{"product_id":"the-man-i-never-met-isbn-9780593500859","title":"The Man I Never Met","description":"\u003cb\u003e“I love a good will-they-or-won’t-they romance, and this one turned out to be unexpectedly deep, tackling really important issues that impact so many.”—\u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author Emily Giffin on the \u003ci\u003eTODAY\u003c\/i\u003e show\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eIs it possible to love someone you've never met? A young woman finds out in this sweeping love story that begins with a chance wrong number dial. . . .\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Hannah picks up a call from an unknown number, she thinks nothing of it—it’s just an easygoing American named Davey who misdialed her while calling into a job interview. And when Hannah wishes him luck after clearing up the confusion, she never actually expects to hear from him again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen she gets a text saying he got the job and he’ll be moving to London, and she can’t help but smile. Soon their texts become phone calls that turn into video calls, and their friendship becomes a relationship they can’t wait to start in earnest once Davey lands in London in a month’s time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut when Hannah goes to meet him at the airport, Davey isn’t there—and the reason why changes both of their lives in an instant. With their future together suddenly so uncertain, they don’t know what to do but try to move on from each other. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThough their chance at love seems lost forever, neither is never far from the other’s thoughts. Will fate intervene once more to bring the two together, or will Davey always be the man that Hannah never met?“A total delight . . . achingly romantic, full of suspense, and a beautiful cast of characters.”\u003cb\u003e—Laura Jane Williams, author of \u003ci\u003eOur Stop\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Heartfelt, deeply moving, and so wonderfully romantic . . . This is the book everyone needs to curl up with.”\u003cb\u003e—Jenny Ashcroft, author of \u003ci\u003eMeet Me in Bombay\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Told with tenderness, humor, and warmth, Hannah and Davey’s story will leave your heart aching for more.”\u003cb\u003e—Holly Miller, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Sight of You\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Funny, relatable, and heartfelt . . . I fell in love with Hannah and Davey on the first page, the second, the third, and every page until the end!”\u003cb\u003e—Lauren North, author of\u003ci\u003e The Perfect Son\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This book has it all—laughter, tears, inspiration, warmth, and sparkle. I shall be thinking about Davey and Hannah for a long time.”\u003cb\u003e—Tracy Rees, author of \u003ci\u003eAmy Snow\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I fell in love with \u003ci\u003eThe Man I Never Met\u003c\/i\u003e. Never shying away from big issues, this beautiful love story was an absolute joy to read!”\u003cb\u003e—Eleanor Ray, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Missing Treasures of Amy Ashton\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eElle Cook\u003c\/b\u003e worked as a journalist and in PR before becoming a full-time novelist. She is the author of three historical novels under her real name, Lorna Cook. \u003ci\u003eThe Man I Never Met \u003c\/i\u003eis her U.S. debut.\u003cb\u003eChapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHannah, December\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDo you remember where you were and what you were doing the moment your life changed forever? I do. I was standing outside the gym, hair in a bit of a tangle, in need of a shower after a grueling spin class, rifling in my bag for my gloves while my mobile buzzed away. But of course I didn’t know it at the time. That’s always how it is, though, isn’t it? You never realize the true significance of a moment until later.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI grab my phone, still unable to find the gloves that have disappeared into the depths of my bag. The December weather is biting cold, and although it’s only early evening the sky is already a shade of ink, strewn with gray clouds that look as if they’ve been painted on and dragged gently from one side of the canvas to the other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe dialing code says +1 and so I pause momentarily as my phone continues to vibrate in my hand. Where on earth is +1? Call centers start with a random assortment of codes and this doesn’t look like any of those.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hello?” I ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hello,” a man, with an American accent, replies. And then in a deeper, friendlier tone, “Jonathan White?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI laugh. “Do I sound like a Jonathan White?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, no. I’m sorry. I mean, is he there?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No. Sorry, you’ve got the wrong number.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA pause, a rustle of papers. “OK. Sorry. Bye.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Bye,” I say, but he’s already gone. And then barely ten seconds pass before my phone rings again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI draw out the word “Hello” as I answer—­the same +1 number shining on my screen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, not again,” he says in exasperation. “How have I dialed it wrong a second time? I can’t be that stupid.” Which makes me laugh again, although not unkindly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I think you have.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSilence and then, “Hold on.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wait, smiling with amusement. The cold weather is seemingly not as cold now as it was before.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Is this plus-­four-­four . . .” and he reels out a list of digits that are most certainly mine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It is. What number were you looking for?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This one.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI try not to laugh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Shit,” he replies. “I wrote it down wrong. I’m supposed to call this number at four p.m. UK time, for a job interview.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Not this number, I’m afraid. Maybe try switching one of the digits?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yeah,” he says uncertainly. “But which one? There’s about a billion possible combinations.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I have no idea. Where are you ringing from?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Texas.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“And you have a job interview with someone on a UK number? Are you getting a job over here?” I’m so nosy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hopefully . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Unlikely, given you’re on the phone to me and you should be answering questions about . . . whatever it is you’re interviewing for.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Buildings. I should be answering questions about buildings right about now. Shit.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Buildings?