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don’t want to try. All I do is try. All day long, I’m trying and I’m so tired. Why can’t this be the one thing I don’t have to try at? Why can’t it be a thing that just…happens? I don’t want—I don’t want to think about what I should say or how I should act or…or have talking points in the notes app of my phone for a dinner date at a restaurant that I don’t really like. 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
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“The kid who called in. She asked for a boyfriend for her mom? You were smiling. I thought you were having a brain hemorrhage.” “I smile.”
I silently beg for a conversational assist. For one of the ancient ceiling tiles to give and release some of the equally ancient plumbing on top of my head, dragging me through the floor to the basement.
“Did you just manhandle me?” “I manhandled the chair,” I tell her. “This is better.”
“It’s Lucie.” Her eyes slant to mine and hold. “I’m hoping you guys might be able to help me out with a problem I’ve been having.” And the call log lights up like a Christmas tree.
“I like that. Thinking that I’m worth paying attention to. Something ordinary made extraordinary by the person you’re sharing it with.”
Lucie Stone: You guys, Aiden told me he watches YouTube videos and cries. Aiden Valentine: [sighs] Lucie Stone: Big, fat tears.
How her eyes are the prettiest green I’ve ever seen. How the freckles across her nose are a match for the ones dusted over her shoulder—the ones I keep getting a glimpse of every time the collar of her sweater slips. How her laugh is husky and warm and makes her whole body come alive. That it starts somewhere in her belly and twirls ribbons around her, making her fucking glow.
“Why does Hughie look like he’s about to be the first to die in a horror movie?” Jackson asks. “He always sort of looks like that.”
“Who the fuck made you cry?” I snap.
“It’s nothing.” “It’s not nothing. Not if you’ve been crying.”
I want to wrap her in a blanket and make her some of my secret coffee. I want to punch Elliott in the fucking face.
“Do you think I’ll get my magic?”
“Nah, Lucie.” In my dream, he brushes a kiss against my forehead. “I think you’re the magic.”
“Your sad little face makes it look like you need a beer. Happy?” I frown. “I don’t have a sad face.” “Is that why you’re frowning?” “I’m not frowning,” I tell him, still frowning. “Your sad-girl walk, then,” he says. He turns me around and presses his palm to the small of my back. “You looked like you were marching to the gallows when I was coming down the street.”
“Ah, Lucie.” Aiden smiles, his fingers fanning out wide against my back. “I’d know you anywhere.”
Sometimes I think I hear her voice twisting through my dreams. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I feel like she should be in the space next to me, her laugh ringing in my ears.
“You look comfortable. It’s cute.” I scowl. “I’m not cute.” “You’re very cute.”
I like her so much it feels like there’s a band around my chest, constricting my breathing when she’s not around.
I’m possessive of her, apparently. Of her time and her laughter and her smiles that stretch so wide her eyes slip shut.
“Fuck it,” I whisper, and I drag her mouth to mine.
“What?” she asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “I just like looking at you,” I murmur quietly.
I’m an expert on the soundtrack of Lucie, but I think these sounds might be my favorite.
“Then, no. I can’t touch you a little bit. Because if I feel how wet you are for me, I’m going to fuck you in this closet.”
“You have a pineapple pizza?” I nod, annoyed with myself. “I do.” “You said pineapple on pizza is disgusting.” “It is.” “Then why do you have it?” “Because you said it was your favorite,” I admit. “And I want your favorite to be my favorite.”
“I remember all the things you’ve said,”
“I want you to kiss me until I can’t breathe.”
“Condom,” I grind out from between clenched teeth. “Get a condom. Please.” “So polite,” she says, fumbling with the box. My hands squeeze. “I’m about to be really rude, to be honest.”
“You tell me all the time you have all the love you need. That you’re fit to burst with our family and all the people in it. But I thought, maybe just this once, you could have the love you deserve too.” She smiles. “Tier four.”
“I could let myself love you so easily, Aiden,” I whisper.
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.
“He’s been talking about volcanic lightning for five minutes. We live in Maryland, Lucie. There are no volcanoes.” “Oh boy.”
“Long-time listener, first-time caller,” he says over the line. There’s a reluctant grin in his voice. It twists his words up at the edges, just like his smile. “I was hoping you could give me some advice.”
“I know what falling in love feels like because I’ve been falling in love with you.”
All those months ago, I was sitting on the other side of this café and I heard Patty call for Brooks Robinson. Was Lucie here? Did we drift past one another and not even realize? The woman who changed my life—who carefully and quietly patched all my holes and rough spots—she was within reach and I didn’t even know it.
The almosts and the maybes and the what-ifs. The universe lining up for one perfect moment and handing me her.
