Page 30 of Insta-Love

FOURTEEN

Bowen

Her gaze skims everything in the room, silently taking in the details about my life.

They’re all as bullshit as the crap I post online. A carefully constructed backdrop to a fantasy life. I walk in the door, and this doesn’t feel like home. It feels like a set. A prop to be monetised.

It feels fake, just like every goddamn thing does lately.

“How do you have it?”

Her head whips around, those damn lips of hers slightly parted before she answers, “Black with one, thanks.”

Just like her old man. Guess that’s where she gets the stubbornness.

“So, is the stay at your parents a temporary thing?” I ask, my back to her as I prepare the drinks.

She remains silent a moment before answering. “Hopefully.”

I chance a look over my shoulder; for some reason I’m worried that I’ve upset her again already. Yet she doesn’t look angry as she takes a seat at the small dining table. More … resigned?

“I’ve been living away from home for five years,” she explains, hands clasped before her.

I turn back to the coffees. Watching her talk seems like an invasion of privacy when she spills the details of how and why.

“It was a struggle,” Ava continues. “But I was determined to make it work. Glen took most everything from me, so I didn’t want to lose my independence as well.”

“You don’t work, then?”

“Laid off six months ago.” She sighs. “People don’t like to hire single mothers all that much, so I’ve been struggling to get something else.”

“What do you do?”

“Office work. Anything clerical, really. But there isn’t a lot available for people like me who have no formal qualifications.”

“The lack of job is obviously is why you moved home then.” I turn and rest my arse against the counter, hands bracing my weight, while the kettle boils.

“In a nutshell.” Ava smiles, her mouth partially hidden behind her hands, elbows rested on the table.

Damn it all if that isn’t a great shot right there.

My shallow arse wouldn’t have looked twice at her if Id met her under any other circumstances. But the more time I spend with the woman, the more the saying beauty is only skin deep resonates.

Ava is beautiful. Not knockout gorgeous, but she’s captivating all the same.

She’s so much more as an eight than any ten I’ve met.

Because she’s real. She doesn’t pull any punches, hold up any barriers. She’s authentic and what a fucking relief that is after the whirlpool I’ve been stuck in the past few years.

“What’s your story, Bowen?” That soft smile of hers is still masked behind her hands. “You know a bit about me. What about you? What brought you here?”

I shrug, turning back to pour our drinks. “I needed space. The people I shared with before wanted different things to me, so I split.”

“Do you like it better on your own?”

“Not really.” Nothing like the quiet emptiness of a house to remind you where your friends are: all fake, and online.

“Yeah,” she muses as I carry the coffees to the table. “I didn’t like being on my own, either, but at least it was space, you know? It’s way too cramped for Lily and I in the spare room, but I’ve got to make the most of what I have.” She adds with a laugh, “Which is nothing.”

---