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Architecture, specifically.” He has a really nice voice. Deep, but not too deep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Try and google the office number,” I suggest, in case he really is that stupid and hasn’t thought of it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m already on it.” He’s speaking quickly, both of us aware that he should be minutes into an interview by now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Well, good luck. I hope you get it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The right number or the job?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Both. Starting with the right number,” I say, with a smile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Thanks. Sorry for bothering you. Twice.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s fine. I’m keen to know now if you get the job.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Thanks again,” he says. “Bye.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Bye,” I reply as the line goes dead. I stare at the phone for a few seconds, hoping he isn’t silly enough to ring the same number a third time . . . just to be sure. It wouldn’t be a terrible thing if he rings again, but now I want this man with the lovely voice to actually call the correct number, answer questions about buildings, and get the job. Whomever he might be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s not really the done thing to come home from an hour’s spin class and crack open both a microwave meal and a large glass of wine, but given it’s Friday night, that’s what I do. And anyway I wouldn’t have been at the gym if I hadn’t been canceled by a flaky man, with whom I’d already decided I would categorically not reschedule. He’s done this twice now and we still haven’t actually had a first date yet. My best friend, Miranda, calls it Cancel-­itis. So this glass of wine was the one that I would have had if I had been out. There, I have justified that, if not the hideous microwave curry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHours later I flick through the various options on TV and wonder how it is that I’ve managed to watch everything decent on Netflix when I really don’t spend that much time at home. Perhaps, for once, I should watch the news and at least try to be as informed as my co-­workers about the daily goings-­on in the world. I really need to work with people who watch more trashy dramas than \u003ci\u003eQuestion Time.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNext to me my phone dings, telling me I have a message. I read it. It’s from a number I don’t recognize, until I look closer and see it’s the American’s. The message contains three words. I got it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI mute the TV and let it continue showing me a background of filler news pieces that I haven’t been paying attention to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDoes he want a reply? Does he expect one? I’m glad, I type, followed by,\u003ci\u003e Congratulations. I’m guessing you found the right number in the end.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t pose it as a question. I didn’t expect a reply, but one comes moments later.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eYeah. I apologized for being a few minutes late and told him what I’d done. He was cool about it.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’m glad,\u003c\/i\u003e I type. And then I delete it because it is exactly what I’ve written a moment ago. I replace it with, \u003ci\u003eAlways best to be honest.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDefinitely.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI watch the screen. He isn’t typing. It’s my turn to reply, but I can’t think of anything else to say and so, after a moment, he resumes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eSo, England in January. Cold?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA smile finds the corners of my mouth. \u003ci\u003eVery. Sorry about that. Is that when you arrive?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExactly one month from now. Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhere are you in Texas?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAustin\u003c\/i\u003e, he replies.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo, I have no idea where that is. I leave the chat, google Austin, Texas, and then open the chat window back up, ready to display my newfound knowledge. \u003ci\u003eWarm this time of year.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWarm all times of year.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI googled,\u003c\/i\u003e I confess. \u003ci\u003eCapital city of Texas, so Wikipedia tells me. I’ve just discovered Houston is also in Texas. So there you go.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe replies with a laughter emoji and then, \u003ci\u003eWhere are you?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLondon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGreat. Now I’ll know another person when I get there.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI look at his message, unsure what to think. Is he suggesting we meet up? Become friends? I look at the message so long that the screen goes black and I have to key in my code to unlock it again. It shows his number and, underneath, that he’s still online. \u003ci\u003eWhat’s your name?\u003c\/i\u003e I ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDavey. Yours?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHannah.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNice to meet you, Hannah.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI smile again. It is nice to meet him. Albeit, this is the strangest way I’ve ever “met” anyone. \u003ci\u003eHow old are you?\u003c\/i\u003e I ask.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eTwenty-­nine\u003c\/i\u003e. And then another message. \u003ci\u003eI’ve been told it’s not OK to ask a woman her age, so . . .\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’m twenty-­seven,\u003c\/i\u003e I reply to his leading prompt. I’m enjoying this and wonder now for the first time what he looks like, this twenty-­nine-­year-­old man from Texas. His WhatsApp profile picture is blank, the circle at the top of the chat displaying the standard grey-­and-­white icon. Who does that? Mind you, mine is a picture of our family dog wearing sunglasses, so I’m not exactly one to talk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhat time is it there?\u003c\/i\u003e he asks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAlmost 11 p.m.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eIt was nice talking to you, Hannah.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh. That’s a blunt ending to the conversation, and disappointment that he’s signing off makes me pause before replying, Likewise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’d like to talk again. If you’d like to, that is,\u003c\/i\u003e he suggests.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI let that message display on the screen for a moment as I think about it. How to reply without sounding eager or utterly disinterested?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI opt for a casual, \u003ci\u003eSure.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOK,\u003c\/i\u003e he says.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd then he’s gone.","brand":"Dell","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301114335461,"sku":"NP9780593500859","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593500859.jpg?v=1767740390","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-man-i-never-met-isbn-9780593500859","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}