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

by Bonnie Sweets

  Except dessert. At least I have the desserts in the bag. No one else in that lot, or in town for that matter, can make keto desserts like I can.

  I’m standing in the shadows of my trailer, and I watch as the couple reaches Knox’s window. Will I be able to catch a glimpse of the well-muscled arm as he reaches out to shake the man’s hand? He always does that. He also has a laugh that I can hear from across the lot and I hate that I notice it.

  I hate that he takes my customers and even worse, that he has a smile that can make me forget what I’m mad about.

  To top it all off, I hate that I can sense when he’s there and when he leaves and that I would much rather stare at him than do anything else.

  Shaking my head, I turn away from the window. The dinner crowd would start showing up and I need to have my keto desserts ready to snag anyone trying to find their sweet fix without the carbs.

  I can do that. I have to do that. I don’t have a choice. Whatever money our family lives off of comes from the truck. We don’t have any other options.

  When Keith left, he left for money. But we don’t get a cent of the girl’s cash. She finally told him that he needed to get a job to support us. Rather than actually getting a respectable, well-paying job, he takes part-time gigs and works them for a couple months at a time then moves on. Like he might do his relationships. That means he never has to pay me more than a hundred dollars here and there, leaving me to shoulder the family bills on my own.

  The situation gives me an eye twitch.

  Turning up the small fan and positioning it toward the open window, I put a keto chocolate coconut lava cake into the oven and let the smells do their thing. It would be about ten minutes and then I’ll start getting a steady stream of customers. That’s what we need.

  To have a good profit tonight, I only need a hundred more dollars. That’s it. I can do that. Ten more sales.

  I glance down at the clipboard Abby brought me and blink. Putting a hand on my hip, I turn to face my daughter. “What happened to the title and explanation?”

  She shrugs one shoulder and quirks an eyebrow. “I took it off. It was boring.”

  I blink at her like I might forget to dampen my eyes, my features slack. I blink again. “What? I don’t want random people signing up for this, Abby. Do these people even know what they signed up for?” I scan the list of seven names. They all look like women’s names, some of them weirder than others, I’d give them that, but all female or could be female. There are really no guarantees these days.

  Genevieve

  Alex

  Apple

  Mandie

  Sara

  Dion

  K.T.

  Alongside their names they’d written their phone numbers. I sigh and lift my gaze to Abby. “Did you explain this is a support group for divorced women?”

  “Mom, it’s not a big deal. Yes, I explained it to all of them. They signed up. I only left the clipboard for two seconds when I saw Jason and Claudia. I had to talk to them, but I was already done getting numbers. They’re going to be fine with it.” Abby glances at her phone, her eyes wide as she looks back at me. “Mom, I’m going to be late.”

  “Late for what?” Half-reassured my idea isn’t going to die before it even starts, I turn toward the oven and peek inside at the slowly rising chocolate dish. I like normal lava cakes. These look similar, but they taste nothing like the originals.

  That was a secret I would take to my grave.

  “My debate practice. You promised you would take me.” She stands, tugging at the edge of her t-shirt that comes in at the waist before flaring out at the hips over her jeans.

  Her debate practice is tonight? I whirl to my Paul and flip toward the daily planning section. Nothing there. Weekly? I like the weekly dashboard style as well, but why… I run my finger down both pages. No, it isn’t today. I had it marked. I know it’s not today.

  I flip to the monthly calendar, just to be certain. I’m positive that I had a huge chunk of my life together before I had my breakdown. You know, the one where I blamed Paul for all my problems.

  Wait. My finger trails down the monthly calendar page and I gulp.

  There, at the bottom in bright blue ink is:

  Debate Practice 6:00 pm. Get Lila to cover the truck.

  It was right there and I didn’t see it. I didn’t plan for this event that I’d made sure to put into ink in Paul. I never called Lila; the college-aged student who worked for me on-call for events exactly like this.

  Reality crushes in around me. If I take Abby, I have to close the trailer early. I’d miss out on all those potential sales. But there is no alternative. I promised Abby and I remember making the promise.

  I slowly snap my not-so-trusty planner shut, pulling the elastic band around the pages and clipping the pencil into place in the pencil holder I’d glued into the front cover.

  My chest is heaving and I think I might have a panic attack. I need that extra money. We need it. But I also can’t let Abby down. Not when that’s all my ex ever did or does.

  Keith has a track record of letdowns. I refuse to be him or anything like him.

  Even if I lose some money to do it.

