Save the Last Text: Digital Dating, #3

By Delancey Stewart and Marika Ray

Their dance video--and their love--is about to go viral...

 

Dalton Cunningham has always been the comic relief in his family. And he's worried they may never see him as anything else, and that they might be right. It might be too late for his father to see Dalton prove himself as an adult capable of helping build the family business, but it's not too late to show his brothers and his mom.

 

His tool of choice? Social media. He's got the marketing down pat, and when he pulls in a classical dancer to build his brand, things really take off.

 

The problem? That dancer is Rae Trask, and she doesn't appreciate some goofy hot wine guy stealing her dance videos and making a mockery of them. She's busy trying to save her studio and her dream. Even though no one else seems to believe a dream is something to build a life around.

 

When Rae and Dalton combine forces, they set the app on fire, and find a little heat erupting between the two of them.

 

Can they work together to accomplish their goals? And will their spark burn into something much hotter?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Delancey Stewart
• Release date: Jan 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224113255

Delancey Stewart

Delancey Stewart writes contemporary romance. Stewart has lived on both coasts, in big cities and small towns. She's been a pharmaceutical rep, a personal trainer and a direct sales representative for a French wine importer. But she has always been a writer first. A wife and the mother of two small boys, her current job titles include pirate captain, monster hunter, Lego assembler and story reader. She tackles all these efforts at her current home outside Washington D.C. Find her at www.delanceystewart.com

Book preview

1

DALTON

D id I not kill it with Wine Wednesdays over the summer on IG?

Boston sucked in a lungful of air like it physically pained him to admit I did a good job promoting our upper tier wine brands at West Wines. Mom just looked confused. She didn’t bother listening to my chatter about social media after I made fun of her for calling it The Tweeter. Granted, I shouldn’t have laughed at her when she was making an effort to stay on top of the ever-evolving world of social media, but come on. You have to admit that was funny.

Did I not get a bazillion followers for Hannah and put Merlot Masterpieces on the map?

Boston pursed his lips so hard I thought he might have sucked on a lemon. Yeah, I suppose you did, though I think there were other factors involved.

I shook my head slowly, barely restraining myself from rolling my eyes. What would it take for my big brother to realize I did a good job in my position as Social Media Manager for West Wines? Would he ever realize that all my antics on my cell phone were for the good of the family company? Okay, fine, some of it was for me and my own amusement, but the company benefited too. It was a win-win I wished he acknowledged.

Dalton, honey, I think what your brother is trying to say is that social media is a double-edged sword. For all the good it provides, it can also have a dark side. And maybe he just doesn’t want to see you get sucked into a world of online friends to the point you don’t have fun in real life. Mom patted my shoulder like I was a little boy she was telling to be nice to the other kids at school.

I had plenty of fun in real life, but then again, I didn’t let Mom in on my social life. There were boundaries a grown man needed to keep. I’m picking up what you’re dropping, mamacita, I said with a forced smile.

She frowned. What are you talking about? I didn’t drop anything.

I put my hands on her shoulders. No. Mom. It’s just a funny phrase from a vine.

What vine? I didn’t drop a vine! Her voice started rising and I was losing patience. My jerk of a brother just stood there with his fist shoved to his mouth as I dealt with our mother.

A vine is a funny video, but Twitter discontinued the app, I explained helpfully, trying to move her slowly into the current decade.

Her face lit up. Oh! Like America’s Funniest Videos? I was so mad when they cancelled that show!

I sighed and swiped a hand over my face. It was time to admit defeat. Yes, Mom. That’s exactly it.

She playfully slapped my arm and moved to go behind the bar at the family winery, The Cunning Ham, where she was supposed to be restocking before the after work crowd came through. Why didn’t you just say so?

Boston looked like he either had some bad gas, or he needed to finally let out the laughter he’d been holding in. Jeez, don’t hurt yourself, I muttered.

He doubled over and guffawed while I shook my head. This was a prime example of why I always joked around. Everyone expected me to anyway, so I might as well give them what they wanted. I pulled out my cell phone and opened my latest social media favorite, TikTok. I’d been using it to build up Hannah’s following at her art shop, but I was thinking I could repeat that success with Cunning Ham Wineries, if Mom was okay with it.

