By Mistake

By Sigal Ehrlich

You've Got Mail meets Grey's Anatomy in this sweet slow-burn, virtual meet-cute romance.

There’s so much going on in Anna’s life. Teaching countless hours at the studio and nurturing the three major relationships of her life – her group of tight-knit friends, all while attempting to not screw up this whole adulthood thing leaves very little time to waste on yet another dating app. At this point, a relationship is off the menu. Being “self-partnered” is more than enough.

A serious relationship has been crossed off Liam Brody’s list of goals, at least for the foreseeable future. Completing his residency and becoming a trauma surgeon is his only priority. Casual relationships, his friends, and books are the only things he’s willing to lose his precious free time to.

When an accidental email starts a deep online connection, both Liam and Anna dive in with zero concern . . . because there’s really no harm in getting close to someone who you’ll never meet in real life, right?

Wrong.

When a turn of events brings their “safe” virtual connection to an unexpected face-to-face, Anna and Liam learn their online chemistry pales in comparison to the real deal. A realization that brings along the bazillion-dollar question – what do you do when you meet The One at the most impossibly wrong time?

** by Mist@ke is book 1 in a standalone series with connected characters, but independent storylines.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sigal Ehrlich
• Release date: Jan 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9780997011456

Sigal Ehrlich

Sigal Ehrlich is a bestselling author of refreshing, fun, and sweet romance books. She loves books, cold weather, and the occasional bubbly drink. Living as an expat for most of her life, Sigal has been lucky enough to visit many exotic places and meet some unique people from all corners of the world, while experiencing the sweet triumphs and travails of trying to acclimate to new "homes." Currently, Sigal calls the Czech Republic home where she lives with her husband and three kids.http://www.sigalehrlich.com/@Sigal_Ehrlichhttps://www.facebook.com/sigalehrlich.author

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright © Sigal Ehrlich

Also by Sigal Ehrlich

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

by Chance (Poison & Wine, book II)

Note from the Author

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Sigal Ehrlich

ISBN: 978 0 9970114 2 5 (eBook)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

by Mistake

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Copyright © 2021 by Sigal Ehrlich. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

Cover designed by Damonza

Editing by Nicole Hornbaker Langston

Published by Sigal Ehrlich

http:// www.sigalehrlich.com

Visit the author’s website:

http://www.sigalehrlich.com

Version 06.09.19

Interior design and formatting by:

www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

Layers, Stark #1

Inner Core, Stark #2

Outer Core, Stark #3

Retrace

Leaving Me Behind

Unplugged I

Unplugged II

Kiki, you gem, this one’s for you.

Chickens and Challenges

Ican’t open the door fast enough even if I tried. Slam-dunking the keys into the bowl in the hall, I follow it with a lingering wooo and make my way to the living room to grab a wool throw blanket. I drape the blanket over my shoulders and haste my steps en route to the kitchen.

I don’t care what they say, nothing beats a steaming bowl of ramen. Nothing! Whoever invented ramen takeout leftovers that taste better a day later is a true genius and I’m a massive fan.

I’m famished like only a person who works her body as much as I do can be. Side note, I’m not a sex worker (not that there is anything wrong with that, your body do with it whatever you want). I’m just saying, let a girl inhale some food first. I type in my laptop password while happily slurping a juicy noodle, waiting for my inbox to synch. I spoon up some seaweed and mushrooms and ungracefully shove the heaped spoon into my mouth. I moan with delight and send my tongue out to lick off the soup making its way down my chin. The beauty of eating solo – you can pig out like no one’s watching. Being single is not all that bad, I tell ya. I let out an amused snort when an earlier chat group with my friends pops into my mind.

Victoria to CHICKENS: Morning chickens, it’s the first Monday of the month, you know what’s coming.. . . . Monthly challenge! Chickens, this week you need to reply, KINDLY, to whatever’s sent your way. Lovely week!

