Close Enough To Hear You (Small Town Stories #3)

Prologue

CALVIN

Most people don’t feel confident.

Most people don’t know how to walk into a room and believe they belong.

They second-guess.

They freeze up.

They wonder if they’re settling or if they’ll ever find the real thing.

I’ve spent the last decade chasing those questions. In the process, I built a multimillion-dollar dating empire, training ten thousand in person, coaching thousands more in private, reaching lives in over a dozen countries.

Tonight, I’m closing a seminar at the Palace Hotel’s Grand Ballroom in San Francisco.

Chandeliers glitter overhead. Marble columns rise like monuments.

The room is lit like a surgical ward. Bright. Merciless. Sharp as confession.

Rows of men lean forward, pens poised, notebooks stamped with my logo: Real Confidence.

Some wear suits. Most wear nerves.

The anticipation is a living thing, waiting for the last secret, the final ingredient.

“Here’s the real secret to meeting women,” I say, letting the silence do half the work.

“Learn to dance. Not to impress her, but to enjoy yourself. Nobody cares if you’ve got two left feet. If you’re having fun, that’s contagious. Dance to feel alive in your own skin. The steps don’t matter. The play does.”

I sweep my gaze across the rows of men leaning forward, pens still in hand.

“The truth is simple. The second you start having fun, you’re instantly more attractive than any pickup line could ever make you.”

A ripple stirs: low chuckles, murmurs of agreement. Shoulders ease. Heads nod. Someone mutters, “Man, that’s so true.”

Then the hush returns, thick and expectant.

“You want the answer?” I gesture to the projection screen, where K.I.S.S.I.N.G. glows faint under the house lights.

A word from every playground. The name they came here for.

“You want to know how to meet women? Stop chasing them. Chase yourself. Figure out who you are. What keeps you up at night. What you’d do with your last hour on earth.

Be the main character in the story she can’t help but want to join.”

Silence holds.

Then the cheer erupts, sudden and explosive, like someone lit a fuse.

Shoulders loosen. Eyes spark. Laughter ripples through the room.

I let it breathe, then lower my voice, steady again.

“The formula works. Not because it gets you the girl, but because it shapes you into the man you’re meant to be.

K.I.S.S.I.N.G. isn’t just a playground rhyme. It’s a guide for anyone willing to risk actually caring.

I built it so men could find the woman of their dreams.

But more than that? So they could finally find themselves.”

The hush deepens.

Laughter fades into quiet attention.

“And if anyone tells you there’s a shortcut, believe me, I tried.

In the end, you always end up back at the tree, spelling it the hard way.”

This time the applause doesn’t burst.

It swells.

A tidal rush of cheers and clapping, laughter and shouts, carrying me higher, louder, brighter.

But the night isn’t over. Not for me. Not for the students signed up for one-on-one field coaching.

This is where it gets real.

My crew leads half a dozen men in crisp shirts onto Market Street, neon humming overhead, nerves buzzing under their skin.

We adjust posture.

Slip them into conversations.

Pull them back when they push too hard.

I watch them stumble, recover, laugh.

The tension breaks, and suddenly they’re having fun.

That’s the part I love most. Not the applause. The spark when they realize: I can actually do this.

That’s when my phone buzzes.

Riot: brO! Willow Ridge. Wedding. You’re the best man. Jules is the Maid of Honor. Just thought you should know.

The name slams into me harder than any of the applause tonight.

Jules.

I pocket the phone, force a professional grin as a handful of students gather.

Outwardly, I’m unbroken.

Inwardly, everything shifts.

Every face in this crowd is full of hope, laughter, nerves.

And suddenly, my own stomach knots tighter than theirs.

By the time I finally slip into my loft overlooking the Bay, the night has wrung me out.

Floor-to-ceiling windows spill the city’s reflection across the water, the bridge glowing with a stability I never found for myself.

This is the life I built:

Sky miles most people only dream about.

A view like a magazine spread.

Money enough to never think twice.

Control over my time.

Freedom without limits.

And yet, standing here feels less like fulfillment and more like performance.

Because the truth?

I didn’t build this empire just to change lives. I built it to stitch myself back together. To prove I was whole. To hide what was broken.

The empire. The applause. The fame.

A beautiful bandage.

But when the lights go out, the silence isn’t peace.

It’s a ghost.

A story I never faced. A wound I never healed.

My home is empty.

I’m supposed to be the dating expert. The man with all the answers. The one teaching everyone else how to find love.

Here’s the part nobody knows.

The one truth I’ve never outrun.

I’ve never gotten over Jules.