Studying the room, I notice the wall of cubbies for personal belongings just like the website said there’d be. My friends teased me for reading up on all the frequently asked questions, but I need to know what I’m in for before I enter a situation, no matter how miniscule.

  “Welcome,” an older woman greets me, walking barefoot out of what I assume is the actual studio the class will be in. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Is this your first class or have you done classes with one of our other instructors?”

  I offer her a weak smile. “This is my first one. I do yoga at home sometimes, but I’m not an expert or anything.”

  Which is why I signed up for the beginner’s class.

  She clasps her hands together with a bright smile on her face. “Wonderful! This should be a good first experience for you. There’s only about seven of you in today’s class. I’m Dina, by the way. Let me show you around.”

  Waving me over to her, she points out the two different bathrooms, the cubies to put all of our personal items, where to set my shoes, and how to set up in the studio. “Once the class starts, the door will be locked, so your personal belongings will be safe. We also ask that it’s quiet in the studio at all times after we begin. No talking. We’re here for a peaceful, mind-body connection. To set an intention for the new week ahead. Anybody who disrupts that will be asked to exit at any given time.”

  It’s good Michelle couldn’t come to this after all because we wouldn’t have been able to keep silent. She’s a yoga virgin like I am, but she considered trying it out to see if it’d help her relax like I’m hoping it’ll help me.

  “Got it,” I affirm, forcing another smile in her direction before slipping off my shoes where she directed me to, setting my phone, bag, and sunglasses into one of the empty cubby slots, and trying not to panic over what the next hour is about to bring.

  I head into the studio and choose a spot in the back to unravel my mat. The last thing I need is to be front and center where people can watch me struggle. Usually, the only audience I have when I put on a twenty-minute yoga program at home is Roman. He may judge me silently, but at least he looks cute doing it.

  I’m sitting cross-legged on the mat and staring out the window when I hear, “Wasn’t expecting to see you here, shortstop.”

  Shoulders drawing back, I slowly look up at Cole as he begins unrolling his own mat a few feet away mine. “What are you doing here?”

  I give him a cursory glance and note the pair of athletic shorts and a tight muscle top that really shows off his trim waist. No shoes. Groomed beard. Friendly smile. “To be honest, my ex got me into this sort of stuff. We used to do classes together every week as a way to bond.”

  Unintentionally, my nose scrunches as I face the window again. “Ah.”

  That nagging, annoying feeling nips at my heart again. It’s been a while since I’ve felt it, and I hate that something as simple as a conversation can bring it back.

  Cole sits. “What does ‘ah’ mean?”

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I debate my response. I could lie. Deflect.

  Or I can be honest.

  Drawing my bent knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and look at him with a distant look on his face. “My ex was big on doing stuff like this with his ex. He told me all about it. And all about her. It was like he couldn’t get over her no matter how badly she treated him. It got pretty insulting after a while.”

  Eye twitching, I shake my head. I should have seen it all coming. He wasn’t over her or everything they shared. He was going to ask her to marry him. One second he said he hated her for the shit she did—for cheating on him—and the next he missed her.

  “Not huge on hearing about exes,” I admit begrudgingly. Resting my chin on my knees, I try not letting that feeling sink even deeper. Once it has its claws in me, it’s game over. I’ll be back to the girl who needed to go to therapy because of my problems.

  “Hey,” Cole says softly, reaching over and gently bumping my arm. “I get it. That shit is never easy. Consider this a clean slate for the both of us.”

  Taking a deep breath, I turn to him and study the genuine expression on his face. This has always been Cole. Down to earth. Laid back. Lowkey. He gets along with everybody because he’s naturally friendly. A good person. “This is actually my first yoga class, so try not to laugh at me too much.”

  Half his lips tug upward. “I wondered. I remember a time when you said the only way you’d be doing any type of physical activity was if there was a cash reward at the end.”

  Snorting at the old memory, I find myself nodding along. “Anthony was trying to convince me to sign up for a charity relay race that the old real estate company he was working for was putting on. I told him the only way anybody would see me run is if there was a bear chasing me.”

  Cole leans back, using his taut arms to hold him up. His triceps stretch, showing how much work he obviously puts into himself. Does he still do construction? “Isn’t that when Anthony rented a bear costume and tried bribing you with fifty dollars to sign up for the race?”

  Laying back and folding my hands on my stomach, I find myself smiling up at the ceiling. It was hilarious seeing my brother go through such big lengths to get me to do that stupid race. He was trying to get his boss’s approval, which somehow meant earning the most money out of all his other coworkers.

  I never signed up.

  “Yeah, he was desperate.”

  “He’s calmed down a lot after meeting Talia,” his friend notes casually.

  We fall to silence.

  I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to ease that feeling in my stomach. “So, what’s next for you now that you’re back?”

  There’s a short pause before, “I’m not too sure. I’m figuring it out a day at a time right now. That’s the best any of us can do, right?”