Kayla to CHICKENS: I know I’m sort of new around here, not sure I have enough seniority to say this, but can someone be blocked from sending cheerful messages ON A MONDAY before noon?

Victoria to CHICKENS: Kayla Morning Drummergirl, may this beautiful MONDAY bestow love and positive energy upon you.

Kayla to CHICKENS: I don’t do emojis so just imagine a gun to head.

Pandora to CHICKENS: Victoria, elaborate, we need to answer what? Oh, and top of the morning to you too, Drummergirl. Keep spreading them unicorns and rainbows to the universe.

Victoria to CHICKENS: Emails, messages, calls (yes, some people STILL do that) or if someone approaches you, you answer, kindly. No ignoring, no ghosting, no screening. Namaste, chickens!

Anna to CHICKENS: Guys I have 2 open slots for the 80’s Aerobics class tonight at seven, who’s coming?

Victoria: Me!

Pandora: Yay! So much yes, only if I’m paying.

Anna: Panda, buy me a tea later and we’ll call it even. Praise be.

I laugh to myself and focus my attention back to the device on my lap. I hum along to the indie acoustic covers playlist playing in the background, mentally cataloguing the emails.

Later.

Later.

Later. The kind that really means never. Which due to the monthly challenge, I probably will answer.

Later.

Bills.

Where did HE get my email from? Report spam.

Later.

A frown settles between my brows as I notice the next email. Squinting my eyes, I search my head for the odd email address. Typically, I would probably open an email from an unfamiliar address last, if at all. But something about the subject caught my attention, not to mention my sister’s brilliant little monthly challenge. She knew what she was doing, the wicked hen. Also, the email subject – such poetry is a rare occurrence in this day and age.

Hey wanker, got your new email address from the flamingo…

How can someone really resist this? My soup coated, oily lips stretch into an animated smile as I click on the email.

It’s been a while, man. I met Heather the other day and she gave me your new contact. Getting hacked is a huge bummer.

Heard you guys were seeing each other. Who would have thought, ah? Took you only about a decade to get your head out of your ass and realize that the Flamingo was your destiny, after all? She said that you’re leaving in a few days. Africa, man. I’m playing with the idea too. We might end up serving together again. Safe travels and keep in touch, you little shit.

Ps. Look what I found the other day, the good ol’ days.

I let out a little chuckle after reading the content. Feels a bit nosy, inappropriate and much stalker-ish reading a message that was intended for someone else, but well, it did land in my inbox. But then again, given I’m already invested I might as well have a peek at the attachment, get a sense of how the good ol’ days looked. I unload another spoonful of soup into my mouth, waiting for the image to upload.

Oh hi.

I give the photo a thorough scan, the tipping of my lips comes as a reflex. It’s an image of two guys in their late twenties, at a guess. They’re posing in the casual photo-bro-hug stance. Both fit and tall. Both sporting a white t-shirt with Modern Day Slave in black letters boasted on the front. The guy on the right is of the tall, dark, and handsome variety; the one on the left looks like the boy next door who’s grown into a fine-looking gentleman. They couldn’t look more different, yet both are more than easy on the eye, and that’s an understatement.

I’m not sure who this Flamingo person is, but respect, sister, for knowing these two. Not to mention dating one of them.

Okay then. The right thing to do as per common curtesy and monthly challenge protocol, is to let Mr. . . I narrow my eyes at the screen and frown. Who doesn’t sign their emails? Ok, time to let anonymous know that his email missed its destination.

Hi there, anonymous person who doesn’t sign his emails,

There must have been some mix-up and I got this email. By mistake, FYI. And I guess we don’t want Little Shit to miss this message, do we?

Beautiful day,

Anna

The distance between your dreams and reality is called action.

I shoot off the email, put the bowl in the dishwasher, and fill up the bath. After four advanced Pilates classes in a row, and aerobics, my muscles could really use some bath-soaking indulgence.

