MisTaken (Miss Match #1.5)
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Laurelin Paige
As it is with any book, this one was not born alone. There are too many people to name all the ones I’d like to acknowledge, but there are a few thank-yous that are essential.
First and foremost, to
Kayti McGee
, my work-wife—I’ll say it again and again: don’t cowrite, but if you do, cowrite with Kayti. You are the wine to my empty glass. The Miss to my Match. You are brilliant and shiny in all the places that I am not. I look forward to all the places this journey takes us together.
To our editor, Eileen Rothschild—I was so nervous to talk to you that first time on the phone, and then you were absolutely everything I ever wanted in an editor. Thank you for sharing our quirky enthusiasm for this series. It wouldn’t have been the same experience with anybody else.
To the team at St. Martin’s Press—What a great group to work with! Thank you for inviting us into and embracing us in your tight-knit family.
To Bob Diforio for making this deal happen and Rebecca Friedman for deals yet to be made. It’s the best feeling to have wonderful people in your corner.
To Shanyn for keeping me together and KP for putting us together. It’s an honor to be called an InkSlinging Author.
To Lisa—You gave me your idea. Ideas are gold. With this, you’ve given me the biggest gift anyone’s ever given me. Thank you.
To Bethany—You ferry me through all the dark places. A particularly hard task when we both love the dimly lit moors so much. There’s a well of gratitude in my heart for you that never runs dry.
To Gennifer—You named our book! It’s perfect. Thank you for that and more.
The women who wrangle me—Wrahm, Naturals, FYW, and others (you know who you are): I make it through my days because of you. I also get distracted a lot because of you, but that’s another story.
To my husband, Tom—Though I tease you for being flighty, you are my rock. Thank you for being so solid.
To my children—I’m so proud of all you are. I hope you see me as an example for making your own dreams come true. I love you, my babies.
To Mom—Finally, here’s a book I’ll let you read. Thanks for your never-ending support. Love you.
To my Maker—Praise is always on my heart, even when it’s absent on my tongue.
Kayti McGee
First and foremost—Laurelin Paige. You took me on this crazy journey, for no other reason than that you are God’s angel on earth. No one can possibly convince me you aren’t the best person I have ever had the honor to meet, much less call my friend. I’m inspired by you every day, to write better, be more, be better. I love you so much. You are grace and generosity and talent personified.
Eileen Rothschild took a chance on us that I could never have imagined, and then turned out to be the most badass editor ever. Bob DiForio sold her that chance, and Natalie Lakosil was so charmed by my Dream Dr Who Team (I assume) that she looked past my horribly awkward weirdness to become my agent. I am so lucky to have the best people in the business on my team.
My mom taught me that reading is more important than anything, and without that I would never have become a writer. Dad, Kerry, Laura, and Dann backed that up. McGrigsby’s!
My friends: Sara, my bestie, my first reader and still the prettiest. M Pierce, you redefined what friendship is for me. I’m so proud to be pub-siblings with such an incredible author and friend. Thank you for everything. The WrAHM girls, the Order, the Dirty Laundresses, Melanie Harlow, Gennifer Albin, Tamara Mataya, my guy, Tyler, my lunch buddy Jen, my late-night buddy Leah. I couldn’t live without our constant contact. I have to especially mention Bethany Hagen’s perfect edits, and Lisa Otto’s perfect idea. You truly made this all happen, and for that, no thanks can be enough.
Jaylene didn’t even wait for her date to get out and open her door before she stepped out of the car. He seemed to be polished enough to attempt to do so, but she wasn’t that type of girl, which was probably a lot of the reason the night had gone so terribly. Even if it wasn’t the reason, she wanted to be out and gone from his arrogant presence ASAFP.
Yeah, the date had definitely not been one of the best, even based on
her
track record. And she had a bone to pick about that very subject. A blind date, what had she been thinking? But having her neighbor as a matchmaker was just too strange to pass up. Seriously, who had a matchmaker for a neighbor? She hadn’t even realized they still existed.
Perhaps that should have been a warning sign. The whole thing was actually … archaic, now that she thought about it. Especially when she’d been set up with
that
guy. Never mind what she’d been thinking. What had her matchmaker neighbor been thinking?
Instead of climbing the stairs to her own brownstone apartment, she headed straight to the one next door, intent on picking that bone right then. Jaylene Kim had never been the type to procrastinate. She eyed the group of guys drinking beers on the stoop as she approached. When she’d left to meet Blake Donovan for her disastrous dinner she’d seen the men carrying a sofa into the building. Which one—or ones—of them were moving in?