  I roll my head in his direction and open my eyes to see him watching me. That smile is still on his face, warm and inviting. He’s got one of those dangerous smiles. The ones you can start getting used to seeing.

  Nope.

  Moving my focus back to the ceiling, I focus on the little water stain on the corner of one of the tiles. “That’s what my list is all about. Learning how to live life a day at a time. Doing new things. I’ve basically been dating myself for the past few months.”

  I realize once the words are out how lame they probably sound. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing. I’ve always spent so much time and effort in what everybody else wants that I put myself last. The past eight months have been the exact opposite of what my relationship was like.

  I want to be a better version of myself—somewhere between selfish and selfless. Confident. Humble. Grateful. And no matter what happens, or who enters my life again, I want to go wherever she goes.

  “I like that,” Cole remarks. There’s something almost contemplative about his tone as he stares off across the room. “A lot, actually. We should do that together.”

  I blink. “Pardon me?”

  “Date ourselves. Together. Do the things on your list. Could be fun.”

  My lips part, but nothing seems to slip past them as confusion settles in. He must find it comical because he chuckles at whatever face I’m making.

  Finally, I snap myself out of it. “The whole point of having a live list is doing things you want to do with your life. It’s not about doing what other people want.”

  “What if one of the items on my list is to do some of the items on your list with you?”

  Once again, I’m at a loss for words.

  He lifts a shoulder. “Think about it. I’ll be around. Let me know what you decide.”

  The two letters are on the tip of my tongue. N-o. No. But I don’t say them. They hang on tightly, refusing to release before sliding back down my throat with a slow swallow.

  I don’t have time to think about his offer when the rest of the class comes in, sets up, and the instructor begins the hour-long torture session.

  And while the whole point of the class is to relax the mind, all I can think about is the strong presence of the man beside me.

  Based on the ghost smile on his face when I find myself looking his way, he damn well knows it too.

  Chapter Four

  The three Band-Aids on my fingers from all the sewing, tweaking, and pinning I did for the dress was worth it after seeing my client’s face when she saw it. Her mother even sent me a photo of her daughter in it, beaming.

  Turning my phone screen in Michelle’s direction, I show her my latest creation. “Do you think your friend—the web designer—still has availability to design something for me? Word of mouth has really started getting out on my work, and I think having a website would help me organize it all.”

  Michelle takes my cell. “Maya, this is gorgeous. Are those gems lining the hem?” Her eyes narrow as she zooms in on the photo. “I’m jealous of this girl’s legs. Very Carrie Underwood. I’d wear this kind of dress too if I could pull it off.”

  I roll my eyes and take it back. “Yes, I added some embellishment on the bottom. The straps have some too. But back to your friend. Do you think he could do it?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t see why not. James just told me the other day that business has slowed a little bit. It’s a great idea. Didn’t you just say the other day that you already have four other projects lined up?”

  I make a face. “Five. I stupidly agreed to do some alterations to a wedding dress. The woman found it at a thrift store and wants me to basically redesign it. In less than two months.”

  My friend winces. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

  Simple. I’m a people pleaser.

  Plus, I like being able to pay my bills.

  Changing gears, I stand up and grab a few extra napkins since the sandwiches Michelle brought look messy. “I’m thinking about buying a house. Nothing too big, but maybe two stories. A split-level ranch that way I can separate business from personal space.”

  Putting a couple of the napkins next to her, I sit back down and watch her eyebrows go up. “Didn’t you just resign your lease for another year? You talked about having issues with finding other places to stay, so you decided to stick with this one.”

  Frowning, I play with a piece of shredded lettuce that fell off my food. “I wasn’t having luck with rentals. The other night I couldn’t sleep and decided to look at some local real estate. There are a ton of houses for sale. Some fixer uppers that wouldn’t be too awful to work on.”

  Michelle snorts, grabbing the water I’d given her when she got here. “You don’t even like putting together shelves from Ikea. It took an expensive steak dinner to get your brother here to do it for you. How are you going to renovate a fixer upper?”

  She’s not wrong. “I added ‘learn a new hobby’ to the list. Maybe learning do-it-yourself things can be it. I watch the Home Network all the time. I’ve picked up a thing or two that I could probably contribute to a future home.”

  “Babe, I binge-watch Grey’s Anatomy, but that doesn’t mean I can go into brain surgery tomorrow. Be realistic.”

  I scrunch my nose and pick up my sandwich. “You’re a party pooper.”

  “I’m realistic.” We start eating, falling to peaceful silence for a while. It isn’t until I lean back, wiping my fingers off with my napkin, when I say, “Do you think I can do it? I think the way my business is growing, it’s not impossible to get a house. Maybe not a super nice one, but something to work on. Grow into.”

  Her shoulders drop a fraction. “Of course I think you can do it. If there’s anybody on this planet who could make that happen, it’s you. I just don’t want to see you get in over your head. Your business is picking up, so the last thing you need is to add home renovations on top of it. I can talk to my mom if you want. She still has connections with the local agencies, so she can tell you who to work with and who not to.”