Hey, Mom? I called out, not looking up from my phone. Do you mind if I make a TikTok account for Cunning Ham?

Sure, dear. Just don’t do any nudes.

My head popped up, my nose scrunched up at the very idea of my mother saying those words. Nudes? Jeez, Mom. What do you think social media is?

A bunch of tenderhearted young people who take too many selfies in questionable clothing to inflate their self esteem in direct proportion to the number of likes and comments they get from perfect strangers? Mom nonchalantly slapped a stack of napkins on the bar.

Well, crap. She was not wrong. Maybe she did understand social media.

Be that as it may, it’s also used for business purposes and that’s what I intend to do here, I said in my best manager voice.

I’m not sure TikTok is best suited for business purposes, Boston chimed in, wiping his eyes as he finally controlled the laughter.

Oh really? Because you have extensive experience on this app? I knew for a fact he’d never heard of it until I brought it to his attention.

Boston shrugged. Come on, Dalton. You know it’s just a bunch of kids on there. They’d have no use for videos about wine. And isn’t that a dancing app?

I could feel the heat bubbling under my skin. Are you saying I can’t dance?

Boston shrugged again and I had to physically hold myself back from flicking him right in the chest. Everyone knew I could dance. Sure, I did it with more enthusiasm than most, but I’d built up quite a personal following on TikTok already. I could do the same for Cunning Ham with my eyes closed.

I’ll make you a bet right now, punk. I can get one hundred thousand followers in one month.

My heart rate sped up as I threw down the challenge. I could do this. I wanted to do this. I needed to prove to my pessimistic big brother that I knew what I was doing. That even though I was considered one of the babies of the family—the true baby was Dillon since he was born three minutes later than me—I was capable of great things.

Boston stared at me, a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite pin down. It was either him thinking I was crazy, or maybe, just maybe, it was the flickering start of genuine respect.

You know, a million followers doesn’t mean anything if it doesn’t change the bottomline.

Oh ye of little faith. I slid the phone back in my pocket and puffed up my chest. I’ll get you the followers and the cash. Don’t you worry.

And if you fail? What do I get then? Boston crossed his arms over his chest, looking almost gleeful at the prospect.

Besides gloating rights for all time? Boston grinned at that. I’ll wear the pig costume for any and all future events at Cunning Ham.

Boston’s jaw dropped. So did mine. Why did I promise that? The Shining was tame compared to that frightful costume. That thing was ridiculous when Mom bought it brand new. Now the heavy felt contained the sweat smells from too many people in too many hot afternoon activities. We hated that thing. We’d even tried to burn it once but Mom caught us and we had to make up some ridiculous lie about making s’mores in Halloween costumes. In May.

I cleared my throat. And if I win? What do I get? I had to win. I refused to wear that costume anytime Mom got a wild hair and wanted to host a party at the winery.

Boston pondered that for a full minute. You can take over the whole marketing department when Leslie retires.

My heart stopped and the air took on a mystic quality. Heck, even the Earth quit spinning on its axis for a second. You’ll make me the Marketing Manager of West Wines?

He shrugged and this time I wanted to hug him for it. If you can change the bottom line with your ideas, it means you’re ready for the promotion.

Joy, the kind that can’t be blotted out with anything trivial, swept me up and lodged inside my chest. I took a single step and jumped, wrapping Boston in a four-appendage bear hug that made him stagger back with a laugh. Jeez, Dalton.

I thumped him on the back and then climbed off, grinning from ear to ear. You won’t regret this, bro.

I wasn’t stupid enough to wait for him to take it back. I ran out the door and pulled my phone out. I already had an idea for a killer intro video. Just yesterday I’d found a female dancer who had crazy smooth moves. She was ridiculously beautiful, too, so that factored into my decision. Every account needed something they were known for. A brand, if you will. The winery’s account would be known for humor and dancing. Our family winery wasn’t stuffy and pretentious. We liked to smile, laugh, and host events with live bands and packed dance floors.

Pulling up the video of the girl I’d seen yesterday, I made sure you could see the winery sign in the background, hit the duet button, and propped the phone against the huge clay pot my brother Lincoln had yet to paint.

