Page 1 of All at Once

CHAPTER 1

“Foolish One (Taylor’s Version)” – Taylor Swift

TO WHOEVER SAID LOVE FINDS you when you least expect it, I’d like to have a word. For some context, it’s been 758 days since I’ve stoppedexpectinga soulmate to pop out of the sky and land on my doorstep. Have I kept count? Not really. If I had, though, it would have probably been a whole lot more days than that.

Besides, how does one stop expecting the thing that they’ve spent more than half their life hoping for?

Which is precisely why I’ve recently made the highly accurate and scientifically backed conclusion that it’s not easy being a hopeless romantic. You have half the world thinking you’re nuts for believing in the “make-believe”, while the other half, just like you, are trying to stop expecting what they secretly spendalltheir time expecting.

But there’s always someone who has it worse. What I like to call the “ultra-hopeless-delusional romantic.” (Aka me). A truly head-over-heels lover girl whose rainy days consist ofA Cinderella Storyplaying on repeat in my living room, while my best friend and I analyze the latest steamy interaction I had with the cute mini-mart cashier boy (we said hi).

I suppose I tend to overthink (all the time) when I have a new crush (every other week), but what can I say? I just LOVE love.

All that being said, what would you think if I told you I’m 25 and have never had aboyfriend? What about that I’ve yet to have myfirst kiss? Truth is, I’ve never evenheld hands with a guybefore. The closest I’ve come to love is through the romantic scenarios I construct for myself right before going to bed.And sometimes, I fear that’s the closest I’lleverget to it.

I’m not exactlytryingto dwell on this at the moment, with the warm sand cozying between my feet and the salt air grazing over my cheeks.

In fact, there was a time when I loved to gaze over at the lavishly decorated beach houses along the shores of Dove Cove on The Fourth of July. The same ones mostly filled with college students: flirting with their crushes, falling in love, having their first time. Now I’m left pondering why I never got to experience what most people my age have.

Yet, a part of me still thinks that on days like this I have a greater chance of meeting someone. I like to think it’s the magic in the air, but my friends call it delusion.

Sadly, my fickle glimmer of hope disappears as I watch the sky fade into a mixture of blood orange and violet, almost scoffing to myself. Still with no cute guy in sight, this year’s holiday was just another day spent daydreaming a variety of possibilities thatdidn’tcome true. Not like an abundance of cute guys would’ve made a difference. They don’t approach me anyway.

Apparently, though, soccer balls do, as one rolls near my feet while I’m walking by the beach.

I look up and almost do a double-take when I notice a hot guy with his family on the shore. Although,hotwould be an understatement.

My hands start to shake as he makes his way over to retrieve the ball. My heart’s suddenly beating a thousand times faster. Oh, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

Temporarily forgetting how I’m the least smooth person on this planet, I brilliantly decide to kick the ball back to him.

What’s the worst that could happen?

My question immediately backfires when my sandal goes flying through the air, hitting him right on the chest.

I may have forgotten to mention how I’m also the clumsiest person in the universe.

As I awkwardly stumble over to him in the sand with my one shoe, I say with a growing panic, “Oh my God, are you okay?!”

He picks up my shoe and softly laughs. “With an aim like that you could go pro.”

Wait.I know this guy. There’s something so familiar to him and yet, I can’t immediately place him. I nervously laugh while simultaneously trying to remember who he is. “Trust me, you don’t want me anywhere near a soccer field,” I say.

“You meanfootball,” he playfully corrects.

It’s almost a good thing that this happened. Or else I wouldn’t have in my wildest dreams approached a guy that looks like him. His windswept hair, deep brown almond shaped eyes, and strong jawline wouldn’t be enough to intimidate me if it wasn’t for hisobvious confidence, muscular build, and deep voice with a subtle accent. Did I mention he’s also at least 6’1”?

Something about him still feels familiar.

As he reaches out to hand me back my sandal, I reply, “I take it that you’re not from here then?” And then instantly regret it after hearing myself out loud. Fuck.

Why would you say that to him, Jasmine?

This is what happens when I talk to guys. I try to say what I’m thinking. Except when I actually say the words, they come out completely different than how I intended. As in, this wasmyversion of flirting. But on no planet would this have translated as charming.

Trying to come up with something to make sure that I didn’t offend him, I’m distracted when he bites down on his full lips.

“Did you just insult my accent?” he questions, a trace of amusement in his voice.

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