."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Hmm. Another story for another time. Let's get back to you. What's Brent's last name?"

  "Oh come on, you aren't going to do anything," I accused. "And if you did then I'd know you were a psychotic stalker, so stop asking. Let's switch to a different topic."

  "Fine. Were you in love with him?"

  Oh yeah, that was a real shift. "You don't know the meaning of 'different topic' do you?"

  "Not when I set my mind to something. Were you in love with him?"

  "I have no idea why I'm telling you any of this." I let out another long, loud breath. "Yes… I was… very much so."

  "And yet you continue to blame yourself for not seeing that he was using you? Was he the first guy you ever loved?"

  "No, of course not, but—"

  "But what? When you're really in love, hopelessly and completely, it's so difficult to see the bad. Why blame yourself for being human? If anything, you should be proud of yourself for getting out there and putting your heart on the line. A lot of people are too scared to do that."

  I hadn't thought about it that way before. I always thought of myself as weak and naïve. I quietly mulled over this new angle.

  He continued softly. "The question is whether you're going to let him destroy your shot at finding it again. If so, then he wins."

  "It's not that simple." And it really wasn't. It wasn't like I could just decide to be over it. "But you're right—he took enough from me. I won't let him take away anything else."

  "Good. So will you go out with me?"

  I laughed a short, surprised laugh at the sudden shift. "Whoa, uh, you're like seven states away from me."

  "Ever heard of an airplane, sweetie?"

  "Ever heard of a last name, stranger?"

  He laughed. "You're quick. I really like talking to you, Morgan. You're not like the people around me. Go out with me."

  "I can't leave here, and I—"

  "I'll come to you."

  My heart was screaming yes, but that was insane. "I don't even know you. You still haven't even told me your last name."

  "Is the name really that important? You just spent over an hour talking to me. That's more than most people who meet in a bar and then go out on a date. Just because it wasn't in person doesn't mean it wasn't valid."

  He had a good point, but still. How did I know anything he'd said was true? How did I know he wasn't some serial rapist? "You have a point, but I need something real—something that tells me you aren't a psycho. Okay, what's the name of your parent's restaurant?"

  "Hmm." His long pause told me he wasn't going to answer. "If I tell you that, you'll know who I am."

  "So you're really famous?"

  More silence greeted me. I had flashbacks to his unresponsiveness the last time I asked for his last name.

  "I really want you to get to know me for me," he explained, "not my last name. Is that so crazy?"

  "So I'd know who you are if you told me? You're that famous?"

  He was quiet again. I got the distinct impression that he was debating whether to tell me the truth. "Yes."

  "Oh," I breathed uneasily. Maybe I'd had it right with the serial rapist guess to begin with. "Like America's Most Wanted famous or like in the news for being a celebrity stalker?"

  He laughed, and it was so much nicer than the silent response that I had to smile. It also brought goose bumps to my arms, which hadn't happened in such a long time—well since I'd first met Brent.

  "No, sweetie, nothing like that. Nothing bad, I promise."

  "Bad in your mind or the general population. Cuz I'm not into cults or crazy religious groups or even severe, right-wing, die-hard Republicans."

  His laugh seemed to reach through the phone and wrap me in warmth. I laughed lightly in response.

  "I'm not into any of that either, sweetie. So now that we have that cleared up, I'd love to see your smile in person."

  I thought about it. He didn't want to tell me who he was, that was fine. When he came to pick me up, I'd obviously know who he was and could make the call then on whether he was safe or not. And if he was really as famous as he led me to believe, I really couldn't blame him for wanting to get to know me first. "Okay then, you don't have to tell me who you are. Obviously, I know something about being used for what I have instead of who I am. So when are you taking me out?"

  The smile in his voice was clear as a whistle. "I'm stuck here for another six weeks. Then I'll be heading back to California for a promotional thing for my business. After that, I'm all yours."

  "Six weeks?
I could meet someone and get married before then. I thought you meant soon."

  "Just tell Alvin to stay the hell away from you."

  "Well I—" Wait a minute. Did he just use Alvin's name? "How on earth do you know Alv—Cerise.

