Wrong Text, Right Reply: A Sweet Accidental Romance (An Accidental But Perfect Romance Book 1)

by Bonnie Sweets

  Wrong Text, Right Reply

  An Accidental but Perfect Romance

  By

  Bonnie Sweets

  Wrong Text, Right Reply

  How is it possible to care for someone you’ve never even met before? And hate someone you know too well?

  She’s a single mom running a group of divorcee women determined to do something new in their lives that doesn’t revolve around carpooling, pickup lanes, or late homework.

  He’s a lifelong bachelor who can’t seem to get commitment right determined to figure out how to go from lonely Sunday mornings, cheesy pickup lines, and late nights out with nothing to show for it.

  Savvy Donovan is a natural go-getter. Her over-zealous nature helps her recover from her own broken marriage as she tries to help friends do the same. She wants to be happy, but that doesn’t mean she wants a man.

  Nope. Never again will she rely on a man. She’s resistant to any attempts at blind dates or even entertaining a dating app.

  She starts a group text to make sure everyone in the group knows what’s going on with activities. She has no idea she’s added Knox Taylor, accidental bachelor with a desire to find “The One” or at the very least, fix all of the ways he’s ruined relationships in the past.

  Knox doesn’t realize he’s been added to the wrong group text because he lost his phone. When he finally recovers the cell, he can’t help but get immersed in the thread about women and their wants, dreams, and desires, what makes them tick and why they wouldn’t be happy. He’s hit the jackpot on learning about the very thing he so desperately needs help with.

  He’s particularly interested in one woman who seems to lead the whole thing. She’s sassy and fun and a little bossy. He always liked the sassy ones.

  Rather than come clean about who he is, Knox continues with the pretense, finally understanding why dinner with Sheila’s parents should have been more important than that baseball game, or why Tina ghosted him after he’d suggested taking a cruise on their second date. What, too soon?

  Late one night, Savvy starts a new thread of messages between herself and “KT” while she thinks he’s one of the girls. Sharing secrets they wouldn’t tell just anyone, Savvy and Knox find out they share more common ground than they originally thought.

  As time passes, both Knox and Savvy look forward to hearing from the other until one day, Savvy wants to meet. She can’t believe she’s grown to care for someone as much as she has and doesn’t really know them. Could KT be the best-friend she’s always wanted?

  When the truth comes out about just who Knox is, he'll have to use everything he's learned about women from the wrong texts to make the right reply...or risk losing Savvy completely.

  The only problem is, she knows him. He just happens to be the man she hates almost as much as her ex.

  Chapter 1

  Savvy

  “Nothing is going right, and it’s all your fault.” I mutter to Paul, my planner boyfriend. He doesn’t talk back, of course. What? I’m not crazy. I know he can’t talk back. It’s one of the reasons he’s such a good boyfriend.

  The sound of my own voice is oddly steadying amongst the sounds of the motors and appliances running in my well-loved food truck.

  Wobbling my head and wagging my finger at the front cover of the discus planner like I’m giving him attitude – which I definitely am – I widen my eyes and mouth back. “Well, if I was better prepared, there wouldn’t be any problems. You shouldn’t be so stringent.” I blame the planner like it’s his fault. He can’t write. He can’t even talk back. That doesn’t keep me from using him as a scapegoat.

  As if I’m caught up in some kind of two-sided argument where the combatants are me and myself, I roll my eyes and sigh. “Look, I can’t be more prepared than I am. And you know it. I just…” I lean forward, bracing my hands on the edge of the stainless-steel counter and hang my head. Even with Paul as my Planner-Paul boyfriend, I know I’m losing it. I know I’m not as in control as I need to be.

  I can feel the wonderful edges of chaos closing in and the sensation terrifies me. I don’t want it. Not there in my keto trailer. Not there where anyone can witness my breakdown.

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in an attempt to get both my imaginary boyfriend and myself in hand.

  What am I doing? The smells coming from my convection oven snap my eyes open. I’m running a food trailer, that’s what I’m doing. And I can’t let the product get ruined. No matter what. “Stop distracting me, Paul. You’re supposed to help me keep it together. Not… whatever this is.”

  Every cent I dump into this place is money I’m taking from my kids. And me. And that stupid whore of a cat. And Paul.

  Having a planner is expensive. Planners take almost as much time and money to keep them looking and performing the way they should as a regular, not-fun-yet-productive hobby. If you ask my children, they’ll tell you I buy washi tape, markers, and stencils on the regular but I’m wearing the same shoes I bought three years ago at a thrift store.

