Good grief, what a long day. The evening hadn't gone exactly the way Ess had intended. Lounging, reading and simply relaxing were what had made up her to-do list for the night, but she wanted to take care of a few odds and ends, a little housework, before she stationed herself on the couch.

Well, as often happened, one thing led to another. Once she started with a load of laundry and turned on the dishwasher, she noticed that the kitchen floor was due for a good mopping. The logical thing to do before mopping would be dusting and sweeping away excess dirt. Of course, she might as well vacuum while she was at it; and as she put the vacuum cleaner back in the broom closet, she glimpsed the glass cleaner and turned to examine her rather grimy-gray living room window. And so, one chore led to another.

Before she realized it, the sun had finished it's descent and her tummy had commenced its rumbling. She hadn't yet made any dinner for herself, and her lunch break had been cut short by a ballroom remodel catastrophe earlier that day. Finally, Ess collapsed on the couch with a bowl of nuked vegetable soup and a bologna and cheese sandwich. As she reclined, she stared at the stack of books on her coffee table, chewing thoughtfully. Then, she looked over at her small, overcrowded bookshelf in the corner. The book that held the place of honor there caught her eye, just as she knew it would. It had been a few years since she had re-read her favorite classic. She bit her lip and furrowed her eyebrows in guilt as she glanced back at the unread books on the coffee table, but she felt determined to go for the dog-eared volume on the shelf.

Ess resettled herself back on the couch, sandwich in one fist, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice in the other. While trying with one hand to open the book to her favorite ear marked scene – Mr. Darcy's first and rather oratorically inept proposal at Rosings Park – she managed to dislocate the cover from the spine. The pages fell to the floor, fanning open in a messy heap. Cursing at the destruction she caused her beloved book, she leaned over to rescue it. Under the heap lay a folded piece of paper, slightly aged. She slowly went for it in curious confusion. As she opened it, recognition dawned. She blushed – again, and shook her head at the memory it brought back.

It was a letter to her high school ex-boyfriend, one that she never delivered. She recalled her teenage-self chickening out just before handing the hate letter over to him, so she had just kept it, and stored it in Pride and Prejudice because the book had been her pacifier in her pain.

She sighed at her cowardice, and reflected on the event that prompted it. Matthew. She winced in indignation. That lying worthless cheater! She caught him with her own eyes, making out with some lanky blonde from an opposing high school. The worst part was that he had been doing it in the back corner of Randy's Eatery, which was their hang-out. It added humiliation to the degradation of his wandering hands that he had the audacity to "suck face" with some other girl in a location that belonged to them, a place where her friends and peers could see his obvious philandering.

That happened her senior year, with prom just a week away. She didn't go. Her father told her she would regret missing such an important event in her life; but, oddly enough, she still didn't feel disappointed at missing out on it ten years later. Apparently, not every missed opportunity was regrettable.

What she did regret was how the experience affected her over the years. After that incident she never could quite establish a relationship with a man again. She always distrusted, and never let her guard down. With this impenetrable shield of wariness, men didn't bother for long. None found it worth their time to diffuse her defenses.

Ess knew she had issues. It didn't take a psychiatrist to tell her what her problem was. Still, she had yet to manage it, to get over it; and she was disappointed in herself. This flaw looked like it would keep her from happiness forever. She would die an old maid; and since she was allergic to felines, she wouldn't even have cats to keep her company. Ah yes, she knew the consequences of Matt's cheating far outweighed the act itself.

She brooded over this for quite some time before a knock at the door startled her back to the present. How unusual. Since visitors could not get in unless they rang up and she buzzed them through the door, it could only be a resident of the building. Unless, of course, someone slipped through when another person had opened the door at the building's entrance. Manda had done that before.

As she approached the door, she reflected on the lack of a peephole. She would prefer one right now, so that she could pretend not to be home if the visitor turned out to be an unpleasant one or a stranger. She unlocked the deadbolt, but kept the chain in place as she opened the door a crack to peek out.

It was the familiar stranger. Oh, no, Ess thought, how did he know she lived in this unit? Maybe he was just looking for someone else, and knocked on the wrong door. She looked so unpresentable right now in her worn out jeans and faded college sweatshirt, with her unkempt hair sloppily tucked behind her ears. And on top of that, she felt the blush starting to warm her cheeks. Damn it!

"Ah, hello," the stranger began. He looked as attractive as before, still in his slacks and button up collared shirt. He even wore the tie, though casually loosened. "I don't mean to disturb you."

Well, he came across as very polite. "Yes?" was all Ess could get out in response. Her absurd timidity was really starting to infuriate her.

"I, um, happen to live down the hall," he replied, "and I'm making dinner. Well, I began making a pesto for my penne, and realized that I was very low on olive oil." He held up his nearly empty bottle of oil so that he could emphasize his predicament. " I had a very long day at the office. I'm really too tired to run to the market, but I've already started preparations. Could I beg a little olive oil from you?"

He was very courteous, and so sincere in his need. "I don't have any olive oil," she started. He looked a little surprised and slightly disappointed. She felt obliged to help him, so she continued, "But I do have vegetable oil. You're welcome to it."

He seemed appeased. "That would do just fine." Then he flashed a rather alluring smile at her, which put her right at ease. This, she decided, may be her best opportunity to strike up an acquaintance. Fate kept pushing for it, and she would be stupid to keep pushing it back.

She closed the door so that she could unhook the chain. Then she opened it to show good will. Since the kitchen was directly to the left of the entrance, and he was technically still a stranger, she did not ask him in, but headed to her pantry cupboard for the oil. If she poured the oil into one of her measuring cups, he would have to bring it back. Maybe by then she could be better prepared to attract.

He stayed respectfully at the entrance, and continued conversing with her. After introducing himself as Chad, he talked of his recent move to the neighborhood, and his current work. He was a tax accountant, but dabbled in real estate. Not the most exhilarating work, he admitted, but it afforded a living.

As Ess handed Chad the measuring cup half full of oil, he smiled in gratitude, and asked, "What about you, Esther? What do you do for a living?"

"Well," she began to reply, then stopped short as she realized something. "I'm sorry. I don't remember telling you my name." Her heart began to beat a little out of rhythm in her chest.

"Of course you did," and he laughed a bit forcedly. "How else would I know?"