The scruffy one with the shaggy hair caught her gaze.
Oh, God, please let it be him.
He was too beautiful to not have a girlfriend—or boyfriend, they were in the hippie part of town—but who the hell cared? She didn’t expect to cuddle up with him. Just having him as next-door scenery would be scrumptious.
Scrump. Tious.
But even the face of a potential hot new neighbor was not enough to distract from her mission. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping between the men to get to the door of the building. A couple of them nodded a hello as she passed. The cute one, however, he remained straight-faced, uninterested. Too bad.
Though, when she threw a glance back at him over her shoulder, she found him staring after her, a shy smile curling on his lips. Damn, if that didn’t send shivers down her spine. There was nothing like the sight of a beautiful man. See how her nipples perked up in this guy’s presence? Take that, Blake Donovan, aka blind date from hell.
She grinned smugly to herself as she walked through the door and started up the stairs toward the Dawson unit. When she caught sight of the sisters outside their door, a basket of laundry in each one’s arms, her smile vanished and her eyes blazed.
Pausing in her tracks, she pointed an accusing finger at the elder. “You!”
Lacy, the younger sister, looked up from her task of unlocking the door one-handedly. “What did I do?”
“Not you,” Jaylene said. She gestured to Andy who was attempting to hide behind her mane of auburn curls. “Her.”
Lacy turned to face her sister. “What did you do to piss off Jaylene?”
Andy shrugged. As if she were innocent. As if she didn’t know what she’d done.
“Hey, you two know each other?” Andy asked before Jaylene could commence her attack.
Lacy scowled at the question. “We’re neighbors, doof.”
“But she’s not in our building.” Andy was clearly trying to deflect the spotlight from herself. “And you don’t know any of the other neighbors by name except Mrs. Brandy and that’s only because she’s over here once a week to scream about the volume of your stereo.”
“Jay’s different.” Lacy winked at her. “She’s cool. She used to be running buddies with Lance. They did the marathon a couple of times.”
At the mention of Lacy’s late fiancé, Jaylene found her temper cooling a degree or two. But only out of respect for the dead, not because she actually felt any less pissed at Andrea Dawson. Truthfully, she hadn’t known what to say to Lacy after her loss and had spent most of the last year avoiding her. Guilt kept her from mentioning Lacy when she’d met Andy. It was no wonder that Andy didn’t realize the neighbors had once had a connection.
Lacy cocked her head, her eyes focused on Jaylene. “Wanna come in? We’re planning a laundry-folding party, which will not be the finest of the parties I’ve thrown, I admit, but we do have wine.”
Without hesitation, Jaylene resumed her walk up the steps. “Don’t mind if I do. I’ve never needed a drink so badly in my life.” As Lacy turned back to the doorknob, Jaylene narrowed her eyes at Andy. “Besides, your sister and I have a beef to settle. And I’m
not
folding her laundry.”
She didn’t think she imagined the scared squeak that escaped Andy’s lips.
Good. She should be afraid. Very afraid.
By the time Jaylene had made it up the rest of the stairs, Lacy had managed to get the door open, and both sisters were already inside the apartment.
“I’ll open a bottle,” Andy said, setting her basket of clothing down next to the couch. “What kind would you like?”
Though Andy was now pretending everything was copacetic between them, Jaylene recognized the offer as an attempt to escape her company. That was fine. It would only be momentary. Jay could wait to start her persecution.
“What do you have?” she asked in a pleasant tone. Two could play the nothing’s-up game.
“A reddish kind and a less reddish kind.”
With a sigh, Lacy interjected. “Andy’s basically clueless when it comes to wine. We have a Merlot or a Zin.”
“Definitely Merlot then.” The deep red would be a fitting color to accompany the bloody murder about to take place. Luckily there were freshly washed towels to mop up with.
“Got it,” Andy said, scurrying to the kitchen. “And good choice! It has a nice finish.” Clear bullshit. All wines had a nice finish, if you said so.
“Grab some chips or something, too,” Lacy called after her as she kicked off her flip-flops. She nodded to Jaylene and gestured toward the sofa. “Have a seat. I’m dying to hear what my sister possibly could have done to get you over to my apartment after nine
P.M.
on a school night.”
Jaylene’s early teaching schedule and even earlier training program put her in bed before ten on most evenings. Deciding she’d skip her morning run, she’d made an exception for tonight’s date. She would have been insane not to after she’d seen the picture of Blake Donovan. He was beyond attractive, and Andy’s description of the rich, self-made bachelor had him sounding like quite a catch.