  He laughed long and loud. "She certainly talks a lot. She's been texting me the whole time I've been talking to you."

  I threw back the covers and started stripping off my sweats so I could go give her a piece of my mind and maybe a shoe up her butt.

  "What are you doing?" he asked when I pulled my T-shirt over my head.

  "I'm changing so I can go kill her."

  He laughed again. "You have to look good to do that?"

  "I need to check in on the inn while I'm up."

  "So you're changing right now? Mmm. You're in your underwear aren't you? What color?"

  Oh no. I needed to stop that line of thinking right away. "I do not do phone sex or sexting, so you can just cut out questions like that, Mister. Wait—how can you be texting her and talking to me at the same time?"

  "They're called computers, sweetie. And there's nothing inappropriate about mentioning what color underwear you're wearing. Perfectly natural conversation topic."

  "Maybe on your planet." I pulled a sweater over my head and was shoving on my boots when I heard someone talking in the background on Sean's end of the line.

  "Sean, they're ready for you. Stewie says he's got the flight booked."

  I wondered what kind of business he ran that would make him famous. Was he one of those motivational speakers? Maybe he ran a magazine? Maybe he was on a TV show?

  "Morgan, I have to go. Email me your domain information so I can pass it on to Troy. And don't be too hard on Cerise—she's just trying to look out for you."

  "I won't kill her—just maim her a bit. You know, tear off an ear or something not incredibly useful."

  He chuckled softly. "Why don't you go for a finger instead? Without her ear, she can't talk to me on the phone and spill more secrets about you."

  "Yeah, exactly why I'm going for the ears."

  "Okay, I'm coming," he said loudly. "Back to work. I'll call you later, sweetie. Bye."

  How did a wrong number wind up weaseling his way into my life? Was this really a good idea? But even as I debated it in my head, my fingers were entering his name into my contacts. I decided it was best to continue referring to him as "Sean the Stalker" to help me remember that I still didn't know him.

  Stewie

  The following morning, I woke up to Cerise shaking me. "You have to see it. Here, I brought you your laptop."

  "Wha—what time is it?"

  "6:30," she replied, still shaking my shoulder.

  "In the morning? I'm taking back my key, Cerise. It's Saturday—the one day I get to sleep in. And why are you up? You're never up before 8."

  "I told Sean to call me when the new site was up and running. It's amazing. Besides, I have to take the old clunker in for an oil change before work. Alvin said I could drop her off before seven, and he'd give me a ride back to my place."

  "Oh. How are you getting back here?" I opened my laptop and adjusted it on my lap. "Wait, Sean called you?" That bothered me.

  She rolled her eyes expertly. "He's not interested in me, and even if he were, I wouldn't respond. I can tell you like him. And Annalisa is gonna pick me up."

  I entered my password and waited for the screen to load. "I don't even know Sean."

  "So get to know him. He's a nice guy. I've been screening him for you."

  "Screening him?" I asked through a yawn. "What do you mean?" I opened the browser and entered the inn's website.

  "I've been asking him questions, although he still won't tell me simple things—he's hiding something, but what he has—"

  "Oh my God," I said in complete amazement. Our new website looked nothing like it had. It was incredibly professional, but warm and inviting with a beautiful red and gold brocade background and fancy buttons. Everything I clicked on gave a feeling of sophistication and class. The reservation system was perfect, complete with availability calendar and online payment options. Even the text I had hastily written had been revamped with enticing words like luxurious, pampering, and romantic. The slideshow in the upper right-hand corner drew my attention as it went through the few pictures I had of the rooms and grounds. As promised, there was a page for the restaurant. I had a lot to fill in, but it was just beyond anything I could have expected.

  "See?" Cerise smiled triumphantly. "Aren't you glad I woke you up?"

  "Yes. I just don't know what to say."

  "What are you gonna tell Sean?"

  I shook my head, still coming to terms with it all. "I could sleep with him every day for the next year and still owe him."

  "Morgan!" Her eyes were wide as she fished her phone out of the pocket of her sweatshirt then put it to her ear. "She didn't know you were on the line."

  "Cerise," I growled, getting angrier and angrier.

