I was near the tail end of the Millennial generation, a steady thirty-eight years old. An article I read online, citing rough studies from dating websites, claimed the average wait time for a couple to decide on marriage is five years. For Millennials, it’s at least six and a half. If anyone asked me, I’d argue that eight to ten years is far better.

Never, even.

My dating record was a string of missteps. I turned down at least four proposals along the way. Sometimes the other person was at fault, sometimes it was me—or it was simply a bad match. I used to sacrifice innocent dates by bringing them to family gatherings to endure the inevitable inquisition, but eventually decided it was easier to go alone.

The problem was that I was running out of excuses.

It’s me. I’m more afraid of marriage than of intimacy. I’m gay. I neither want a sugar daddy nor can I afford to be one. I’m terrified of commitment. As I mentally recited my list of tired excuses, I realized I couldn't even remember the last time I’d last dated anyone.

A silver-haired fox with piercing blue eyes fluttered into my mind, like a sheet of paper caught by the wind. Oh, that guy. What was his name again? Dr. Something-or-other—a university professor with the biggest ego I’d ever encountered. The more comfortable he got around me, the more entitled he became. I’d had enough by the time he demanded a fresh plate at a restaurant just because they forgot the truffle sauce.

To be fair, he was just the last in a long line of men with abusive natures, superiority complexes, or manipulative, gaslighting tendencies I kept encountering. Was it bad luck? Or was I just the kind of “type” those men sought out?

Was it my zip code?

When my sister opened the door, I didn't have time to steel myself; the words tumbled out of my mouth before I even thought it through.

“My paranoia’s at an all-time high, and I refuse to date anyone right now or possibly ever because after striking out so many times, I’ve become a cautious shut-in who would honestly rather shout my frustration into the wind from a mountaintop than swipe right on a dating app again.”

“A shut-in that also wants to be out in the mountains? And not dating when feeling lonely? Oxymoronic much?” Siena questioned, raising an eyebrow at me. “Seriously, when was the last time you saw a therapist, Ash?”

I often wondered how Siena was one of the few family members who could catch everything I said and dissect it in seconds. I shrugged, forcing myself to keep my feet planted instead of shuffling nervously like I did as a kid. Being around family always made me regress—hoarding the remote, getting overly competitive during card games.

That’s why, despite the grilling about my love life, I made an effort to see my family at these rare gatherings. I cared deeply for them; I just didn’t share their obsession with seeing me settle down with someone—and in my parents’ case, settle down with someone who could adopt a grandkid or five.

The very thought made me shudder. I loved kids—from a safe distance. I’d helped with my nephews and nieces over the years and earned the title of Best Uncle Ever. But actually raising a child? I’d rather go skydiving without a parachute.

“Hell if I knew,” I finally replied candidly. “Two, maybe three years ago?”

“Oh, Ash,” Siena responded, her voice a mix of concern and disappointment that churned guilt in my stomach. She quietly closed the door behind her, motioned for me to come closer with a small wave of her hand, and whispered into my ear, “Maybe you should sit this gathering out before anyone else realizes you’re here.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Cove and his daughter are heading over here. Dad crossed paths with them at the market and invited both of them over on a whim.”

Cove—hadn’t his bisexual ass gotten married ten years ago and moved to another town? What was he doing back here?

“Your boots are awesome, mister!”

I glanced down to see the top of a double-braided head of a little girl who finally stopped looking down at my boots to meet my gaze. Her lace-trimmed dress was too long for me to notice what shoes she had on. But when she lifted her head, her mocha face lit up at what she saw.

“Your eyes are like shiny, new pennies!”

But my face went pale when I saw a pair of familiar silver eyes gazing at me from that ridiculously adorable face.

“Ashley, don’t run off like that!”

Shit. Too late to escape.

I felt the strain on my lips as I managed to form a tense smile in greeting. “C-Cove. Funny seeing you here. How’s it going, pal?”

Realizing Cove didn’t know I’d be there either, regret crashed in. I should have run to my car the moment Siena warned me. Hell, I should have never gotten out of bed that morning and pretended to be too sick to make the commute.

“Ash!” Cove responded as he gently placed a hand on my shoulder.

I immediately tensed up, feeling my shoulders stiffen and sheer panic forming in my copper eyes before I could stamp down my reaction. But Cove quickly noticed my discomfort and pulled back his hand, letting it drop awkwardly to his side. Feeling ashamed, I turned my attention back to Siena, giving her my best SOS glance by widening my eyes and tilting my head slightly. But she just shook her head slightly in refusal.

Couldn’t she cut me some slack?

“Why don’t we head inside and grab some snacks?” Siena suggested as she boldly took little Ashley’s hand and headed in first.

“What kinds of snacks?” Ashley wondered aloud, exhibiting no fear as she entered a stranger’s house.

“You heading in?” I asked, tilting my head toward the door, silently hoping Cove would walk past so I could make a break for my car and get the hell outta dodge.

Cove motioned towards the door with his arm. “You first.”

I narrowed my eyes as I stiffly walked through the door. Cove knew enough about me to block my last-ditch effort of an escape plan. I was so freaking screwed.