CHAPTER 1

 

Ava stood in front of her mirror, twisting a lock of her raven hair around one finger. The dim morning light filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows on her bedroom walls. Her phone lay untouched on the bed, face down and ominously silent. Raymond’s messages were probably stacked like bricks in her inbox, and Charice would probably call her today, scolding her for the hundredth time. “You can’t keep running, Ava,” she’d say, as if Ava’s life were some grand romance novel with a guaranteed happy ending.

She sighed and turned her attention to the mirror, running a hand through her raven hair. Her hair was sleek and glossy—but the wild tuft between her legs needed taming. "Baby girl’s overdue," she muttered, reaching for her shaving kit.

Ava never shaved for anyone but herself. It wasn’t for Raymond or any of the other men Charice had tried to set her up with. Shaving was like hitting a reset button—it had become part of her routine—a private ritual, like taking back control of something when everything else felt uncertain. She spread a layer of gel over her pubic mound and worked methodically, razor strokes precise, as though tending a garden back into something she recognized. 

By the time she was done, the mirror reflected a smooth, confident woman. But inside, Ava felt nothing but confident. The previous night replayed in her mind like a bad rerun.

 

The Night Before—

It was 8:30 when Raymond called. The restaurant had already confirmed the reservation, he said. “Table for two, candlelit,” he added, his voice cheerful.

Ava had hesitated. She could hear the anticipation in his tone, the hope. It was like he was trying to balance on a tightrope, and one wrong word from her could send him tumbling.

But all she could manage was a clipped, “Okay.”

She had planned to call back and cancel, but she’d waited too long. When 8:45 rolled around, the thought of facing Raymond—of watching the hope in his eyes dissolve into disappointment—was unbearable. She turned off her phone, curled up in bed, and let the evening slip away.

 

The Morning After—

The doorbell shattered her peaceful Saturday morning. Ava groaned, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. She padded toward the door, water dripping onto the hardwood floor.

She peered through the peephole and groaned.

Raymond.

He stood on the porch with a small box of chocolates clutched in his hand. His expression was somewhere between annoyed and determined, like a man ready to storm the gates of Troy.

Ava tightened the towel around her and considered pretending she wasn’t home. But Raymond shifted, glanced at his watch, and rang the bell again.

She sighed and spoke through the door. “Who is it?”

“You know who it is, Ava,” Raymond replied, his voice muffled but firm.

“Why are you here?”

“You stood me up,” he said, tone sharp. “I waited for two hours last night, Ava. Two hours. You could’ve called, texted, something.”

“Something unforeseen came up and kept me . . . busy.”

“Busy?” He let out a dry laugh. “Too busy to pick up your phone and call me or send me a text to let me know you weren’t coming?”

“Shit happens,” she snapped, though the sting in her own voice surprised her.

There was silence on the other side. For a moment, Ava thought he might leave, but then he said, “At least let me in. I brought you chocolates.” He held up the chocolates like they were a peace offering.

“I’m allergic to chocolate.”

Amused, Raymond said: “Really? That’s the excuse you’re going with now? Is this . . . is this how you treat people? Or is it just me?”

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I should’ve called. But I didn’t. Can we leave it at that?”

“No, we can’t,” he said, stepping closer. “I thought we had something here. I thought—”

“Raymond,” she interrupted, her tone firm. “You’re a nice guy, maybe. But I’m not what you’re looking for.”

He stared at her, the hurt plain on his face. “You don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“And I don’t want to find out.” Ava crossed her arms, ignoring the damp towel slipping off her shoulder. “How did you even get my address?”

There was a long pause, the air between them heavy. Finally, Raymond shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, Charice warned me you’d be like this. She said you’d push me away the second I got too close.”

Ava’s jaw tightened. Damn Charice! I’m going to kill that girl!

“Why did you stand me up, Ava? I demand an explanation.”

“Well, I already told you something came up last night. Period.”

“Look,” Raymond said, his voice softening. “I just want to talk. Can we reschedule? I—”

“No.”

“No?” His voice cracked on the word.

“I’ll call you,” Ava said.”

“Could you at least open the door and let me in so we can talk?”

