Meet Pepper,
swim team captain, chronic overachiever, and all-around
perfectionist. Her family may be falling apart, but their
massive fast-food chain is booming — mainly thanks to Pepper,
who is barely managing to juggle real life while secretly
running Big League Burger’s massive Twitter account.
Enter Jack,
class clown and constant thorn in Pepper’s side. When he isn’t
trying to duck out of his obscenely popular twin’s
shadow, he’s busy working in his family’s deli. His
relationship with the business that holds his future might be
love/hate, but when Big League Burger steals his grandma’s
iconic grilled cheese recipe, he’ll do whatever it takes to
take them down, one tweet at a time.
All’s fair in love and cheese — that is,
until Pepper and Jack’s spat turns into a viral Twitter war. Little
do they know, while they’re publicly duking it out with snarky
memes and retweet battles, they’re also falling for each other in
real life — on an anonymous chat app Jack built.
As their relationship deepens and their online
shenanigans escalate — people on the internet are shipping them??
— their battle gets more and more personal, until even these
two rivals can’t ignore they were destined for the most
unexpected, awkward, all-the-feels romance that neither of them
expected.
~~~***~~~***~~~ EXCERPT ~~~***~~~***~~~
“Look.”
I glance into the classroom, where Ethan is thoroughly distracted by
Stephen and no longer keeping an eye on us. “I may have . . .
overreacted.”
Pepper
shakes her head. “I told you. I get it. It’s your family.”
“Yeah.
But it’s also—well, to be honest, this has been kind of good for
business.”
Pepper’s
brow furrows, that one little crease returning. “What, the tweets?”
“Yeah.”
I scratch the back of my neck, sheepish. “Actually, we had a line
out the door yesterday. It was kind of intense.”
“That’s
. . . that’s good, right?”
The
tone of my voice is clearly not matching up with the words I’m
saying, but if I’m being honest, I’m still wary of this whole
overnight business boom. And if I’m being honest, I’m even more
wary of Pepper. If this really is as much of a family business as she
claims it is—to the point where she’s helping run the Twitter
handle, when even I know enough about corporate Twitter accounts to
know entire teams of experienced people get paid to do that—then
she might have had more of a hand in this whole recipe theft thing
than she’s letting on.
The
fact of the matter is, I can’t trust her. To the point of not
knowing whether I can even trust her knowing how our business is
doing, or just how badly we need it.
“Yeah,
um, I guess.” I try to make it sound noncommittal. My acting
skills, much like my breakfast-packing skills, leave much to be
desired.
“So
. . .”
“So.”
Pepper
presses her lips into a thin line, a question in her eyes.
“So,
I guess—if your mom really wants you to keep tweeting . . .”
“Wait.
Yesterday you were pissed. Two minutes ago you were pissed.”
“I
am pissed. You stole from us,”
I reiterate. “You stole from an eighty-five-year-old woman.”
“I
didn’t—”
“Yeah,
yeah, but still. You’re them, and I’m . . . her. It’s like a
choose your fighter situation,
and we just happen to be the ones up to bat.”
“So
you’re saying—you don’t not
want me to keep this up?”
“The
way I see it, you don’t have to make your mom mad, and we get a few
more customers in the door too.”
Pepper
takes a breath like she’s going to say something, like she’s
going to correct me, but after a moment, she lets it go. Her face
can’t quite settle on an expression, toeing the line between dread
and relief.
“You’re
sure?”
I
answer by opening the container she handed me. The smell that
immediately wafts out of it should honestly be illegal; it stops kids
I’ve never even spoken to in their tracks.
“Are
you a witch?” I ask, reaching in and taking a bite of one. It’s
like Monster Cake, the Sequel—freaking Christmas in my mouth. I
already want more before I’ve even managed to chew. My eyes close
as if I’m experiencing an actual drug high—and maybe I am,
because I forget myself entirely and say, “This might even be
better than our Kitchen Sink Macaroons.”
“Kitchen
Sink Macaroons?”
Eyes
open again. Yikes. Note to self:
dessert is the greatest weapon in Pepper’s arsenal. I swallow my
bite so I can answer her.
“It’s
kind of well-known, at least in the East Village. It even got in some
Hub Seed roundup once. I’d tell you to try some, but you might
steal the recipe, so.”
