The Trials of Adeline Turner , livre ebook

Praise for The Trials of Adeline Turner
“A perfectly paced rom-com that consistently places you right at the scene; the summer reading escape I didn’t know I needed.”
—Emily Belden, author of Hot Mess and Husband Material
“ The Trials of Adeline Turner is a fast-paced tale of dating in your thirties and learning to trust your inner voice. Brimming with wit, banter, romance, and heart, it has all the ingredients of the perfect beach read. I was charmed!”
—Lindsay Cameron, award-winning author of BIGLAW and Just One Look
“The verdict is in, and Angela Terry’s The Trials of Adeline Turner is a must-read! Readers will root for Adeline, and enjoy Terry’s sparkling writing style, which creates the feeling of catching up with an old friend who has quite the story to tell. This novel has it all—but my favorite part? The ending which had me smiling from ear to ear, completely satisfied, albeit sad to leave the world of Adeline behind.”
—Ashley R. King, author of Painting the Lines (Ace of Hearts Book 1)



This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2021 by Angela Terry
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Girl Friday Books™, Seattle
Produced by Girl Friday Productions www.girlfridayproductions.com
Design: Rachel Marek Production editorial: Laura Dailey Project management: Katherine Richards
Cover image credits: © Nataliia Semeshchuk/Shutterstock and © Andrey_Kuzmin/Shutterstock
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-7363243-7-0 ISBN (e-book): 978-1-954854-00-0
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021906018
First edition

