First-Time Caller (Heartstrings, #1)

by B.K. Borison

I think it’s possible I’ve fallen out of love with love,

It feels like every time I get my hopes up for something good, reality comes out swinging. I don’t know how to be a hopeful person anymore. It’s easier not to be.

Aiden Valentine: Flowers die. Everything dies. Caller: I thought this was a romance hotline.

It’s like everyone is doing some dance that I never learned the steps to. I’m clueless, and I’m not using that as an excuse. I am genuinely clueless.

I want to feel something when I connect with someone. I want sparks. The good kind, you know? I want to laugh and mean it. I want goose bumps. I want to wonder what my date is thinking about and hope it might be me. I want…I want the magic.”

“But what’s wrong with being a romantic? I can be a confident, independent woman and still want someone to hold my hand. To ask about my day. It’s a good thing to want passion and excitement and care. Attention and affection. I don’t want to settle for anything less than that.

“I want goose bumps. I want to be wanted. All this time and I—I haven’t given up. I guess I’m just waiting for it to find me.”

For one night, at least, the both of us a little bit less lonely.

I’m allowed to want soft, special things.

“While you’re thinking, if you need someone to talk to”—he taps his finger against the headphone pressed to his left ear—“I’ll be listening.”

Some of my hesitation cracks, splinters, caves. I bite the inside of my cheek against my smile. “I’ll be listening too,” I tell him.

“I like thinking that it doesn’t need to be fancy to be special.

“I like that. Thinking that I’m worth paying attention to. Something ordinary made extraordinary by the person you’re sharing it with.”

“I don’t like seeing you sad.” I don’t like being sad. 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.

I think I have a crush, and that’s the last thing I fucking need.

I read it once and then again. It’s a list of—it’s a list of my favorite things. Things I’ve mentioned on the show and things I haven’t. Things he must have noticed.

“What does it feel like when you fall in love?”

It’s a bucket of ice water over my head. A fist through my papier-mâché heart.