Tolkien and Hippies

Sonofabitch! I jerk back to check who just slapped me on the back. I dart Ronan, a fellow resident, a frown as I shrug on a shirt.

You’re going for a run now? You kidding me? Go home, get some sleep, man. Ronan shakes his head, eyeing me as I tie my worn-out running shoes. He slides his hands into his white coat pockets. It’s been what? A thirty hour shift? It’s unhealthy. Go home and rest. He tugs at his stethoscope, Doctor’s orders.

I hang my own stethoscope in the locker. Well, this doctor says you’ve got to live a little. I close the locker and head to refill my water bottle. Ronan follows me to the water fountain. I throw him a side glance. You know what’s unhealthy? A work, sleep, work cycle. I managed to grab some sleep in-between, I tell him, holding the bottle under the fountain. The cold spreads as the bottle fills up, sending a chill down the tips of my fingers.

He gives me an objecting smile-grimace hybrid, knowing full-well what my so-called sleep really means. A couple of sleep cycles of somewhere between twenty minutes to an hour, if you’re lucky. I could go home and rest like my colleague suggests and practically let my life, at least for the foreseeable future, pass me by as I grind myself to the bones. But I believe that sports and entertainment aren’t any less crucial for a healthy life/mind.

Peeling off a granola bar wrapper with a crackling sound, Ronan says, "Daphne asked about you again. At least give it a try, she’s cute. Hell, she’s much more than cute. I’d totally hit that."

Securing the lid on my bottle, I raise my eyes to him. She seems like a nice person, but I told you, I don’t want to get involved with anyone at work. This place is practically our second home. We see these people all the time. What if it doesn’t work? We’ll be bumping into each other all the time. Thanks, but I’ll pass.

Between chews on the granola, Ronan says, You know what your problem is, Brody? You take things too seriously, loosen up a little. He pauses to swallow. So what? Hook up with the lovely redhead. You don’t have to move in with her the next day. He then gives me back my own words. Live a little.

I pat his chest, Appreciate the advice, Dr. Phil. See you tomorrow.

And I head to the door.

By the time I reach the heavy doors of the local library, the sun is set low in the sky and fatigue is starting to take its toll on me. After the run, I popped by the apartment for a quick shower, grabbed a sandwich, and headed out again. I smile at the librarian who smiles back at me in familiarity and I walk over to the fantasies’ aisle first. You know how some people chill at coffee shops or parks. One of my favorite downtime places is the library. Where I can still be surrounded by people, yet conversations and phones are hushed and my mind can unwind as it is immersed in book blurbs, musty-smelling hardcovers with worn spines, and my thoughts.

I pick up a newly released book by one of my favorite authors, Kazuo Ishiguro, and an old one- by Tolkien. It’s my thing if you will. Once a week, I drop by the library; each time I go for a different genre from which I choose a new book and an old one. Feels like, in a way, I get to discover new and old worlds.

I give the room a swift scan and choose a secluded corner where I’ll read for a while, work on the endless MSF—Doctor Without Borders documents, and catch up on what I’ve missed in the past twenty-four hours in the real world. And by real world, I obviously mean news and social media.

It takes me more than an hour to fill in the application for MSF. I glance at my watch and decide to start the thick Tolkien book later tonight if I manage to keep my eyes open. I have to wrap it up here before the friendly librarian becomes a little less amiable and kicks me out. Just before switching off the tablet, I catch myself grinning at the reply to one of the emails I sent yesterday. Even though this one doesn’t really require an answer, I decide to answer it anyway while amusedly wondering who this hippie kooky human is who signs off her emails with bullshit motivational quotes.

An Attempt at Adulting

S ure, no problems, I’ll call you right after. Yeah, I promise, I say to the phone, while applying mascara. Mmmhmm, I hum, checking my makeup in the mirror. With my pinky, I fix the nude-ish lipstick at the corner of my lips. I spray perfume and walk through the scented cloud, pick up the phone that’s on speaker, and continue to the kitchen.

