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“Utterly charming . . . Put Sophie Kinsella’s Number on speed dial.”—USA Today
Poppy Wyatt has never felt luckier. She is about to marry her ideal man, Magnus Tavish, but in one afternoon her “happily ever after” begins to fall apart. Not only has she lost her engagement ring in a hotel fire drill, but in the panic that follows, her phone is stolen. As she paces shakily around the lobby, she spots an abandoned phone in a trash can. Finders keepers! Now she can leave a number for the hotel to contact her when they find her ring. Perfect!
Well, perfect except that the phone’s owner, businessman Sam Roxton, doesn’t agree. He wants his phone back and doesn’t appreciate Poppy reading his messages and wading into his personal life.
What ensues is a hilarious and unpredictable turn of events as Poppy and Sam increasingly upend each other’s lives through emails and text messages. As Poppy juggles wedding preparations, mysterious phone calls, and hiding her left hand from Magnus and his parents, she soon realizes that she is in for the biggest surprise of her life.
“A rollicking page-turner . . . It’s funny. It’s clever. It twists and turns. . . . Sophie Kinsella has yet another winner.”—Fort Worth Star-Telegram
“Fresh, fast-paced, and fiercely funny . . . Kinsella pens her most lovably neurotic protagonist yet. . . . A laugh-out-loud comic caper.”—Publishers Weekly
“Poppy is easily as charming and daffy as shopaholic Rebecca Bloomwood.”—Kirkus Reviews
“A screwball romance for the digital age.”—The Star-Ledger
|Publisher:||Random House Publishing Group|
|Product dimensions:||5.10(w) x 7.90(h) x 1.10(d)|
About the Author
Sophie Kinsella is the author of the bestselling Shopaholic series, as well as the novels Can You Keep A Secret?, The Undomestic Goddess, Remember Me?, Twenties Girl, I’ve Got Your Number, and Wedding Night. She lives in England.
Date of Birth:December 12, 1969
Place of Birth:London, England
Education:B.A. in Politics, Philosophy and Economics, Oxford University, 1990; M.Mus., King's College, London, 1992
Read an Excerpt
Perspective. I need to get perspective. It’s not an earthquake or a crazed gunman or a nuclear meltdown, is it? On the scale of disasters, this is not huge. Not huge. One day I expect I’ll look back at this moment and laugh and think, Ha-ha, how silly I was to worry—
Stop, Poppy. Don’t even try. I’m not laughing—in fact, I feel sick. I’m walking blindly around the hotel ballroom, my heart thudding, looking fruitlessly on the patterned blue carpet, behind gilt chairs, under discarded paper napkins, in places where it couldn’t possibly be.
I’ve lost it. The only thing in the world I wasn’t supposed to lose. My engagement ring.
To say this is a special ring is an understatement. It’s been in Magnus’s family for three generations. It’s this stunning emerald with two diamonds, and Magnus had to get it out of a special bank vault before he proposed. I’ve worn it safely every day for three whole months, religiously putting it on a special china tray at night, feeling for it on my finger every thirty seconds...and now, the very day his parents are coming back from the States, I’ve lost it. The very same day.
Professors Antony Tavish and Wanda Brook-Tavish are, at this precise moment, flying back from six months’ sabbatical in Chicago. I can picture them now, eating honey-roasted peanuts and reading academic papers on their his ’n’ hers Kindles. I honestly don’t know which of them is more intimidating.
Him. He’s so sarcastic.
No, her. With all that frizzy hair and always asking you questions about your views on feminism.
OK, they’re both bloody scary. And they’re landing in about an hour, and of course they’ll want to see the ring—
No. Do not hyperventilate, Poppy. Stay positive. I just need to look at this from a different angle. Like...what would Poirot do? Poirot wouldn’t flap around in panic. He’d stay calm and use his little gray cells and recall some tiny, vital detail which would be the clue to everything.
I squeeze my eyes tight. Little gray cells. Come on. Do your best.
Thing is, I’m not sure Poirot had three glasses of pink champagne and a mojito before he solved the Murder on the Orient Express.
“Miss?” A gray-haired cleaning lady is trying to get round me with a Hoover, and I gasp in horror. They’re Hoovering the ballroom already? What if they suck it up?
“Excuse me.” I grab her blue nylon shoulder. “Could you just give me five more minutes to search before you start Hoovering?”