“I am not decent, Raymond.” 

Through the peephole, she watched him stare at the door for a moment before shaking his head. His shoulders slumped, and he walked away, the chocolates still clutched in his hand.

Ava leaned her back against the door and let out a long, slow breath. The knot in her chest loosened, but only slightly.

 

***

 

Ava had just settled into the chaise lounge with an apple when her phone buzzed. Charice’s name flashed on the screen.

“Morning,” Ava said flatly, biting into the apple.

“Don’t you ‘morning’ me,” Charice shot back. “What the hell happened with Raymond?”

“You gave him my address without asking,” Ava countered.

“Don’t deflect,” Charice said, crossing her arms. “The guy was crushed last night, Ava. He deserved an explanation.”

“I don’t owe him anything. And you shouldn’t have given him my address without my consent. What if he’s a serial killer?”

Charice let out an exasperated sigh. “Ava, you are impossible. Do you even like any man? Or are you just trying to set a Guinness World Record for most dates avoided?”

Ava smirked despite herself. “Maybe I should get a plaque.”

“I’m serious! Raymond is a good guy. He’s funny, he’s cute, he’s got a steady job—”

“Wow, the trifecta,” Ava said dryly. “Sign me up.”

“By the way, he’s not a serial killer.”

“Ann Rule also thought that way about Ted Bundy, until she realized she was wrong.”

Charice threw up her hands. “Oh my God, Ava. Only you could compare a guy bringing you chocolates to a literal serial killer.”

Ava shrugged, taking another bite of her apple. “I’m just saying. Caution is underrated.”

Charice groaned. “You know what your problem is?”

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re scared,” Charice said, her tone softening. “You push people away because you don’t want to get hurt.”

Ava bit into the apple again, her chewing slower this time. “I’m not scared,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. “Anyway, spare me the self-help lecture, Charice. I’m fine the way I am.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Maybe you should stop trying to fix me.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” Charice said. “I’m trying to remind you that life is better with someone by your side.”

“Noted,” Ava said dryly. “I’ll order a big teddy bear then. Thanks for the wisdom, Oprah.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Charice spoke again, her tone was softer. “Ava, are you scared?”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Oh, here we go. The amateur psychoanalysis.”

“I’m serious,” Charice said. “You’re scared of letting anyone in because you think they’ll hurt you. I understand your trauma because of what that son of a bitch did to you back when you were a child. But you shouldn’t let that experience turn you into a misandrist. You can’t just keep—”

“Enough,” Ava snapped, her voice like ice. “No more word about it.”

Charice sighed, the fight leaving her voice. “Alright. I’ll drop it—for now. Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m coming over. And I’m bringing burritos.”

“Fine. But don’t talk about Raymond.”

After the call, Ava tossed her phone onto the coffee table and flipped through the Women’s Corner magazine. She wasn’t big on horoscopes, but her gaze lingered on the Aquarius section.

Aquarius Traits:

• Strengths: Independent, progressive, big thinker.

• Weaknesses: Temperamental, aloof, avoids emotional expression.

 

Ava snorted. “Story of my life.”

The horoscope went on to describe someone who craved connection but was too guarded to allow it. It was eerily accurate, and for a moment, Ava felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name.

 “Damn magazine,” she muttered, slamming it shut. Maybe Charice is right, she thought. Maybe I do push people away.

 

Her phone buzzed again, this time with a flurry of notifications. Ava opened her texts, skimming through Raymond’s unread messages from last night:

9:02 p.m.: “Hey, I’m here. Can’t wait to see you.”
9:45 p.m.: “Are you okay? Should I call?”
10:30 p.m.: “I guess this is your way of saying you’re not interested.”

The last one stung more than she expected. Ava deleted the messages in one swift motion and tossed the phone aside.

 

As the day wore on, Ava couldn’t shake the lingering tension. Charice would be here soon, burritos in hand and judgment in her eyes. But for now, Ava curled up on the chaise lounge, the cold air from the AC brushing against her skin.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to forget Raymond’s hurt expression and Charice’s biting words. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence. For now, she told herself, being alone was enough.