  She put her hands up including the one holding the phone.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. "You freaking promised me you would stop—"

  "I did. I am. I just—he wanted to hear your reaction."

  I pulled the phone from her hand and put it to my ear. "Then you should have called me yourself."

  "I didn't know she would hide it from you," he said, laughing. "I thought she had the phone out where you could see it, I swear. So you're happy with it?"

  "Ugh!" I groaned. "Yes, I'm thrilled. It's really incredible."

  "In your email, you'll find instructions from Troy and his email and phone number in case you have trouble setting up the payment information and all that."

  I let my anger go and focused again on the website. "It's great, Sean. I really don't know how to thank you and Troy."

  "Just don't offer to sleep with him, huh? It was my idea, after all. And don't worry, every day for a year is more than enough thanks. I'll start collecting in six weeks."

  "Funny." I yawned in his ear. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well."

  "Go back to sleep, sweetie. I've got a really busy few days, but I'll try to call you when I can."

  "Okay, thanks again." I had already closed the lid of my laptop and set it aside when I noticed Cerise staring at her feet. I snuggled back down in my bed before turning to look at her. "You're right, okay. I like him. I know next to nothing about him, but there's something—I don't know. But I can't handle the secrets between you two. I just need to know everything that's going on. It's—" It was hard to admit it, even to Cerise. "It's tough to trust again. Can you just—"

  "No more secrets, I promise."

  I nodded. "I'm going back to sleep for a few minutes. I'll see you later." She grabbed her phone from me and turned to leave. "And Cerise, thanks for looking out for me. You know I need it."

  She smiled genuinely before leaving. I wasn't sure who was likely to kill me sooner, Sean or Cerise trying to hook me up with Sean.

  By the following week, we had seven new reservations for the inn, made from our website and paid for in-full. It doesn't sound like a lot, but every reservation that came in was a new customer that might tell others or come back to stay again. Some of the reservations weren't for several weeks or even a month, but we danced around in happiness over each one.

  Over the next week, I had many marathon conversations and text message talks with Sean about anything and everything. He was incredibly charming, and the stories he told me about growing up in Minnesota were sometimes heartwarming, sometimes hilarious, and sometimes downright embarrassing, but they all seemed so real. His sincerity seemed to be such a contrast to the womanizer I thought he was the first time he texted me.

  I'd learned a lot about his family. His parents were still married. He had one older sister who was married to a guy Sean didn't like. He started living on his own at the age of 16 and earning his own living. He didn't finish college but was very well-read. He enjoyed watching basketball and hockey but was too shy to play in school and
then too busy. Finally, he'd been in and out of relationships for the previous four years because most women couldn't handle the attention and travel that went with his business.

  It took a lot of restraint not to try to search out his personal information online, but I managed to find the inner calm. When he was ready to tell me, he would. And it wasn't like his reason didn't make sense. I wasn't even remotely famous, except in my own town. I couldn't imagine worrying whether someone liked me for who I was or if it was for the attention I might be able to bring them. I'd had enough experience with being engaged solely for the purpose of the money I could bring to the table, so I completely understood that side of it.

  By the time Friday rolled around, I was frustrated that I hadn't heard from him in a few days. But that morning, I woke to find eight text messages waiting for me when I rolled out of bed at 7:30 a.m..

  So, I hope you aren't mad at me for not calling.

  I wanted to. I just haven't had a chance.

  I had to fly up to New York for a meeting, and it's been crazy ever since then.

  I also hope you aren't mad about what I've done.

  In my defense, I'm seriously curious about you.

  I couldn't help it. And I just couldn't get away from the business yet.

  Besides, I think it might really help out the inn.

  And if it doesn't you can send him back, and I'll disown him as my best friend and fire him as my public relations guy.

  The last text message had me sitting up, completely awake. I rushed through getting ready, not wanting to believe his last message, but I had a strong feeling that this was something he would do. He sent his best friend? No, he couldn't have. Did he really? The questions bounced around as I tried to find something to wear that looked really good. I finally decided on skinny cut black slacks and my favorite wrap-around green sweater with bright yellow heels. So maybe I was worrying too much about making a good impression, but I didn't want him to think I was a slob or a mess.