“Still looking for your ring?” She shakes her head doubtfully, then brightens. “I expect you’ll find it safe at home. It’s probably been there all the time!”
“Maybe.” I force myself to nod politely, although I feel like screaming, “I’m not that stupid!”
I spot another cleaner, on the other side of the ballroom, clearing cupcake crumbs and crumpled paper napkins into a black plastic bin bag. She isn’t concentrating at all. Wasn’t she listening to me?
“Excuse me!” My voice shrills out as I sprint across to her. “You are looking out for my ring, aren’t you?”
“No sign of it so far, love.” The woman sweeps another load of detritus off the table into the bin bag without giving it a second glance.
“Careful!” I grab for the napkins and pull them out again, feeling each one carefully for a hard lump, not caring that I’m getting buttercream icing all over my hands.
“Dear, I’m trying to clear up.” The cleaner grabs the napkins out of my hands. “Look at the mess you’re making!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” I scrabble for the cupcake cases I dropped on the floor. “But you don’t understand. If I don’t find this ring, I’m dead.”
I want to grab the bin bag and do a forensics check of the contents with tweezers. I want to put plastic tape round the whole room and declare it a crime scene. It has to be here, it has to be.
Unless someone’s still got it. That’s the only other possibility that I’m clinging to. One of my friends is still wearing it and somehow hasn’t noticed. Perhaps it’s slipped into a handbag...maybe it’s fallen into a pocket...it’s stuck on the threads of a jumper... The possibilities in my head are getting more and more far-fetched, but I can’t give up on them.
“Have you tried the ladies’ room?” The woman moves to get past me.
Of course I’ve tried the ladies’ room. I checked every single cubicle, on my hands and knees. And then all the basins. Twice. And then I tried to persuade the concierge to close it and have all the sink pipes investigated, but he refused. He said it would be different if I knew it had been lost there for certain, and he was sure the police would agree with him, and could I please step aside from the desk as there were people waiting?
Police. Bah. I thought they’d come roaring round in their squad cars as soon as I called, not just tell me to come down to the police station and file a report. I don’t have time to file a report! I’ve got to find my ring!
I hurry back to the circular table we were sitting at this afternoon and crawl underneath, patting the carpet yet again. How could I have let this happen? How could I have been so stupid?
It was my old school friend Natasha’s idea to get tickets for the Marie Curie Champagne Tea. She couldn’t come to my official hen spa weekend, so this was a kind of substitute. There were eight of us at the table, all merrily swigging champagne and stuffing down cupcakes, and it was right before the raffle started that someone said, “Come on, Poppy, let’s have a go with your ring.”
I can’t even remember who that was. Annalise, maybe? Annalise was at university with me, and now we work together at First Fit Physio, with Ruby, who was also in our physio course. Ruby was at the tea, too, but I’m not sure she tried on the ring. Or did she?
I can’t believe how rubbish I am at this. How can I do a Poirot if I can’t even remember the basics? The truth is, everyone seemed to be trying on the ring: Natasha and Clare and Emily (old school friends up from Taunton), Lucinda (my wedding planner, who’s kind of become a friend) and her assistant, Clemency, and Ruby and Annalise (not only college friends and colleagues but my two best friends. They’re going to be my bridesmaids too).
I’ll admit it: I was basking in all the admiration. I still can’t believe something so grand and beautiful belongs to me. The fact is, I still can’t believe any of it. I’m engaged! Me, Poppy Wyatt. To a tall, handsome university lecturer who’s written a book and even been on the TV. Only six months ago, my love life was a disaster zone. I’d had no significant action for a year and was reluctantly deciding I should give that match.com guy with the bad breath a second chance—and now my wedding’s only ten days away! I wake up every morning and look at Magnus’s smooth, freckled, sleeping back and think, My fiancé, Dr. Magnus Tavish, Fellow of King’s College London,1 and feel a tiny tweak of disbelief. And then I swivel round and look at the ring, gleaming expensively on my nightstand, and feel another tweak of disbelief.
What will Magnus say?
My stomach clenches and I swallow hard. No. Don’t think about that. Come on, little gray cells. Get with it.
I remember that Clare wore the ring for a long time. She really didn’t want to take it off. Then Natasha started tugging at it, saying, “My turn, my turn!” And I remember calling out, “Careful!”
I mean, it’s not like I was irresponsible. I was carefully watching the ring as it was passed round the table.