  I glance at my own stainless-steel watch and nod. “Alright, we better close up and get going. I’ll get these put away.” I reach up and turn off the oven baking the lava cake and keep my panic to myself.

  Another hard and fast rule of mine – don’t put adult problems onto the shoulders of children. I promised Abby. It was my responsibility to fulfill that promise, not complain to her about my mistakes.

  Abby doesn’t question what needs to happen to close up the truck. Both of my children have helped enough times in the trailer to know what needs to happen when we close. Abby knows her job and I know mine.

  As I reach out and pull the specials board inside, I can’t help glaring at Knox’s BBQ trailer.

  Another day on his list of wins against me. He probably has a tally board over there that he checkmarks while he giggles deliriously. Okay, that doesn’t fit the actual image of the hunky, charming man I’ve seen around the lot, but that doesn’t mean I need to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Knox is my competition. That’s all the mental space he is going to get from me. And he certainly isn’t going to make things inside me stir. Nope. Unless it’s disgust. I’ll allow that one. Just disgust even as I try to stare after him and see if I can catch a glimpse. I need to be disgusted by him.

  At the thought, I can’t help smiling. Disgust. I’ll take it. Because that works with my goal to stay far away from men, all men.

  Even deliciously hot food truck trailer owner-operators. Especially those ones. With tattoos on muscular arms and jeans that fit butts that… should not be legal.

  Illegal butt. Yes, that’s what he has.

  The last thing I need is more complexity and chaos in a life I cling to control with the very tips of my not-so-manicured nails.

  Chapter 2

  Knox

  The chick has entirely too much plastic surgery, but based on her bust-size, I could see why the dude kept her around. Wait, that makes me sound like a pig. I’m not a pig.

  At least, I’m trying not to be. I just don’t know what constitutes pig-mentality and what doesn’t. Is it not okay to appreciate a woman’s figure? Is it not okay to think it’s funny when a woman gets offended by bodily function displays and storms off a date? Is it okay not okay to whistle after a woman who obviously works out as she walks by?

  I’m starting to think it’s not okay at all.

  The female customer is extra whiny as she complains to me that everyone thinks keto is so easy but it’s just not. The guy stops listening to her as soon as they order and he pulls out his phone.

  The last time I felt like a therapist I’d been tending bar to get through college. I’m having flashbacks on why I got out of that lifestyle. A therapist I am not. Patient with people, even less.

  “Yeah, I understand. Did you check
out the keto truck? I know Savvy has some good keto things over there.” I finish dishing up the brisket on a brioche bun smothered in BBQ sauce that is as far from keto friendly as you can get and hand her the dish first. Her companion had ordered the ribs and they took seconds to plate and drizzle sauce on, then side with potato salad, baked beans, and a roll that is buttery enough to count as its own fat source.

  “I would have tried her stuff, but she was out of the steak, so… whatevs.” The blonde cements my feelings about her with the simple comment. Trucks run out of food. That is a sign that a trailer is good. And the woman had passed it up.

  Keeping my smile tight, I pass the guy’s dish out. He shoves his phone in his pocket as he takes the to-go container from me and I nod to my right. “Here you go, man, napkins and utensils are over that way.” I point around the corner, having already taken their payment.

  Glancing across the lot, I pause and furrow my brow. Wait, is Savvy closing up? The dinner rush hasn’t even hit yet. We have about fifteen more minutes and then the floodgates will open up.

  What the devil is she doing?

  I stand at the opening to my trailer another moment when I realize she actually is closing up for the night.

  Surprised isn’t exactly the term for how I feel, so I push my way through the door of my trailer and close the distance between our trailers quickly. I stop outside the keto trailer and lean up, peeking through the food window to speak to Savvy. “Hey, Savvy, is everything okay?”

  She whirls around, her thick, dark braid whipping behind her before falling on her shoulder. She stares at me, her mouth forming the most entrancing O.

  She blinks and then blinks again. I learned a while ago that she does this when she’s startled and trying not to say the first thing that comes to mind.

  The woman is the most controlled person I’ve ever met. I’d love to see what she’s like when she loses control.

  She lifts her chin and shakes her head. “Thank you, Knox. Everything is acceptable. Thank you.” Acceptable? Are we in some sort of Austen novel where everything is formal?

  We work in a food truck lot for crying out loud. Here, formality rests on paper napkins or paper towels. And washing hands is an option.

  But things are never easy with Savvy. I know this and still I try. The last year has been a collection of attempts at friendship and dodging her glares. I’m not sure what I did to her, but I have a feeling it has to do with my testosterone.

  She’s not entirely friendly to the other male food truck owners either.

