Miss Match

erynn mangum

To my mom, Susan Elaine Terry Mangum, who holds many titles in my
life: Mom, Adviser, Co-conspirator, and, best of all, Friend. I can't even
imagine a more amazing mother. I want to be like you when I grow up. I
love you!

To God. Lord, this book is all for You. What an incredible journey we've
had thus far-I can't wait for the rest. Thank You! To You alone be
the glory!

Thanks also to:

Mom-I don't have the words! I am eternally blessed to have you
as my mother, my encourager, and my friend. Thank you so much,
Mom, for all the time, effort, advice, suggestions, and travel you have
poured into this whole process. This book is more yours than it is mine. I
love you.

Dad for telling me I could be a writer-without ever reading my
work! The faith you have in me has made me work even harder. Thank
you for providing me with everything I needed to write this story and for
celebrating the milestones with me. I love you!

Bryant, who came up with the original title-again, without reading the book! Thank you for encouraging me in this and bearing with me
all these years. I love you, brother.

Caleb, who by the sweetness of his heart read this very chick-lit story
and didn't hate it. Thank you for going above and beyond your call of
duty as my brother! I love you.

Cayce, my favorite sister. Not only did you read my story, correct
it, and discuss the characters with me, but you're a much more talented
writer than I am. I look forward to reading one of your books someday.
I love you!

Nama, my amazing grandmother, who has read my stories from the
time I was very small. Thank you so much for calling and e-mailing
about the characters: "I still think Brandon's going to marry Laurie!" I
love you!

All my extended family and friends-you know who you are. Thank
you so much for the prayers, encouragement, and (okay, I'll admit it) the
fodder for this story. I'm so thankful for you!

NavPress for taking a chance on an unknown kid, to borrow a
common phrase. You guys are wonderful! Melanie Knox, Susan Miller,
Kathy Mosier, Kate Epperson, and all who have pushed and stretched
this manuscript to make it the best it can be-thank you! You all
are amazing!

Angela DePriest for giving this manuscript to NavPress. Thank
you!

The Christian Writers Guild for their fabulous writing course, their
incredible conferences, and, mostly, their friendship. My mentors, Terry
White and Brandilyn Collins-I have grown so much because of you!
Thank you!

Wikipedia and WebMD-two priceless online resources!

Starbucks for inventing two drinks that fueled much of this story:
The Mocha and the Caramel Frappuccino.

Costco for selling dog food-sized bags of Starbucks French Roast.
This book was finished in part because of them.

And Jane Austen. Much of the inspiration for this book came from
her incredible masterpieces Emma and Pride and Prejudice.

"Jingle All the waaay!"

It is one week until Christmas. My soon-to-be-retired boss, Mr.
Knox, sighs as I come in the door.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Lauren, but I'd stick to
photography."

I toss my backpack in the general direction of the pointless secretary's desk. Pointless because we don't have a secretary nor a use for
one.

"Has anyone ever told you how great you are with compliments?"
I say.

"Do you mind taking my eleven o'clock appointment?" Mr. Knox
asks, tucking his pencil behind his ear, as is his custom. Mr. Knox is in
his midsixties, is maybe five foot eight-barely two inches taller than
me-and has balding hair the exact color of Nilla Wafers.

I know this because I discreetly compared the two just the
other day.

He's also the only person other than my oldest sister who calls me
by my full name, Lauren. Most people call me Laurie.

"Sure, I can take it," I tell him, pulling off my gloves and hat, which makes my hair crackle with static.

Mr. Knox is giving me his classic How-Did-I-Get-Stuck-withHer? look. "Your hair is a wreck, Lauren."

"Once again, the compliments just overwhelm me." I try my best
to smooth my hair.

He frowns at the failed effort. "Go look in the mirror. And hurry.
It's three minutes until eleven."

The studio is basically a big square building someone added interior walls to in order to make it seem more complex. One corner of
the building is the front room with the useless secretary's desk. The
four portrait studios are right behind the desk. There's a long hall
with one office, a room for people to change clothes, a bathroom,
and a tiny employee lounge alongside it. The studio is extremely wellrespected-we get business from all over the area.

I half-skip down the hall. It is, after all, one week until
Christmas-the most wonderful time of the year!

My best friend and Mr. Knox's grandson, Brandon Knox, is sitting
in the employee lounge, guzzling a Coke and staring at the clock.

I poke my head in. "Hey."

He swallows. "Hi, Laur. Two minutes and thirty-three seconds."

"Until what? The Ghost of Christmas Future?"

"Worse."

"I don't know, Brandon. The Christmas Future ghost was pretty
scary.

"The Rawleys."

"Okay, never mind. You win." The Rawleys have seven kids who
don't know the meaning of the word discipline. A part of me wants to
throw the book of Proverbs at them each time they come in.

Brandon finishes the Coke and grabs a Dr. Pepper. He's combating the Rawleys the only way we know how-loads and loads of caffeine. "Your hair looks great," he says between swallows.

""Thanks, I'm about to go spray it so it'll stay like this." I riffle my
hand through it. "How do you think I'd look as a blonde?"

Slurp. "I prefer you as a brunette."

"Even if my eyes were blue?"

""They're not, so I don't know why we're having this conversation,
Nutsy."

Don't ask. It's a nickname dating to the first time we watched
Robin Hood together.

"Gray is close to blue." I hat my eyelashes at him.

"It is not."

Is too."

"One minute and eleven seconds."

I grab a can of Dr. Pepper for myself. "You're in my prayers,
Brandon."

"I'm in my prayers too." He moans.

I grin at him, duck into the bathroom, and comb down my hair,
and I'm back down the hall just as an average-height guy with short,
spiky brown hair gelled to perfection comes through the door. He's
wearing a nice suit and looks like he could quote me the stock exchange
numbers for Procter & Gamble off the top of his head.

Mr. Knox has left apparently, but there's one of his blue sticky
notes on the desk. His name is Nate Kennedy. Hope you fixed your hair.

"Hi, Nate," I say, smiling nicely. "I'm Laurie. I'll be taking your
picture."

"It's for my business cards." He says this very loudly, as if my nowcombed-down hair has clogged my ears.

"Oh yeah? What do you do?" I point toward Studio One and he
follows me in. I bite back a grin as I see the Rawley's fifteen-passenger
van pull up.

"I'm a stockbroker."

Man, I nailed his job.

"Neat."

"I just moved to town. I got transferred here to Colorado from
Arizona." He looks around the small studio, stopping at the bright
green piece of paper I have taped to the door. It has my favorite verse
written on it: Psalm 37:4.

"Are you a Christian?" he asks.

I plop a chair in front of the camera for him. "Yep."

"Really? Wow, this is great. Me too. I'm actually looking for a
church." He sits in the chair.

I go around to the other side of the camera. "Well, you can try my
church. They only tar every third visitor, and I think that happened
last week, so you should be good."

He starts laughing right away. A nice laugh.

I smile, squint through the lens, and suddenly have a very realistic
daydream.

Lexi wearing a white slip dress, carrying a bouquet of red tulips, walking down the aisle to Nate.

Lexi? My older sister? Marrying this up-and-coming stockbroker?

I half-gasp.

"What?" Nate yells.

I decide he cannot lower his voice to save his life. "Come to church
on Sunday. You'll like it. I promise."

"Uh. Sure."