  Setting my jaw, I turn to the oven and pull open the door. Perfect. The little keto pecan muffins look absolutely delicious. I should probably take a picture, but I leave my phone on the counter beside my planner and ignore the thoughts pushing me to do one more thing on top of everything else I put my time into. Why would I need pictures of food when I don’t have time to post them?

  “Mom, I’m not doing this anymore. It’s stupid.” Abby, my fifteen-going-on-thirty-two-year-old daughter slams the door open at the end of the truck.

  I gasp at her sudden appearance, pressing my fingers to my chest and clattering the muffin pan onto the counter beside the oven. “Holy crud monkey, Abby.” I can’t tell her exactly what upset me. She’d just worry about it being time to put her mother in an old folks home earlier than she was already planning. The little traitor. I know my son won’t put me away. He loves me. Sometimes.

  “Why? What were you doing? Talking to that stupid planner again?” She folds her arms in a huff and narrows her eyes, ignoring my slack-jawed expression. “Paul isn’t going to get things done, Mom. Do you have any idea how many people are out there?” Did she just jut her chin at me? “I lost count after I realized none of them are cute boys. Ew, Mom. Did you know you’re trying to get old people to be your friends? That’s dumb.”

  One more reason to take a deep breath. Abby gave me so many reasons to look into meditation and self-care, I would be bankrupt if I looked into them.

  “How many signups did you get?” I hold out my hand and wait for her to place the clipboard in it. I ignore the comment about talking to Paul. Abby wouldn’t understand. She’s a popular and well-liked girl in her high school. I never had friends like she does.

  Once she hands me the clipboard, she flops onto the single bench in the trailer and folds her arms. “That was horrific. I think I saw friends from school, Mom.” She runs her fingers through her thick, curly hair. She didn’t get the curls from my side. My coloring, sure, thank Heaven, but the curls?

  No, she got them from her evil, horrible, I can’t think of vile enough words to call him, father.

  I smile tightly at her dramatic statement and shake my head, pulling the muffins from the counter and setting them to the side where I can pull them out easily to finish cooling. Since I bake them with almond flour mixed with coconut flour and enough eggs to repopulate Hawaii’s chicken problem, I’d have to watch to make sure the center didn’t sink.

  Stepping back, I
study the dozen treats in the pan and cock my head to the side, still muttering to myself. “They look good, but what if they don’t taste good?” Reaching forward, I take one out of the pan and tear off a bite, licking my fingers as I eat the morsel.

  Almost immediately, I turn back to Paul and write down what I just ate in the tracking portion of the daily dashboard. ‘If you eat it, you must write it.’ My mantra any time I write something down. One more thing I can control. That’s the most important thing to me. Control.

  “Oh, my word, you’re still talking to yourself? When is this going to end? I think Dad’s right. I think you’re losing it.” Abby rolls her eyes at me, shaking her head and turning away. Her pink cheeks suggest she is either mad or embarrassed.

  None of that matters to me. The only thing that stands out is she’s agreeing with her father?

  I spin fully around, setting my pencil down as my chest rises and falls as I breathe deeply. I thrust my pointed finger toward the floor of the trailer and convey my anger through barely parted lips. “Listen, here, little girl. You chose to stay with me. You want to agree with your father? Then go live with him. Want to insult me and be rude? Go live with him. I refuse to sit here and take your attitude or your disrespect one moment longer. Do we understand each other?” The snap has been a long time coming and she just happened to catch me at a moment where I feel particularly out of control.

  Control is my one avenue to sanity.

  She flicks her gaze to mine and winces. I don’t flinch. I won’t be treated this way.

  I also have no problem being the bad guy. Their father made poor choices and the children chose to stay with me. That doesn’t mean I need to cater to them or stop parenting them. That’s not how this works.

  Abby blinks back frustrated tears but she drops the attitude a few notches and nods. “I know. I just…”

  I furrow my brow. There’s something more going on here and I’m so wrapped up in my own problems, I failed to notice something out of the norm with my own daughter. “What’s going on?”

  Ransacking my brain, I try to come up with something that might be upsetting her.

  A boy? No, Abby swore off guys when I did during the divorce. But things can change like the weather. I won’t rule boys out, but what other options are there?

  Her brother? No, Dexter hasn’t been around her all day since he’s at a friend’s house until I pick him up on my way home later.

  “Dad cancelled this weekend. Again.” Abby’s folded arms suddenly take on a different context as her shoulders slump forward and she hangs her head. “He keeps cancelling. I don’t know what I did. Is he mad at me?” She lifts big, dark, glistening eyes to me and I suddenly remember that parenting isn’t always about discipline or keeping kids in line.