For my parents, Catherine and Richard Terry

Chapter One
B rad Summers was beautiful. There were no two ways about it. He had hazel eyes and the longest eyelashes I had ever seen on a boy. His thick, wavy hair was coppery brown, and when the sun shone on it, glimmers of light bounced back. And his smile. Sigh . . . It was the broadest, friendliest, but almost-shy-at-times smile, and my whole world revolved around seeing it. At age sixteen he was already six feet two and had the most perfect long, lean limbs and athletic body. My stomach flipped at the mere sight of him. Everything was perfect . . . except for the fact that he didn’t know I existed.
Now, you may be wondering, Why is a thirty-three-year-old woman daydreaming about a sixteen-year-old boy named Brad? Well, because I was once a fifteen-year-old girl in love with him. Let me clarify. Not just love, but I lovvvved him with all the intensity of my innocent, teenage-girl heart.
When my family moved into our small neighborhood outside Appleton, Wisconsin, my ten-year-old self immediately noticed the boy who lived down the street. He was always nice, sometimes shy, but pretty much definitely not interested in me. I understood. I was a frizzy-haired, bookish kid with glasses and a slight weight problem. By junior high, I had realized the sad importance of looks if one wanted to attract the opposite sex, and so I tried to lose my baby fat and made an effort. My love grew, but still nothing. In high school, Brad started dating a cheerleader who, by the way, I personally thought looked a bit like me, but obviously must’ve been much “cooler,” since she got Brad and I didn’t. However, it didn’t last long, so I was able to keep my fantasies of becoming Brad’s girlfriend alive.
Then, in my sophomore year, his family did the cruelest thing—they decided to move. Not just from the neighborhood, but to a different state. Not even a bordering state, but several states away, to California.
When I heard the crushing news, I knew this was my last chance, so I summoned the courage to ask him to the Spring Dance. Yes, I, bookish, quiet Adeline Turner, knocked on the door at 25 Ashbury Drive and asked for Brad. True, once his mother went to get him, I wanted to run away, but my knees were shaking too much. When he came to the door, he was still wearing what he’d worn to school that day, a plain gray T-shirt and faded Levi’s.
“Hey, Addie,” he said. “Um, what’s up?”
Noting the confusion in his eyes, I swallowed and said—as coolly as I could muster—“Hey, Brad, I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the Spring Dance with me?” Before he could respond, I rushed on with my defense. “You know, since we’ve been neighbors for so long and now you’re moving, I thought it might be nice as a last get-together.” As if we had ever “gotten together” before.
He blinked a couple of times and then looked at me for what felt like a million years, but was probably only for a second, while I sweated it out on his front step. Then he beamed that beatific smile and said, “Yeah. That’d be fun.” He stepped aside. “Do you want to come in?”
Feeling ready to pass out, I shook my head. “Thanks, but I better get home. Geometry test tomorrow.” I shrugged nonchalantly, all the while bouncing on my toes, giving away my excitement. “We’ll figure out details later?”
“Sure, okay. Then I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yes, later. Bye!” I said, then quickly turned around to happy-dance home.
I think he was caught off guard, but being the nice guy he was and probably not wanting to hurt my feelings, he said yes. Brad said yes!
We shared a limo with two other couples who were Brad’s friends. As soon as we stepped into the streamer-draped and balloon-filled gymnasium, Brad’s friend Todd pointed to the bleachers and said, “Hey, there’s Steve and Shannon.” Off we trooped to the bleachers, where we unfortunately spent most of the evening. So, this is what the cool kids do: they sit on the sidelines, I remember thinking.
Other than one girl smuggling her parents’ vodka in a hairspray bottle, there was no sneaking out for beers or obvious debauchery. Brad’s friends monopolized him and ignored me, though Brad was sweet and would check in to ask if I was okay. I understood this would be his last night out with his high school friends and I was the interloper. Once I realized the night wasn’t going to be the passionate, declaring-our-love-till-our-dying-day experience I had hoped for, I settled on at least being in his presence. But whenever a slow song came on, I felt a little pang in my heart and stared longingly at the sea of swaying spaghetti-strap dresses and ill-fitting blazers.
When the last song of the night was announced, some of the other couples in our group migrated to the dance floor, and Brad asked me, “Do you want to dance?” and my stomach did a little flip-flop as I nodded.
On the dance floor, I tentatively placed my hands on Brad’s shoulders, he rested his hands lightly on my waist, and we shuffled awkwardly to Edwin McCain’s “I’ll Be” while avoiding eye contact, and I tried to burn into memory what I thought was the greatest moment of my life.
Since I lived closest to the school, I was the first to be dropped off at home. I assumed that Brad would stay in the limo until his stop. Instead, to my great surprise and delight, he said, “I’ll get out here and walk home.”
As the limo took off, I expected Brad to simply say he had a nice time and then head home. But no! He walked me to my front door. Standing at my doorstep, he kept shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his eyes gazing at me intently.
“So, Addie . . . ,” he started, and then leaned toward me. My whole being froze and I felt goose bumps on my arms, and not from the chilly night air. Even with my lack of experience, I knew what was coming. Brad was going to kiss me! Maybe all this neighborly friendliness had just been an act, or maybe he had a change of heart during the dance. But I didn’t care—I was about to be kissed by the boy of my dreams. When Brad’s face was mere millimeters from mine, I closed my eyes.
Just as our lips were about to touch, the front door flew open, and my dad was standing there sounding a little out of breath as he said, “Addie, are you coming in?”
Startled, we jumped apart, and I shot a furious look at my dad. When I turned back toward Brad, he was already halfway across the front lawn, running backward, stumbling, his eyes wide open in fright.
“Um, see you at school!” he called out, and then turned around and ran home.
My heart crushed, I turned toward my father with eyes that silently asked, Why did you take this from me? before stomping up to my room.
I know now that it was because my father loved me and waited up for me to come home safely, and I imagine he couldn’t quite bring himself to see his daughter kissed by a boy just yet. But at the time, none of that mattered. All I knew was that the moment was gone forever, and then Brad moved away.
You’re probably thinking, if that’s the worst thing that happened to you as a teenager, you’ve led a charmed life. Yes, it’s been okay. I certainly wasn’t popular in school, but I also wasn’t quite a nerd. I didn’t really have anything going for me to even bring that sort of attention, positive or negative, to myself. I flew under the radar as far as high school went and was still waiting for life to happen.
And please don’t think I’m still pining away and saving myself for this one guy eighteen years later. That’s certainly not the case. But let’s just say, it made an impression.
After high school, and a handful of dates my junior and senior years that never resulted in relationships, I headed to college and fell in love “for real.” My senior year, I met Tim, a fellow English major who I thought was wonderful, and stayed with him for the first few years