But then my attention was split, because they started calling out the raffle numbers and the prizes were fantastic. A week in an Italian villa, and a top salon haircut, and a Harvey Nichols voucher... The ballroom was buzzing, with people pulling out tickets and numbers being called from the platform and women jumping up and shouting, “Me!”
And this is the moment where I went wrong. This is the gut-churning, if-only instant. If I could go back in time, that’s the moment I would march up to myself and say severely, “Poppy, priorities.”
But you don’t realize, do you? The moment happens, and you make your crucial mistake, and then it’s gone and the chance to do anything about it is blown away.
So what happened was, Clare won Wimbledon tickets in the raffle. I love Clare to bits, but she’s always been a tad feeble. She didn’t stand up and yell, “Me! Woohoo!” at top volume, she just raised her hand a few inches. Even those of us at her table didn’t realize she’d won.
As it dawned on me that Clare was waving a raffle ticket in the air, the presenter on the platform said, “I think we’ll draw again, if there’s no winner....”
“Shout!” I poked Clare and waved my own hand wildly. “Here! The winner’s over here!”
“And the new number is...4403.”
To my disbelief, some dark-haired girl on the other side of the room started whooping and brandishing a ticket.
“She didn’t win!” I exclaimed indignantly. “You won.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Clare was shrinking back.
“Of course it matters!” I cried out before I could stop myself, and everyone at the table started laughing.
“Go, Poppy!” called out Natasha. “Go, White Knightess! Sort it out!”
This is an old joke. Just because there was this one incident at school, where I started a petition to save the hamsters, everyone began to call me the White Knightess. Or Knightie, for short. My so-called catchphrase is apparently “Of course it matters!”2
Anyway. Suffice it to say that within two minutes I was up on the stage with the dark-haired girl, arguing with the presenter about how my friend’s ticket was more valid than hers.
I know now that I never should have left the table. I never should have left the ring, even for a second. I can see how stupid that was. But, in my defense, I didn’t know the fire alarm was going to go off, did I?
It was so surreal. One minute, everyone was sitting down at a jolly champagne tea. The next minute, a siren was blaring through the air and everyone was on their feet, heading for the exits in pandemonium. I could see Annalise, Ruby, and all the others grabbing their bags and making their way to the back. A man in a suit came onto
the stage and started ushering me, the dark-haired girl, and the presenter toward a side door and wouldn’t let us go the other way. “Your safety is our priority,” he kept saying.3
Even then, it’s not as if I was worried. I didn’t think the ring would have gone. I assumed one of my friends had it safe and I’d meet up with everyone outside and get it back.
Outside, of course, it was mayhem. As well as our tea, there was some big business conference happening at the hotel, and all the delegates were spilling out of different doors into the road. Hotel staff were trying to make announcements into loudspeakers, and cars were beeping, and it took me ages just to find Natasha and Emily in the mêlée.
“Have you got my ring?” I demanded at once, trying not to sound accusatory. “Who’s got it?”
Both of them looked blank.
“Dunno.” Natasha shrugged. “Didn’t Annalise have it?”
So then I plunged into the throng to find Annalise, but she didn’t have it; she thought Clare had it. And Clare thought Clemency had it. And Clemency thought Ruby might have had it, but hadn’t she gone already?
The thing about panic is, it creeps up on you. One minute you’re still quite calm, still telling yourself, Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it can’t be lost. The next, the Marie Curie staff are announcing that the event will be curtailed early due to unforeseen circumstances and are handing out goody bags. And all your friends have disappeared to catch the tube. And your finger is still bare. And a voice inside your head is screeching, Oh my God! I knew this would happen! Nobody should ever have entrusted me with an antique ring! Big mistake! Big mistake!
And that’s how you find yourself under a table an hour later, groping around a grotty hotel carpet, praying desperately for a miracle. (Even though your fiancé’s father has written a whole bestselling book on how miracles don’t exist and it’s all superstition and even saying “OMG” is the sign of a weak mind.)4
Suddenly I realize my phone is flashing and grab it with trembling fingers. Three messages have come in, and I scroll through them in hope.
Found it yet? Annalise xx
Sorry, babe, haven’t seen it. Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word to Magnus. N xxx
Hi Pops! God, how awful, to lose your ring! Actually I thought I saw it...(incoming text)
I stare at my phone, galvanized. Clare thought she saw it? Where?
I crawl out from under the table and wave my phone around, but the rest of the text resolutely refuses to come through. The signal in here is rubbish. How can this call itself a five-star hotel? I’ll have to go outside.