Pepper
smiles, then—actually smiles, instead of the little smirk she
usually does. It’s not startling, but what it does to me in that
moment kind of is.
Before
I can examine the unfamiliar lurch in my stomach, the bell rings and
knocks the smile right off her face. I follow just behind her,
wondering why it suddenly seems too hot in here, like they cranked
the air up for December instead of October. I dismiss it by the time
I get to my desk—probably just all the Twitter drama and the glory
of So Sorry Blondies getting to my head.
“One
rule,” she says, as we sit in the last two desks in the back of the
room.
I
raise my eyebrows at her.
“We
don’t take any of it personally.” She leans forward on her desk,
leveling with me, her bangs falling into her face. “No more getting
mad at each other. Cheese and state.”
“What
happens on Twitter stays on Twitter,” I say with a nod of
agreement. “Okay, then, second rule: no kid gloves.”
Mrs.
Fairchild is giving that stern look over the room that never quite
successfully quiets anyone down. Pepper frowns, waiting for me to
elaborate.
“I
mean—no going easy on each other. If we’re going to play at this,
we’re both going to give it our A game, okay? No holding back
because we’re . . .”
Friends,
I almost say. No, I’m going to say. But then—
“I’d
appreciate it if even one of you acknowledged the bell with your
silence,” Mrs. Fairchild grumbles.
I
turn to Pepper, expecting to find her snapping to attention the way
she always does when an adult comes within a hundred feet of
disciplining her. But her eyes are still intent on me, like she is
sizing something up—like she’s looking forward to something I
haven’t anticipated yet.
“All
right. No taking it personally. And no holding back.”
She
holds her hand out for me to shake again, under the desk so Mrs.
Fairchild won’t see it. I smile and shake my head, wondering how
someone can be so aggressively seventeen and seventy-five at the same
time, and then I take it. Her hand is warm and small in mine, but her
grip is surprisingly firm, with a pressure that almost feels like
she’s still got her fingers wrapped around mine even after we let
go.
I
turn back to the whiteboard, a ghost of a smirk on my face. “Let
the games begin.”
~~~***~~~***~~~ REVIEW ~~~***~~~***~~~
This book was interesting. Pepper and Jack are kind of friends and kind of enemies. They don't realize they are enemies for a while though. Everything comes out in the end and all the truths are spoken in the end. I love a good HEA!!
This is a kind of Romeo and Juliet retelling. It is also a kind of confusing book. So it goes back and forth between Jack and Pepper's points of view. As a recent transplant to Nashville I loved hearing some of the background based around it. There were a few moments where I wasn't sure who was talking or what was going on but it wasn't a huge issue for me. I mean it wouldn't be an R & J retelling without some confusion.
This was my first book by this author and I will definitely be looking forward to reading more by her. She has a unique style and I truly enjoyed it. Thank you for writing an amazing book.
5 stars!!!
Early Praise:
"Tweet Cute delivers in every possible way: a perfect enemies-to-lovers romance, a whip-smart plotline, and endearingly real characters. I devoured it.” - Francesca Zappia, author of Eliza and Her Monsters
"Sweet and fun! An adorable debut that updates a classic romantic trope with a buzzy twist." - Jenn Bennett, author of Alex, Approximately and Serious Moonlight
“A witty rom-com reinvention for the Twitter age, Tweet Cute pairs delicious online rivalry with deeply relatable insights on family pressure and growing up. This fresh, funny read had us hitting ‘favorite’ from page one.” - Emily Wibberley and Austin Siegemund-Broka, authors of Always Never Yours and If I’m Being Honest
~~~***~~~***~~~ AUTHOR BIO ~~~***~~~***~~~
Emma Lord is a digital media editor and writer
living in New York City, where she spends whatever time she isn’t
writing either running or belting show tunes in community theater.
She graduated from the University of Virginia with a major in
psychology and a minor in how to tilt your computer screen so nobody
will notice you updating your fan fiction from the back row. She was
raised on glitter, grilled cheese, and a whole lot of love. Her sun
sign is Hufflepuff, but she is a Gryffindor rising. TWEET CUTE is her
debut novel. You can find her geeking out online at @dilemmalord on
Twitter.
Social Links:
@dilemmalord (Twitter/Instagram)
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