You sure you don’t want me to come with you, Bean? My mom asks via the speaker.

I give my travel mug a quick rinse and fill it with fresh ginger and mint tea. No, mom, thanks.

I can be there in ten—

I shake my head, albeit in an animated, fond manner. Cutting her off, I say, Hey, mom, your job is complete. You raised me well, it’s on me now.

My mom’s easy laughter prompts a smile. I secure the mug’s lid better as she says, Smartass.

Love you too, mom. And yes, I’ll call you later. Wish me luck.

I played it cool when talking to my mom, for two main reasons. A. I know just how bad she feels about not being able to lend me the money, and that if I showed even the slightest apprehension, she’d go and do something mad like sell her apartment. My mom would do anything for my sister Victoria and me. B. I’m a capable grown-up woman who can and should handle things by herself.

But now, sitting here in the reception area at the bank, waiting for my appointment, I feel the tension tight in my stomach. I have all the necessary papers with me, and most importantly a business plan for my own fitness studio. The owner, my boss of the last three years, decided to retire and sell the studio. Knowing how committed I am to the place, seeing I’ve been practically running it for the last year or so, investing in things, buying some of the gear out of my own pocket, she turned to me with a proposal before putting it on the market. Owning my own studio is a dream. One I assumed I’d be pursuing somewhere in the future, maybe after some business classes and a greater fortune for a down payment. It’s not a big studio by any means: three smaller rooms and a large one with a capacity of about twenty people. Personnel-wise, there are four instructors including me. Mrs. Rotfield, the owner, hardly teaches anymore. We offer Pilates, Zumba, body balance, aerobics, and yoga classes.

The studio is doing well, could be better but nothing to complain about. Taking it on would be quite the challenge. I love teaching but managing the place and the people would be a whole new experience for me, one that I’m not entirely sure I’m up to. But when the offer came, the more I thought about it the more it seemed like a leap I’d like to take. A great idea that still gives me one heck of a case of heartburn. Committing to something like this at the age of twenty-seven – that’s full functioning adult territory. I hope I know what I’m doing. I seriously hope I’m ready.

But I’m jumping the gun here.

First and foremost I need to get approved for a loan, which brings me to the current moment, where I’m sitting on an uncomfortable sofa, tapping my feet nervously, in a killer pantsuit and some serious heels, feeling like a little kid who’s about to be patted on the head with a consolation smile and a gentle encouragement to go home and come back in a few years. I try to remind myself that the studio is doing more than well, mostly due to my classes (if I may say so myself). My Pilates, and not to mention, the 80’s Throwback Aerobics are always at capacity, with a prominent waiting list.

I cross my legs and uncross them again, check my watch for the umpteenth time, and try to subtly take some deep yoga breaths. Nothing helps. I’m still a tight spring of edginess. I pull out my phone, looking for a diversion. It comes in the form of an email I’ve practically forgotten about.

Hey there, nice person who signs off her emails weirdly,

First off, let me rectify my lack of proper email signing etiquette. Nice to e-meet you, Anna, I’m Liam.

Thanks for being a cool person and letting me know you’re not Little Shit.

I trust you will find this reply satisfactory, and remain yours faithfully,

Liam

The first step for change is to become aware of your own bullshit.

PS. What’s up with the motivational quote sign off, Anna?

An involuntary laugh leaves my lips. So many things to address in this message. First, who thanks random people these days? Bonus point to Mr. Liam. Then, if there’s something I find special about guys, and by special I mean scorching hot, it’s got to be guys who read. A guy with a book? Visual/mental foreplay. This Liam guy signed off his email with a J. R. R. Tolkien quote, nonetheless! Okay, the little jab about my quote wasn’t cool, but his responding quote was sort of funny. And he quoted Tolkien! Not to mention—

Miss Nielsen?

