Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

Maybe get a burger, too, but I wouldn’t say that in front of Emma’s mum.

“You work too much, Jaxson, dear,” said Mrs Woods. “If you don’t rest, you’ll make yourself sick. You should try meditation.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, ma’am.”

Truthfully, I could hardly tear myself away. Emma’s house was so much more home to me than my own place. But I promised Martín I’d return, and Emma admitted she was tired and would go to bed early. So off I went, but before I did, she walked me out to my car and kissed me. On the jaw. Not even on the cheek. It was that awkward spot between chin and jawbone that was neither the lips nor the earlobe. Underwhelming as far as kisses go but still enough to make my free-falling stomach give the Olympic luge a run for its money. To answer Mrs Woods' admonishment: I worked too much for a reason. If I stopped long enough to entertain my instincts, I’d make myself a lot more than sick. I’d make myself crazy.

8

Emoji Dating

Emma

Another tenner in the kitty, if you please.

I plastered the sticky note smack dab in the middle of Stella’s computer screen. I could smell victory in the air. Or was that her patchouli? Elton and Harriet were halfway in love already. Of course, nosey Jaxson just had to follow me into Stella’s office. I certainly wasn’t complaining, especially since he looked huggable in that wool jumper. It was a pleasant distraction, and I still felt the warmth in my fingertips when we returned into the rehearsal studio. Unfortunately, Harriet was gone by that time.

I couldn’t figure out why Harriet took the bus home. What kind of nutter takes public transportation in Hollywood? She could have been mugged. Or worse. She could have broken a heel. I decided I’d encourage her to drive her clunker car from then on.

Harriet stopped by my house on Sunday a little flustered and a little wet from the rain. I could hear the telltale sounds of her squeaky Honda Civic before she entered the driveway, and I greeted her at the door, hardly able to wait to tell her Elton wanted to record the song. Not that I could get a word in edgewise. She began talking without preamble right in the doorway.

“He texted. Oh, my stars, he texted.”

She said a bunch of other stuff, too, but she spoke so fast I could hardly make out a syllable.

“Wait, slow down, and come inside.”

She shed her wet coat, and I gently coaxed her into the living room. “Take off your shoes, dear. Your socks are probably wet.” I frowned at her trainers, wondering why she wasn’t wearing the boots we’d bought. “Now, what’s this text business?”

“He asked me out,” she squealed. “Oh, Emma, I can’t believe it.”

“What?” This was amazing news. But why via text? Elton probably couldn’t wait until he saw her on Monday. I joined in the squealing, and we probably appeared like two pre-teen girls at a school dance. Mum’s head poked around the corner disapprovingly. I ushered Harriet into the solarium where the heat of a fire warmed the room. It was a cosy contrast to the ominous grey clouds and tumultuous black waves we could see through the floor-to-ceiling windows. We sat on a loveseat where Jaxson and I often liked to read or take naps. He always got the poor end of the sitting arrangement because only one of us could truly stretch out on that small sofa, and it was always me. He was kind enough to allow my feet to rest on his lap.

“I’m delighted he asked you out already,” I admitted, tossing her a throw blanket to warm her up. “I knew you had it in you.”

He certainly didn’t waste any time. It took forever for Randall and Annie to get together. I almost lost my mind over the ordeal.

“He said he wanted to ask me for a long time, but he was too shy to ask.”

“Really?” Elton didn’t strike me as the shy type considering how he hammed it up at the rehearsals. “I suppose musicians are like that when they’re not on stage.”

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t give her a ride on Friday. Because he was too shy. That was adorable.

“Emma, please help me. What do I say to him?”

“Well, what was the wording of the text?” I didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding on her part.

“Do you want to see?” She dug out her phone and handed it to me, opening the text message. I looked at it curiously. She must have tapped the wrong contact because the name on the screen read Roberto.

“Harriet, this isn’t it.” I pointed to the name on the screen. She giggled and shrugged.

“That’s the right number all right. His first name is Roberto.”

“Elton’s first name is Roberto?” Was Elton a middle name?

“Not Elton,” she said nervously. “Martinez.”

“I’m a little confused. Elton asked you out… using Martín’s phone?”

She just blinked wide-eyed with a flush in her cheeks. Oh, snap. No wonder she came over so out of sorts. Elton hadn’t asked her out at all. It was that bartender chap. And the whole business made Harriet uncomfortable. I scrolled through the texts. There were three.

“What do you think?” she asked, wringing her hands on her lap. “Is it too… short?”

“Well, he certainly gets to the point. I’m surprised he used full sentences and not that deplorable text message lingo. Or worse—emojis.”

The bloke probably got help on it.

“What should I do?”

“You must reply immediately,” I said, handing her back the phone.

“Right.”

“But let him down gently.”

“Let him down?”

I took her shoulders and looked her squarely in the face, trying to give her strength. “Harriet. Nobody likes to turn a guy down. It’s not fun. But you can’t string him along, either. It will make it easier on both of you.”

“Oh.”

“It’s probably best this is done over text message, so you don’t have to see the disappointment on his