  Kathryn, Michelle’s mother, is a retired real estate agent. She and her husband Mark decided to retire together and travel. They do cruises at least twice a year after they moved to Florida fulltime.

  Staring at my lap, I let out a tiny sigh. “It feels sort of out of reach. I just finished paying off my student loans, and a big part of that was thanks to Anthony. What if—”

  “Nope,” Michelle cuts me off. “We don’t do ‘what if’ anymore, remember? You went through that for months after the breakup, and I promised not to let you go through it again under any circumstances. You’re a badass with a good ass, my friend. Never forget that.”

  The scolding look she gives me with the upbeat reply has me cracking a smile. Grabbing my phone, I open up my list and add a new item.

  101. BUY A HOUSE.

  I smile at the addition. “It’s official. Now I have to do it. One day.”

  She smiles. “Speaking of list items,” she begins, wiggling her eyebrows. “I think it’s time to reexplore number sixty-two.”

  I knew it was only a matter of time before one of my friends brought it up.

  62. GO ON A DOUBLE DATE

  There’s less pressure when you go on a double date with one of your friends. You can fall back on them. But in order to go on a double date, I’d have to put myself back out there. Which would inevitably lead to list items 74, 86, and 91.

  74. BE A GIRLFRIEND

  86. GET ENGAGED

  91. GET MARRIED

  It’s bothered me that at 28 years old, I’ve never had a man who’s willingly called me his. Never bragged about me being his girlfriend. Never been comfortable enough for a label. The type of men I’ve let into my life took advantage of me being a good person.

  I swore I’d give myself time to heal before putting myself out there again. Figure out how to stop letting people use me. Learn how to read the red flags. I’ve read self-help books. Gone to therapy. Reflected. It’s all helped. But that doesn’t stop the panic from rising deep in my stomach until it rises up to my chest and wraps around that beating organ I tend to give away a little too willingly.

  “Chelle, I’m not so sure—”

  “Just think about it. I’m not telling you what to do, but you’ve come a long way the past eight months. Look at all of the things you’ve gotten past. This year was tough for you, but you came out on top. That’s something to be proud of. I’m not saying that you should stop focusing on you. You should always be your first priority. But this list started out as a distraction and all you do is keep adding to it, so you’re not really moving on.”

  Gaping at her, I slowly shake my head. “What’s wrong with dating yourself? Some people take a full year off of dating before they get back into it. He really messed me up. I don’t want to rush into anything and do what was done to me. That’s not fair.”

  A sympathetic look softens her face. “I get that, Maya. I really do. But just because those items are on your list doesn’t mean you’re going to get to them any time soon. Plus, I think you acknowledging that you need to be cautious and careful in your next relationship is proof that maybe you’re more ready than you think you are.”

  This time, I’m silent. Gnawing on the inside of my cheek, I wiggle in my seat and stare at my half-eaten lunch.

  I feel Michelle nudge my foot with hers under the table. “You know I’ve got your back no matter what you decide. I’ll support your choice whatever it is. But Maya?”

  I peek at her.

  “You deserve to be happy.”

  Something in my chest tightens as we stare at one another quietly. Recognition.

  You deserve to be happy.

  Chapter Five

  I look at the address on my phone and debate if this is a smart idea or not. Is it weird to show up at somebody’s house when they didn’t invite you? Yes. My parents raised me better.

  But it was my brother who passed along the address. His sleep-deprived voice listed it off like he didn’t question why his little sister would want it. Eventually, when he remembers the conversation, he’ll ask me.

  I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

  Walking up to the cute little bungalow, I knock on the door after a deep breath. This isn’t something I’ve ever done, but Michelle’s words keep echoing in my head.

  You deserve to be happy.

  Sometimes I don’t even know what that is. Happiness is pretty subjective if you think about it. What makes one person happy may make somebody else miserable. But the more I racked my brain about it, I realized that my friend was right. The list I made started as a way to get out of my troubling thoughts. Anxiety had gotten the better of me for a while. Then depression hit. Making a list of things to do was a way to focus on something other than feeling sad and lonely.

  I don’t intentionally isolate myself or shut people out. It’s habit. One I’d like to stop.

  I should probably add that to my list.

  The door cracks open and a tall, thin, woman with a bright smile and bleach blond hair answers.

  I take a step back, glancing down at the address I jotted down. “Oh…” Pressing my lips together, I lift my gaze back to the pretty girl. “I think I have the wrong address. I’m sorr—”

  “That you, shortstop?” I hear a familiar voice ask, opening the door wider. When he appears, he’s wearing a smile almost as wide as the girl’s beside him.

  And I’m…confused.

  I can’t say there’s any jealousy or anything lingering in the pit of my stomach. Not everybody is like me after breakups. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered a one-night stand—or two—when I started missing sex. The problem is, I get attached. Sex is too intimate to me, which means I had to step back from all men and their charming ways.