Oh, hi, hello, hi, I throw the phone into my bag and stand up with a start, all while extending my hand for a shake. You must be Ms. Blake, nice to meet you. I fumble a little with the folder that almost falls from my hand and my bag’s strap is slowly sliding down my arm. I try to hoist it up through the whole handshake thing. I must look lightyears away from the serious businesswoman I opted for.

Luckily, by the time we reach Ms. Blake’s office, I manage to get a grip and actually pull off a more collected and purposeful version of myself. I answer all the questions Ms. Blake has for me and present her with all the documents she requests. As we review the business plan, I answer a few more questions, and it’s the longest hour of my life.

When I leave the office and close the door behind me, it’s the first time since I came in that I feel like I can finally relax.

Done.

Nothing more to do but wait. Wait up to two months as I was told. When I asked if there’s any possibility to expedite the process and got a firm headshake, I decided to refrain from pushing any further. It’s a fifty-fifty chance as I see it. All I have left is to hope that by some miracle or because of my solid business plan, I get approved for the loan.

I twist my neck from side to side and roll back my shoulders. What I need right now is some distraction or a healthy glass of chilled Rosé . . . or both. I shoot out a message to the girls.

Anna to CHICKENS: Drinks in an hour?

Victoria to CHICKENS: Always. Where?

Kayla to CHICKENS: I’m in if we do it at Poison. We have a gig later tonight.

Pandora to CHICKENS: Poison and Wine it is then. I’ll be a few minutes late. Drummergirl, can’t wait to see you guys perform.

It’s Never Really Casual

W hatever’s on draft, Billy says to the cute, freckled waitress at Poison and Wine.

Make that two, Freddie adds. He gives me a wicked smirk. And soda water for Saint Liam, over here.

The waitress sends me a quick smile that comes in tandem to her cheeks tinting pink.

I throw my bulky scuba watch a glance. Two hours till my next shift. Alcohol isn’t getting anywhere near my lips. In every job you can leave a margin for fuck-ups, but not in mine.

So, any chance you can take the time off? Billy asks, referring to a west coast road trip the two of them are planning for a few months from now. What I wouldn’t do to join. This one’s up high on my bucket list, together with an MSF assignment. Albeit though, free time is not something I have. Nor will I have for the next few good years. It’s like they say, comes with the territory. What with my soul practically owned by the emergency department at Virginia Mason.

After I got the time off for the MSF mission approved, I don’t even dare take an hour off, not to mention two weeks. Our chief resident would cut my nuts off if I even dreamt of such a request. And Billy should know, he went through the same trajectory a few years back. Now he works in the private sector. A clinic he opened with a few colleagues, where he insists I’ll have a place when and if I decide to come on board.

How is it going? The MSF thing? Freddie asks.

Can’t wait to get rid of me, ah Fred? I say to Freddie, aka my roommate.

He snorts humoredly. Dude, I hardly remember how you look as it is.

He might be exaggerating a little, but Freddie essentially has the apartment to himself eighty percent of the time. Something that I plan on changing soon. It’s time I got my own place. Not to mention, most of the time I’m home he’s either deep in Slumberland or out at work. But even though we’re sharing a two-bedroom apartment, he’s been more than fair to split the rent forty-sixty. Freddie and

Reviews for By Mistake

[Tabatha Bernier · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Wow!! This book is by far one of my top 10 romance books. I received an eARC thanks for NetGalley! It is the sweetest most perfect GAG until you turn blue love story. I was here for it. HERE??FOR??IT??
It is the sweetest love story between Anna a fitness instructor and Liam a trauma surgeon. They start their love story via an email that went awry and then meet up for coffee and it’s just perfect. There’s trials and tribulations but you just need them to work out. I even got teary eyed at some points because both of the characters seemed soo genuine. It was just such a weird/great feeling to get from a book. The author did an amazing job making this seem like an actual real perfect love story without someone being a billionaire and someone being a damsel in distress. This author wrote this novel AMAZINGLY. I am going to be reading as much as I can from her!