  I hold my hands at chest level. “Savvy, I’m just checking to make sure everything is okay. That’s it. I promise. I’m not here trying to attack or steal anything or even peek to see what that delicious smell is.” I’m not lying either. Something chocolatey carries on the breeze and I want one, whatever it is.

  Customers would line the lot for her desserts, especially tonight if she would just stay open.

  But something passes across her features before her expressions settles into resolved neutrality and she shakes her head. “Can’t. I have to get Abby to something. But… thanks. For saying that.” She turns away from me, but not before I catch the presence of a suspicious sheen over her eyes.

  “Maybe I can help.” I step back as Savvy shuts the window, the lock grinding into place from the inside. Rushing to the door, I stand there, staring inside as I wait for Savvy to acknowledge my offer.

  She’s fit and very much in shape with a figure most women at any age would kill for. For a busy mother of two who also owns her own business, it’s surprising. I can’t help but think she’s a good example of the keto lifestyle. “Seriously, Savvy, let me help.”

  Savvy stops in front of the fridge and puts her hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes at me.

  Abby, her oldest, appears in the doorway, facing me and away from her mother. Abby’s eyes are wide and she minutely shakes her head in a very subtle warning that I need to back away. Abby and Dexter are friendlier around the lot than her mom – not that Savvy is ever actually rude, the kids just put themselves out there more. I’m pretty good friends with both of them so Abby’s warning is from a friend.

  But I’m too far in. I can help and I think Savvy should let me. Maybe just once let someone help.

  “Knox, I don’t need your help. I can do this on my own. Thank you for the offer, but there’s nothing you can do except mind your own business.” She tilts her head to the side, her lower lip pouting out as if that is a sign she’s hitting her obstinate level.

  Just as I’m about to turn and storm away, I notice her previously mentioned lower lip trembling.

  This woman is at her breaking point, and she doesn’t even know it. I lower my voice and glance at Abby and then back to Savvy, stepping closer to the doorway and resting my hand on the doorjamb. “Look, it’s not a big deal. I can have David cover my trailer and I’ll cover over here or I can take Abby where she needs to go. It’s not a big deal. Let me help.”

  I’m almost begging and I know it, but I don’t care. She’s a woman in trouble and my ancient knightly genetics rear their head in a desperate attempt to save the damsel in distress.

  I’ve done the genealogy – or at least seen the evidence – I have a knight or two in my pedigree. We’ll just ignore the presence of a couple bandits, a serial killer, and a pirate. No big deals as long as we pretend they’re not there.

  Right now, I’m focusing on my responsibility to uphold the family tradition of saving people.

  A fast image of Savvy’s gratitude rushes across my mind. She will be so happy and relieved; she’ll throw her arms around my neck and smother me in kisses. Those lips that always look so stern will soften and she’ll smile at me in relief. A real smile. She’ll press that delectable body of hers against mine and we’ll… what? Sail off into the sunset selling our food trailer products for the rest of eternity?

  No problems there, Savvy pulls me out of my short daydream with a hard shake of her head. “Thank you, again, Knox, but I’ve got it. Have a good night.” She steps out of the trailer, closes and locks the door and reaches for Abby’s hand.

  High points of pink in Savvy’s cheeks leave me uncertain if she’s mad at me or embarrassed or something completely different.

  She storms away, unaware just how enchanting the breadth of her shoulders and the sway of her hips are. I’m irritated I pick it up.

  Turning back toward my truck, I reach up and pinch the back of my neck in a massaging motion. That woman… I’ll never figure her out.

  “Hey, Knox.” Sylvia, one of the Mexican truck owners waggles her fingers at me as I pass by. I’m careful to keep my eyes averted from the other things that jiggle as her low-cut top shimmies side to side.

  I wave back, but keep walking. That woman is trouble and nothing is going to make me pursue her. Not even the delicious empanadas they serve on Fridays.

  “You disappeared fast.” My brother, David, hangs half-out the window as he repositions the bright neon light of a burger sign I ordered a couple weeks ago. I’m still not sold on the sign, but we’ve gotten a few compliments on it so I’m not trashing it… yet.

  “Yeah, well, I thought Savvy might need help.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and then kneel down, moving the legs of the table holding the napkins, utensils, and spices to the side of the ordering window.

  Stepping back, I take quick inventory of what my food truck has to offer. No one else might appreciate the way the dark paint helps the lettering stand out, but I do. I have an MBA in business and an extra degree in graphic design. There’s nothing I can’t design or make look good. And I know it.