“Hi!” I approach the gray-haired cleaner, raising my voice above the Hoover’s roar. “I’m popping out to check a text. But if you do find the ring, call me—I’ve given you my mobile number. I’ll just be on the street.”
“Right you are, dear,” says the cleaner patiently.
I hurry through the lobby, dodging groups of conference delegates, slowing slightly as I pass the concierge’s desk.
“Any sign of—”
“Nothing handed in yet, madam.”
The air outside is balmy, with a hint of summer, even though it’s only mid-April. I hope the weather will still be like this in ten days time, because my wedding dress is backless and I’m counting on a fine day.
11? His specialism is Cultural Symbolism. I speed-read his book, The Philosophy of Symbolism, after our second date and then tried to pretend I’d read it ages ago, coincidentally, for pleasure. (Which, to be fair, he didn’t believe for a minute.) Anyway, the point is, I read it. And what impressed me most was: There were so many footnotes. I’ve totally got into them. Aren’t they handy? You just bung them in whenever you want and instantly look clever.
Magnus says footnotes are for things which aren’t your main concern but nevertheless hold some interest for you. So. This is my footnote about footnotes.
2? Which, actually, I never say. Just like Humphrey Bogart never said, “Play it again, Sam.” It’s an urban myth.
3? Of course, the hotel wasn’t on fire. The system had short-circuited. I found that out afterward, not that it was any consolation.
4? Did Poirot ever say “oh my God”? I bet he did. Or “sacrebleu!” which comes to the same thing. And does this not disprove Antony’s theory, since Poirot’s gray cells are clearly stronger than anyone else’s? I might point this out to Antony one day. When I’m feeling brave. (Which, if I’ve lost the ring, will be never, obviously.)
What People are Saying About This
PRAISE FOR SOPHIE KINSELLA
“[Kinsella] continues to tickle funny bones and touch hearts.”—USA Today, on Twenties Girl
“Hilarious . . . a breezy blend of romantic comedy and cautionary fairy tale.”—New York Post, on Remember Me?
“A fast, fun read that delves a little deeper.”—The Plain Dealer, on The Undomestic Goddess
VALENTINE'S ESSAY FOR BARNES & NOBLE
The yearly romance-fest of Valentine's Day is nearly upon us - and with it I always feel a pang of nostalgia for the old days of Victorian-style love letters and anonymous cards. Gone are the days when 'Sealed With A Loving Kiss' meant exactly that. Gone are the days of waiting anxiously for the mail to crash onto the mat. Nowadays we wait for our phones to bleep or our computer in-boxes to refresh. It's not exactly the same as a hand-written poem, is it?
Which makes me think of the queen of romance herself. What would Jane Austen have thought of texts and instant messaging? Can we imagine Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett with mobile phones in hand? What would they text to each other? Would instant communication make things easier - would Pride and Prejudice be wrapped up in a few pages?
From: Elizabeth Bennett
Heard that, btw. Didn't want to dance with u anyway.
To: Elizabeth Bennett
That guy Wickham. Don't trust him.
From: Elizabeth Bennett
Mind your own business.
To: Elizabeth Bennett
Fine, find out the hard way.
From Lydia Wickham
To: All family
Hey, I'm married!!!! Check out my new name!!!! LOL.
From: Elizabeth Bennett
Clever clogs. Happy now?
Something tells me that if Elizabeth and Darcy could text each other, they would still misunderstand each other, still take umbrage, and still take several hundred pages to reach resolution. The banter may not be so delicious - but human nature is human nature. We misinterpret each other, we can't bear to admit we're wrong and we avoid tricky issues - whether we're writing on parchment with a quill or texting on the way to work.
If technology has done anything, it's just speeded up the waves of joy and pain for lovers. Before mobile phones, you'd wait in every evening for that new boy in your life to call. Now, you check your phone every five minutes. ('Why hasn't he texted? Why? Why?') It's more exhilarating; more exhausting. (And more crushing when the phone stays silent...)
So romance is still alive. Lovers will always quarrel and misunderstand each other and make up. But how do you make that declaration special? OK, not every man can be a Darcy; not everyone is up to making a full-on, heart-throbbing, bended-knee romantic speech. But nor is updating your Facebook status to 'In a relationship' enough.