  Sometimes, it’s about being their soft place to fall.

  Glancing at the muffins to make sure they’re not doing anything that will cost me money, I move to stand beside her and nudge her with my knee. “Make room for your ole mother.” I glance at Paul. I’ll need to make a note to call Keith – my ex – later. He needs another Come to Jesus moment and I’m actually in the mood to lecture him.

  Abby moves over, acting like it’s the biggest imposition in the history of the world, but I know it’s all an act.

  I sit beside her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Kiddo, Dad isn’t mad at you.” I roll my eyes heavenward and then close my eyes as I lie, again, for a man who never was accountable and never did anything to help me. I wish I could throw him to the wolves and tell Abby that her father’s new girlfriend and flashy new car and boat are big incentives for a man like him to not see his kids, but that won’t help Abby.

  He left me for money and a younger woman. I have no bitterness. I swear. Paul would never leave me. I have that going for me.

  And even as much as I’ve grown to hate my ex, I love my children with all my heart and soul. “Dad isn’t mad at you.” I say again, in case she didn’t hear me the first time. “He’s trying to figure this whole thing out, too.”

  “It’s been a year, Mom. How long does he need?” Abby dashes her fingers under her eyes and sniffs. In that moment she reminds me so much of myself at her age.

  I sigh and shake my head, my heart breaking for her. “Honey, who knows.”

  “You didn’t need this much time. You were out working and starting this truck business within a month of him leaving. You see us all the time. Why can’t he do the same thing? How hard can it be? It’s not like he has a corporate job or anything.” Abby asks fair questions.

  Why can’t her father do things the right way? Why can’t he be there for Abby and Dexter when they need him? Better yet, why can’t he have been a good husband and father from the beginning?

  I tighten my hold on Abby and nod. My words can make or break her fragile self-esteem. “I don’t know. We’re all on our own journeys. This is part of his.” I’m trying to be benevolent and kind, but I’m swallowing the words I want to spew, the truth.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more honest with Abby. I could do that and not break anything, right?

  “Excuse me? Is anyone in there?” Someone clears their throat and I jump from my seat, dropping the hold I have on my daughter’s shoulders.

  “Me, I’m here.” I bound to the window, leaning against the counter and staring out at the couple standing a few feet from the trailer. “Hi, welcome to Killer Miller Keto. What’s your poison?” I’d opted for the murderous theme when I started the trailer the year before.

  Hey, killing was my mood at the time. Can you blame me?

  Killer, poison, and all kinds of murderous iterations for the names of things. Even the keto sandwiches had plastic knives poking from the tops. Because, knives and murder… yeah, it was a late night when I was brainstorming things and the court date for the divorce was the next morning.

  “Are they really keto, though? The last time I had something that was supposedly keto, I gained four pounds.” The woman standing beside the man had bleached hair framing tightly pinched facial skin. She’d obviously had some work done as her lips almost blinked at me, they were so puffy.

  “Yes, ma’am. These are all keto. My own recipes. Everything is made by hand.” I lean out, pointing at the specials board while smiling at her and trying not to focus on how painful her glossed-over lips look. “The only thing I’m out of today is the Serial Steak Wrap. That went fast.”

  “What about a Chicken Salad? Or we could get some of the brisket burgers over at the bar-be-que place.” The man with her motions across the food trailer lot toward my arch nemesis’s trailer.

  “Well, the brisket isn’t made with keto barbeque sauce. I have something similar, if you’d like to get your keto dish here and then head over there for your meal.” I bite the inside of my cheek and try not to scream that they can’t leave me. Not for the BBQ trailer. No. Anything but that.

  “He has some keto options, too, honey. Come on. Let’s try him over there. He’s probably not out of the steak.” And ouch. There is the dig that I can’t get out from under. I’m out of steak. Why is this a bad thing? Wouldn’t it mean that my food is that good, I sold out?

  I stand back, smiling – graciously, I hope – as they wander off across the gravel lot toward the black and silver trailer with bright turquoise lettering spelling out “Knox Your Socks Off BBQ”.

  Another customer. Stupid man-owner-guy. Knox Taylor. Delicious as sin and just as mean.

  Okay, that’s a lie. He’s not mean. In fact, infuriatingly enough, he’s really nice.

  I just don’t understand why he started offering keto options. Half of my clientele disappeared when he did that. The reason it’s such a big deal is because not everyone eats keto so the ones who do are usually with someone who doesn’t and if a place offers both keto and non-keto foods, then there is something for everyone.