The app counted me in and then I went for it, putting every ounce of excitement into my moves. Was I as good as her? No. Not even close. But I made up for my lack of talent with raw enthusiasm you couldn’t teach at a dance studio.

When the song ended, I ran over to the phone and watched it on replay. Oh man, this was good. I was going to win this bet, no doubt about it. I made sure to add some relevant hashtags that would get eyeballs on my video and hit publish.

That was amazing.

I lifted my head to see Boston’s fiancé, El, leaning against her new SUV. Apparently, she’d watched the whole thing. Why thank you, my sister from another mister. I’m about to make this winery famous.

She lifted an eyebrow and walked over, tripping over the curb but righting herself before I could get over there to lend a hand. I thought the Romeo and Juliet skit would have already made us famous.

I cringed thinking back on the pig costume’s debut. Yeah. Well, I mean famous for something good.

Her grin grew. Is a TikTok really going to be any better?

I patted her on the back and turned to head to my car. There was no time to waste. I had a whole marketing strategy to put together. Just wait and see. I’m gonna blow this winery up!

Her laughter trailed behind me but I firmed my jaw. This was going to prove once and for all that I knew what I was doing. That I deserved that promotion. That I was more than just the class clown everyone relied on for a few cheap laughs.

One way or another, I’d get those hundred thousand followers and prop up the bottom line. I’d bet my life on it.

2

RAEANNE

Y es, Anna! You’re killing it, Beth! You guys slayed today! It might have been a little more gusto than a four-year old’s hip hop class really called for, but my desperation was morphing me into an over-enthusiastic wild woman.

Rae? Anna’s mom crossed the wide planked floor to approach as the four little girls spun away to head back home.

Hey! The brightness would not leave my voice, and I might have accidentally shouted it. Erm. Hi. Anna’s doing so well.

She loves your class, the woman said, looking worried about something. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I mean, she glanced around the almost empty studio. Will you be able to keep it going?

I pretended to have no idea what she was talking about. What? Of course! I’d never let the girls down.

It’s just, I know Dance, dance, dance is taking a lot of your business across town, aren’t they?

Those hacks? I blew out an unconcerned raspberry and waved a hand. I hated those guys at Dance, dance, dance. They were stealing all my business. But Anna’s mom did not need to know that. Nah, we’re fine!

Oh, she said, looking around again at a space that did not exactly scream ‘happening place to be.’ Well, I danced here when I was a kid, with your mom. And I want to keep Anna here.

Uh oh. Alarms began sounding in my head.

But her best friend from preschool has started dancing with Ned Eclair over there, and she’s been talking a lot with Anna about how much fun they’re having and all the competitions they’re doing and everything. I just wondered, are you going to start a dance team here?

We’re definitely talking about it, I assured her, worrying in the back of my mind whether lying about this was just paving my way to a future of fire and brimstone. Just hang with us a bit, okay? We’ve got some big things coming up.

She nodded, looking slightly reassured. Okay. Okay, good. Well, tell your mom I said hello.

I sure will.

Bye, Miss Rae! Anna called, trailing behind her mother and leaving me alone in the empty studio.

I looked around, my eyes skimming over this place that mirrored the inside of my heart. Wide open worn plank flooring, rubbed to the perfect texture by years of dancing feet, tall paneled mirrors along one wall with a sturdy barre attached—where I’d done my very first pliés and tendus. I crossed the floor, letting my body move in the way it knew better than anything else—tombé, pas de bourree, glissade, grand jete… it was the closest thing I knew to flying, and so much of it had happened here under these soft lights, in this quiet open space. This was my family, my heritage, my childhood.

And I was about to lose it all.

I changed in the dressing room, trying to stop myself from being sentimental about every little thing from the swinging saloon doors that blocked the dressing area from the hallway to the little pink cubbies that fit neatly under the bench for students to store their things during class. And then I picked up my bag, locked up, and headed over to Mom and Dad’s for dinner.

There she is, Dad grinned, greeting me at the door with a spatula in his hand and wearing an apron that said An apron is just a backwards cape.

Hey Dad. I allowed myself to be pulled into a hug, and tolerated it when Dad noogied my head. I wasn’t sure why he