As for the break-up - should it sadly happen - hiding behind technology is definitely a no-no. Being dumped by text is one of those modern etiquette faux pas that would have made Jane Austen recoil. (Although I suppose at least it saves on all the three-hour horse-and-carriage journeys that her characters had to make whenever they wanted to talk to each other.)
One piece of good news for techno-savvy romantics is that you can still play the part of a secret Valentine. A special Valentine's service online allows you to send a text to your loved one or secret crush... anonymously! Your mobile number is never divulged to the recipient and you can even send a reply.
Bravo, is what I say. The spirit of romance doesn't have to be crushed by technology. And there's something particularly romantic about being connected to someone through the ether - especially if you're not sure who that someone might be. Once upon a time, you might have scanned the postmark, peered at the handwriting, sniffed the paper... now there are no clues at all. An anonymous text is just that. So in some ways it's the most tantalizing declaration of all.
Hard to put under your pillow, though. And a text doesn't smell nearly as good as a bouquet of roses, nor does it taste anywhere as good as chocolate. Plus - what do you do with a romantic text? Do you save it? Print it? Commit it to memory? My family have old letters by great-great aunts and uncles, dating from World War One. What will our descendants have? Sometimes I look at all the emails and texts between me and my husband and think I should hire someone to write them out in beautiful italic writing as a memento.
(Some of them, anyway. Not that one where I ranted about him not noticing my new dress.)
So I think there's room for both. The new and the old. The instant, virtual declaration of love and the tangible, real Valentine that you can hold and keep and look back at when you're ninety-three. Whichever, here's to the spirit of romance this Valentine's Day. However we go about it.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
One of my favourite authors. Great book. Did not let me down
I loved the book Got your number just like I have enjoyed every other book by Sophie Kinsella.
I have been a big fan of her shopaholic series. Her other books were fun reads but I didn't feel connected to the characters. I was rooting for Sam and Poppy from the beginning and stayed up throughout the night (and partly throughout the morning) to finish this book! It is truly laugh out loud funny and I found myself sharing the same flutter of my heart every time Sam sent a text message. Great Book! Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo ;)
Sophie Kinsella has done it again. She has created a creative plot with lovable characters and dialogues that will have you laughing nonstop throughout the story! I adored the characters Sophie Kinsella created for us. Our main protagonist, Poppy is the best friend I always wished for. Her personality had me laughing, the situations she gets into got me embarrassed for her, and the ways she gets herself out of these situations had me yelling "GENIUS" and "If only i had the guts to do that!". Poppy reminded me so much of Emma from her novel "Can You Keep A Secret?" and these two protagonists are high on my "potential best friends" list! At the beginning of the story, I hoped the whole book wouldn't be spent on Poppy trying to find her engagement ring, because 1. That frustrated the hell out of me, and 2. The ring is ugly and 3. I did not like Magnus, her fiancé at all, first of all, what kind of name is that? and he was too much full of himself for my taste. Thankfully this was just a setup to the meeting of Poppy and Sam. Sam was definitely man material, he was a major figure in a consulting company. They meet because Poppy picks up his ex-PA's phone from the garbage after hers was mugged and the hilarious dialogues begin. You get a glimpse of Sam's life through the emails and text messages being sent to him (oh you know Poppy is too curious to pass up this opportunity of snooping!) and also through their interactions through text messages and phone calls. All I can say is that They.Are.Adorable!!! Yes it is capitalized. Sam wants the phone back, Poppy, through her absurd logic and persuasion skills, somehow keeps it. Their back and forth banter just did it for me. This book was, in my opinion, the best book that Sophie Kinsella has written ever since Can You Keep A Secret? We get the whole works in this book, family opposing marriage because they're all brainiacs while Poppy is not. Insecurities of not being good enough, a jealous 'best friend', a whiny wedding planner, a persistent girlfriend (?) that won't stop sending the weirdest and most wacky emails to Sam through the PA's phone, and a work scandal ready to explode in White Global Consulting. In other words, a book full of laughs, crazy characters, and an experience you'll never forget!
