Page 60 of First-Time Caller
“You need to get back out there. I’m not letting you use this as an excuse to avoid dating for another decade. This guy was an asshole, but we’ve known for a while that your ability to choose an appropriate date is mediocre, at best.”
She stares at him blankly. “Thank you,” she deadpans. “Should I take this opportunity to remind you that I chose you as a date once upon a time?”
“I am the exception, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ve thought of a solution.”
Maggie is watching the conversation carefully, eyes narrowed in concentration. She’s formulating her next steps, already four decisions ahead. “What’s that?” she asks.
Grayson puffs out his chest and shoots Lucie a wide grin.
“I’m going to pick your next date.”
JACKSON CLARK:Freezing rain is when the layer of freezing air is so thin the raindrops don’t have enough time to freeze before reaching the ground. Instead, the water freezes on contact with the surface, creating a coating of ice on whatever the raindrops contact. Roads. Sidewalks. It’s dangerous stuff—uh, real tricky, tricky stuff. And you should be careful about it because it’s so . . . tricky. Not that it’s happening tonight. No. No freezing rain tonight. Clear skies all around and . . . [nervous laughter] . . . Aiden will be right back. He stepped away for just a moment. How about I tell you about drifting snow next?
The day has deteriorated into madness.
If you had told me a month ago that I’d be sitting in the corner of a broadcast booth after a failed date where a man tried to humiliate me because of my romantic notions while the father of my child attempts to find me anewdate, I probably would have given you a polite smile and then pointed you in the direction of the nearest MinuteClinic.
This is not how I expected tonight to go.
I had been tentatively hopeful. A little nervous. Excited.
I certainly didn’t expect things to take the turn they did. But I guess that’s my love life in a nutshell.Underwhelmed and dissatisfied.Print it on my tombstone.
I sink down farther in the beanbag Hughie dragged into the booth from god knows where, a pair of headphones over my ears, a cup of hot chocolate in my hands. I stare at the tiny marshmallows floating in the chocolaty goodness and try to figure out where, exactly, my life derailed.
Two brown boots appear in my field of vision, slightly beat-up with the laces loose.
“Okay?” Aiden asks. I don’t respond. Things are decidedlynotokay. Dismal, maybe. Pathetically sad. I can’t believe I ever thought dating apps were the wrong fit for me. I thinkdatingis the wrong fit for me.
“Do you think Mr. Tire is mad?” I ask sullenly. I poke at one of my marshmallows.
Aiden sighs and hunches down in front of me. “No. I don’t think Mr. Tire is mad.”
The backs of his hands brush against my shins and sparks of sensation scatter up my legs. I wish I had time to change before Grayson went full vigilante. I feel stupid in this dress. In these shoes. Like a costume for a character I never agreed to play.
“Lucie.” He sighs. He taps his pointer finger against my ankle, then circles it gently. He squeezes. “I don’t like seeing you sad.”
I don’t likebeingsad. I’ve never liked being sad. I’ve always done my best to see the glass as half-full. Find the silver lining. Even in my worst moments, it’s something I’ve been able to do.
But right now, sitting in the corner of this studio, I just want to mope. I think I’ve put too much of myself into this, shared too many of the things I usually keep hidden. I got my hopes up. All for a shitty guy in cropped chinos and boat shoes without socks.
I should have known as soon as I stepped foot in the restaurant.
He was blond, for god’s sake.
“Lucie,” Aiden says again, voice quiet. A hint of begging. He ducks his head closer to mine and it feels like just the two of us over here. I can smell coffee on his sweatshirt. The cookies he’s always arguing about with Jackson. I want to tip my face into the crook of his neck where the scent of him is probably strongest and hide from the rest of the world. My heart feels beat-up and bruised and I’d like to avoid it all for a little bit.
But I don’t do any of that. I sit in my sad beanbag holding my sad hot chocolate.
“How can I help?” Aiden asks, his body almost curved around mine. Protective.
“I’m fine,” I say. To my horror, my voice wobbles. I clear my throat and try again. “Really. I’m okay.”
His thumb drags up the back of my leg. Down, then up again. More sparks. A glowing warmth that he rubs into my cold skin with his fingertips. “Don’t lie,” he whispers. He swallows hard, gaze tracing my face. He looks so earnest, all the sharp angles of him relaxed into something soft. “Do you need more marshmallows?”
