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Aiden Valentine: Flowers die. Everything dies. Caller: I thought this was a romance hotline.
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.”
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.”
I sigh as I trudge up the steps to my front door. Talking about my feelings live on the air might not be what I want, but maybe it’s what I need. Maybe I need to be tugged out of my comfort zone. Maybe it’s time for something new.
“It tells me you know exactly who you are, and you know exactly what you want. You’ve just buried it under everything else for so long you’ve forgotten.”
That’s the problem. Everyone is trying to help. I have ten thousand opinions floating around and the roar of them is making it impossible to hear myself think. I have no idea what feels right, what feels true. All my pieces are scattered across the floor and I can’t think long enough to figure out which one will fit the best.
“Who the fuck made you cry?” I snap.
“Nah, Lucie.” In my dream, he brushes a kiss against my forehead. “I think you’re the magic.”
“Don’t flirt with me,” I tell him. Whatever guards Aiden usually holds around himself are softened in the early morning light spilling through the stained-glass windows at the front of my house. He watches me in amusement. “I’ve been flirting with you.” “Since when?” “Since I made a vague innuendo about oral surgery, give or take a couple of hours.”
“Fuck it,” I whisper, and I drag her mouth to mine.
“Because you said it was your favorite,” I admit. “And I want your favorite to be my favorite.”
“When it comes to you, Lucie”—I suck at the dip between her collarbones—“there’s not much I don’t want.”