This was my first Sophie Kinsella read and I was absolutely charmed from the very first page. The character of Poppy Wyatt is one that I feel most women can easily relate to. She's flawed and insecure yet impulsive and mouthy at at once. The author does an amazing job of capturing the realities of what we all think and feel at one time in our lives or another and imbuing Poppy with those emotions! The supporting cast are also a pleasant surprise running the gambit from a less that ideal fiance and in-laws, to the assortment of friends...some true...some not so true. And the pace of the novel is perfect... keeping things moving along while peppering in moments of hilarity, reality, uncomfortability, and incredible sweetness. I was laughing non stop and enjoyed every minute. The budding romance that develops of all things via text messages between Poppy and Sam was incredibly sweet and somehow believable. I think I fell a little in love with him myself as I felt so much like Poppy while reading this! The only downside for me were the footnotes...not that I didn't enjoy reading them, but it was a bit difficult toggling back and forth on an e-reader. With a print copy though I feel they'd only enhance the read. This was an amazing delightful read that I stayed up way past my bedtime to finish and when I did I was left with only one question... Why in the world did I wait so long to read Sophie Kinsella??
How can a woman get herself in so much trouble?? Very cute, quick, easy, fun read! I love Sophie Kinsella novels...this one does not disappoint!
I thoroughly enjoyed this read. Fast and easy and completely adorable. Sophie's characters never get old to me and the sam/poppy relationship is so perfect. Love all the technology too. Texting totally plays a role in getting to know somebody.
Wow!! I had trouble putting it down. Must read!
Lol funny very good book, totally enjoyed
I loved this book! I could relate to Poppy and just got caught up in her relationships with the characters. The end was a bit predictable but by that point, I didn't care - you just root for her
Great easy story to take my mind off of life for a few hours
So many twists and turns and is soooo addicting!
Footnotes were hilarious
I thought that this book was so cute and fun. All of the texts from Sam to Poppy and vice versa were quite enjoyable. I didn't want their conversations to end....if you like a book that allows you to escape for a few hours you'll enjoy this one.
I’ve Got Your Number is the fifth stand-alone novel by British author, Sophie Kinsella. Poppy Wyatt is in a panic. She has lost the heirloom emerald ring that Magnus Tavish gave her when he proposed. His intimidatingly intellectual parents are due back from Europe, and this will just be proof she’s not worthy of their son. And just when she needs it most, just when someone might need to ring her with news about the ring, some &#@$ steals her mobile phone! Is it some sort of providence that she spots a mobile phone discarded in a litter bin? Well, guess what! It’s hers now. Although Sam Roxton, a high flier with the White Globe Consulting Group, whose PA threw the company phone in the bin, doesn’t agree. Very reluctantly, he lets Poppy borrow the phone, and with it, access to everything about his life. Kinsella’s forte is romantic comedy, and she excels herself with this one. There are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments, but there’s also a bit of intrigue, more than a few words of wisdom and the occasional lump-in-the-throat line. And it boasts a hilariously funny wedding scene. Very entertaining.
Amazingly funny and quick read i finished it in a day
A quick fun read
I absolutely love this book.
I've liked most of her books. This one is quite funny.
Made me giddy throughout the whole story. Definitely a new favorite book for me. The moment I hit the last page I had to go back and read my favorite parts over. One of those books I'll think about for over a week and cannot wait to read it again!
With the reminder of my sister's review on how terrible this book was, I plunged in and decided to read it anyways. I was expecting pathetic, idiotic situations (probably influenced by my sister) but the book was amusing and pretty sweet. Sometimes Poppy can get annoying in one of those "WHYY POPPY WHY" ways, but usually it's comical and not too irritating ;)
Poppy Wyatt is on cloud nine her life seems perfect, perfect fiancé, perfect job, perfect engagement ring, until Poppy loses her ring then everything starts to fall apart. As Poppy is frantically searching for the missing ring someone steals her cell phone but luck is on her side when she continues the hunt and comes across a perfectly good cell phone that someone has tossed the trash. This unexpected surprise leads to changing her life forever when she comes in contact with the phones owner Sam Roxton. Though this was a funny and well written book, I couldn’t truly enjoy it. Poppy comes off as vapid and flakey constantly changing her mind about who and what she wants and even whether or not she should stand up for herself. I think if the main character had been a bit more self-reliant the book may have gone over better with me. Then there were the footnotes, I know they were meant to be comical and actually had a point in the story but they began to be a bit tedious and annoying in the end. It wasn’t a terrible book like I said there were funny moments that gave me a chuckle it was just not my cup of tea.
As pleasling as all other SK/MW books.
Great funny story with witty characters. Enjoyed this book very much.
I don't read a lot of novels, so when I do, I'm picky. I just LOVED this one! Good clean romance with witty writing. I'd love to read more of her books.