New Release and Giveaway! THE TEXT GOD by Melanie Summers and Whitney Dureen (An Accidentally in Love Story #2)

Jen

Bending over in Downward Dog, I release the whoosh of breath I’ve been holding for what feels like the last three days. Then I have a stern talk with myself. It goes like this:

Jennifer Flanders, you’re an artist. You are a highly evolved soul who is temporarily off track. While dog walking isn’t your dream job and picking up copious amounts of poop is not fulfilling in and of itself, you’re lucky to have a job. And with such cute furry love nuggets who worship you unconditionally. With the exception of Brutus, of course, who loves nobody.

Then, as I do, I answer myself.

You haven’t sold one painting since you moved to New York. Not. One. Therefore, you can claim to be as advanced a soul as you want, but you are no artist.

Back to Positive Me: Screw you. I went to art school for three years and apprenticed with Peony Parks. That’s Peony. Parks. Second only to Georgia O’Keeffe in matters of all things flowers and possibly girly bits. Those lilies do bring to mind something of a non-botanical nature. I am an artist no matter what you say.

Negative Me: Nope. Not. Lalalalalalala, I can’t hear you!

I’m as tense as the rubber bands that hold a tennis ball together. I gradually retreat out of my current yoga pose and move into a headstand. As the blood rushes to my frontal lobe, I pray to the Universe for peace, strength, creativity, and either more clients or a better-paying survival job. I can’t even afford new art supplies right now, and I’ve been told by every gallery that I’ve walked into that they don’t want me coming back until I have something new to show them.

For some reason my mind drifts off to the morning of Gram’s funeral. I remember Pops telling me that I need to ask for miracles and not to turn away from them when they happen. “Dear God, send me a sign,” I plead. “Just a little something to give me the strength to carry on.”

Not a minute later, maybe not even thirty seconds later, my phone pings. Gently tucking and rolling out of my headstand, I strike a quick warrior pose and namaste my goldfish Frank before checking to see who texted.

The yoga gods would probably prefer all electronics be banned during times of spiritual mind/body goings-on, but they aren’t worried about eviction like I am.

When I see who the text is from, I have to stop and rub my eyes before reading it again. Same result. I read:

GOD: Word on the street is you need a little career guidance. Just wanted to let you know I’m here for you.

What the … God is texting me? Is this some new Verizon service? Because if it is, what in the heck am I paying for it?





A knock on the door startles me out of my concerns. Looking through the peephole, I see my neighbor and good friend Zay Lopez standing there. Well, I see the top of his head, anyway. He’s only four foot eleven. Opening the door, I usher him into my apartment. “Hey, Zay! Wait until you hear what happened today.”

I met Zay when I moved into my building. He lives right across the hall from me and is a computer programmer. He’s a bit of a hermit who works from home because he’s too shy to go into an office. I think he’s embarrassed by his diminutive stature, which was the result of some glandular thing he was born with.

Plopping down on my sofa, my friend says, “I hope it’s good news because I could really use some.”

“Oh, no. Bad day?” I don’t want to jump right into the whole “texting with God” thing before he has a chance to unburden himself.

“Not a good one,” he says, making a grabby motion toward the Oreos in my hand. I toss them over and watch while he dumps several onto his lap. “You know that cow Shelby that I work with?”

Shelby, the cow, is Zay’s nemesis who always mentions in company email threads that Zay should be working in the office and not from home. “What’s she done now?”

“She’s convinced my boss that I need to start coming into the office at least twice a week.” He explains, “I ran downstairs to get my mail the other day and didn’t respond to her text immediately. She’s taken my transgression to a higher power.”

Sitting down next to my friend, I snatch a cookie off his lap. “Oh, no. What are you going to do?”

He shakes his head mournfully. “Unless I want to leave the apartment to stand in the unemployment line, I guess I’m going to have to go into work.”

“That sucks, but maybe it’ll be good for you,” I tell him, trying to sound confident. I’m always trying to get Zay to walk the dogs with me, but he’s not interested. I’m not sure he’s even left his apartment in the past year.

“Good for me like a live grenade to the head,” he grumbles. “What happened to you today that has you so excited?”

“Wait until you hear!” I pause long enough to know I have his full attention before saying, “God texted me this morning.”

Zay looks side to side like he’s searching for a hidden camera before asking, “God? Like ‘the’ God?”

As I nod my head wildly, he says, “Jen, I know you’re a little out there sometimes, and to be honest, it’s one of the many things I like about you, but”—he reaches over to take my hand—“I don’t think you’re getting enough protein.”

“What does protein have to do with anything?”

“Protein,” he starts to enunciate his words much slower and louder, like I’ve aged eighty years in the last minute and won’t be able to understand him otherwise, “Keeps the brain from atrophying.”

Jumping to my feet, I yell, “You don’t believe me!” Then I grab my phone off the counter and find my God thread before handing it over. “He texted me this morning while I was doing a headstand—which, I’ll have you know, is just as good for the brain as protein.”

Zay reads through the texts, muttering things like “His name is Gabe?” and “Come on, his mom says hi?” Finally, he looks up from the screen. “Who is this, really?”

“I know this sounds nuts, but I think it could really be the Big Guy.” I lower my voice out of reverence and point at the water stain on my ceiling. “I didn’t program that name into my phone, and his first text showed up right after I asked the Universe for a sign that things would work out for me. Like immediately after. I told him I needed a job, and …” I snap my fingers. “He got me one at The Asher Hotel. Just like that. I didn’t even have to fill in an application. The manager said if I was a friend of Gabe’s, I was hired.”

“Oh, Jen, you poor naïve thing. You’re being scammed.”

“What could possibly be the motive for someone to pretend to be God just so he or she could help me out?”

Zay does not look convinced. Instead, he starts typing.

JFlan: Hey GOD, this is Zay, but I’m assuming you already know that. Can you please tell me why you’ve taken an interest in my friend?

GOD: …

GOD: …

GOD: Hi, Zay. Um, I’m helping because, you know, it’s good to help people.

JFlan: I could use a little help.

GOD: Shoot.

JFlan: I need to grow four inches by Monday. Any chance you can make that happen?

GOD: That’s not really my specialty, but have you looked into elevated shoes?