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For The Least Of These
Who wouldn’t love to meet their favorite rock star? For most of her life, Brandy Moretti has dreamed of nothing more than meeting her idol, Rick Hartwood. After going to one of his final concerts, Brandy and her friend Alicia Meyers take a chance that she hopes will make her dream a reality: they take off behind his tour bus and follow it to his next concert! Brandy is both excited and nervous as she sets out for what she hopes will be an eventful weekend. But Brandy’s excitement quickly fades as one disaster after another threatens to keep her from her beloved Rick.
Against all odds, Brandy eventually meets Rick and the man who writes all of Rick’s songs, Adam Considine. Unfortunately, Brandy’s bad luck keeps preventing her from spending time alone with Rick. That and the inexplicable feelings she finds she has for Adam.
Brandy’s weekend turns out to be a travesty of errors that she eventually wishes would just end. But when the weekend does come to an end, she’s left with an emptiness that she realizes can’t be filled by Rick or Adam, and that is where her story really begins…
Against all odds, Brandy eventually meets Rick and the man who writes all of Rick’s songs, Adam Considine. Unfortunately, Brandy’s bad luck keeps preventing her from spending time alone with Rick. That and the inexplicable feelings she finds she has for Adam.
Brandy’s weekend turns out to be a travesty of errors that she eventually wishes would just end. But when the weekend does come to an end, she’s left with an emptiness that she realizes can’t be filled by Rick or Adam, and that is where her story really begins…
237 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 20, 2013
1 person is currently reading
12 people want to read
About the author
Jennifer Davis
2 booksLibrarian's note: Multiple authors with same name, this one is entered with 3 spaces.
Stories have always been an important part of my life. My earliest childhood memories are of my family reading or telling stories. My daddy would regale me with fantastic stories of Sinbad and other mystical heroes, while my mother chose to relate stories from her childhood. Whatever the story, I was always enthralled - and always yearning to hear more. Since both of my parents worked, they weren't always free to satisfy my craving for more wonderful tales. So I began making up my own stories and that became the most fun of all.
I never really thought about putting my stories on paper until I was in the eighth grade. My English teacher gave our class an assignment to write a story. She wasn't very specific about the topic, so I wrote about my cat, Mitten. Cats are wonderful to write about since they are always doing funny outrageous things, and Mitten was no different. The story was a hit with my family and friends. Oddly enough, I can't remember if my teacher liked it or not. The grade wasn't so very important to me - I had found a new love: writing. From that day forward, I wrote about everything. I had a diary I wrote in daily and I was continually writing stories for my friends. Writing became my passion.
In high school, I began writing a series of stories about a family called the Powells. Several of my friends were hooked on the exploits of Rita Powell and her brothers. Junior year, I had a wonderful English teacher, Victoria Ryan, who loved my writing and was very encouraging. She was always available to critique my work, and push me to improve. She became my favorite teacher and so she remains today. Towards senior year, I started writing a type of newsletter. It was meant for only one of my friends, but I later found that she was sharing it with some of her other friends - and they all wanted more. That was my first taste of celebrity, and I was a little overwhelmed by the feeling.
After high school, I started college at Pensacola Junior College. I was blessed with another amazing educator in Mr. Burke, my English Comp instructor. He pushed me to new levels with my writing, and he became a mentor and a friend. I spent many hours discussing my writings with this wonderfully patient man.
Shortly after starting college, I married a sweet, funny, brilliant man. Dan urged me to write and together we wrote several goofy stories just for fun. If I had known I would lose Dan after such a short time, I would have held on dearly to those kooky tales of ours. Instead, I tossed them in a box, and when my dear love died only months later, I was never able to find them again.
Life went on, even though I sometimes wished it wouldn't. A few years later, I remarried and moved to Raleigh, NC. My new husband also enjoyed writing, although he preferred non-fiction while I clung to my fanciful stories. I was now the mother of two sons, and, for awhile, my writing was moved to the back burner. Every now and again, I would pull out my notebook and write a paragraph or two, but all of my stories remained unfinished. I began to believe that my love of writing was only meant to amuse me and a few of my closest friends. My second marriage ended in divorce, and I found myself back in my hometown, Pensacola.
I would eventually meet the man who is still my husband and give birth to my third son. My son was still in diapers when I began a new career in the Advertising Department of a grocery distribution company. In my new role, I met a young man who would change my life. Darrell was ten years my junior and he was passionate about life. When he discovered my love of writing, he was intrigued. He told me he had never been much of a reader, but he wanted to read something I had written. I had this story that had been playing around in my head for years. I had written chapters over and over again, but I had never been able to get it right.
Stories have always been an important part of my life. My earliest childhood memories are of my family reading or telling stories. My daddy would regale me with fantastic stories of Sinbad and other mystical heroes, while my mother chose to relate stories from her childhood. Whatever the story, I was always enthralled - and always yearning to hear more. Since both of my parents worked, they weren't always free to satisfy my craving for more wonderful tales. So I began making up my own stories and that became the most fun of all.
I never really thought about putting my stories on paper until I was in the eighth grade. My English teacher gave our class an assignment to write a story. She wasn't very specific about the topic, so I wrote about my cat, Mitten. Cats are wonderful to write about since they are always doing funny outrageous things, and Mitten was no different. The story was a hit with my family and friends. Oddly enough, I can't remember if my teacher liked it or not. The grade wasn't so very important to me - I had found a new love: writing. From that day forward, I wrote about everything. I had a diary I wrote in daily and I was continually writing stories for my friends. Writing became my passion.
In high school, I began writing a series of stories about a family called the Powells. Several of my friends were hooked on the exploits of Rita Powell and her brothers. Junior year, I had a wonderful English teacher, Victoria Ryan, who loved my writing and was very encouraging. She was always available to critique my work, and push me to improve. She became my favorite teacher and so she remains today. Towards senior year, I started writing a type of newsletter. It was meant for only one of my friends, but I later found that she was sharing it with some of her other friends - and they all wanted more. That was my first taste of celebrity, and I was a little overwhelmed by the feeling.
After high school, I started college at Pensacola Junior College. I was blessed with another amazing educator in Mr. Burke, my English Comp instructor. He pushed me to new levels with my writing, and he became a mentor and a friend. I spent many hours discussing my writings with this wonderfully patient man.
Shortly after starting college, I married a sweet, funny, brilliant man. Dan urged me to write and together we wrote several goofy stories just for fun. If I had known I would lose Dan after such a short time, I would have held on dearly to those kooky tales of ours. Instead, I tossed them in a box, and when my dear love died only months later, I was never able to find them again.
Life went on, even though I sometimes wished it wouldn't. A few years later, I remarried and moved to Raleigh, NC. My new husband also enjoyed writing, although he preferred non-fiction while I clung to my fanciful stories. I was now the mother of two sons, and, for awhile, my writing was moved to the back burner. Every now and again, I would pull out my notebook and write a paragraph or two, but all of my stories remained unfinished. I began to believe that my love of writing was only meant to amuse me and a few of my closest friends. My second marriage ended in divorce, and I found myself back in my hometown, Pensacola.
I would eventually meet the man who is still my husband and give birth to my third son. My son was still in diapers when I began a new career in the Advertising Department of a grocery distribution company. In my new role, I met a young man who would change my life. Darrell was ten years my junior and he was passionate about life. When he discovered my love of writing, he was intrigued. He told me he had never been much of a reader, but he wanted to read something I had written. I had this story that had been playing around in my head for years. I had written chapters over and over again, but I had never been able to get it right.
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