Page 1 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Brother’s Best Friend

CHAPTER ONE

Lynn

I keep one hand on the wheel and my eyes fixed on the road with the flip phone in my free hand on my thigh. It’s been three months since I downgraded to an old Samsung. The kind with the push button keyboard and zero bells and whistles. No camera, no social media, no apps to distract me. It’s the reboot my brain needed to simplify my life and live in the moment.

The raised number keys are easy enough to find by feel, but spelling anything takes concentration and an absurd amount of patience.

I press the keys one deliberate click at a time, counting each tap and pausing between letters that share the same button, so the phone recognizes that I’m moving on to the next one.

Almost there. Bad idea. – Lynn

It takes forever. Two clicks here, another there, shifting my thumb from one familiar bump to the next while I mentally spell my way through the message. I don’t have to look to know what I’m typing. That’s the one advantage this prehistoric brick has over a touchscreen—the buttons are real and clickable. After three months, I’ve had enough practice, I can almost type a typo free text.

Though, when I pass the street I’m supposed to turn on, I don’t recall the last four lights I just went through while blindly following the car in front of me.

Oopsie.

The phone rings and I answer immediately. Maybe he’s canceling and I won’t have to go through with this stupid blind date thing.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Briar reprimands me with that tone she gets when she knows she’s right.

“No,” I say, sheepishly. “I was at a stoplight.”

“Lynn...” She draws out my name, and I’m surprised she doesn’t use my full name like my mother does. “Don’t lie. You know the rule. Never lie to your doctor, the IRS, or your best friend.”

“I know, I know. You got me.” I frown.

She’s right, I know better than to text while driving. I’d feel awful if something bad happened.

“Pulling into the parking lot now.” I pull into a spot and put the car in park.

“Text me where you are and his name again,” she says, always the mother hen. “I’ll need it for the police report if he turns out to be a serial killer.”

“Don’t say that.” I’m already feeling iffy about this whole thing.

I should never have said yes to tonight, but I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to say no. I mean, it’s weird when a job interview turns into a semi-blind date. The job turned out to be a pyramid scheme with door-to-door sales. Not for me. When I turned the job down, the bossman sent his receptionist out with a message that he’d like to see me socially.

Is that what we’re calling dates now? I thought ‘talking to a guy’ was the equivalent of dating. Or at least concentrated interest.

Briar snickers. “Good luck.

“If luck is what it takes to snag a decent guy for a change, I’ll take all of it I can get.” I check my teeth in the mirror and grab my purse.

“You have to kiss a lot of toads before you find a prince,” she says. “When the right one comes along, you’ll know.”

“That’ll take a miracle,” I sigh. “My track record isn’t so good.”

“Don’t forget about karma and happy accidents,” she reassures me. “Let’s just hope when your Mr. Right comes along, he’s a little indecent, too.”

She snickers before ending the call.

Geez. I scroll through my contacts and get as far as B-R-I when a sharp rap against the window makes me jump. I look up and my date, Charles, is standing beside the car. I roll down the window, keeping my eyes on him while I count down one more click and open the text box.

“Place looks pretty busy,” he says, glancing toward the restaurant. “We should go somewhere else. We can take my car.”

My thumb continues moving over the raised keys in my lap as he talks. My neck prickles while I finish the last few clicks by feel and hit send.

“This place is fine.” I smile, keeping my hesitation in check, and reach for the door handle. “I don’t mind waiting.”