Chapter 1: Lockdown with My Ex

I rushed to my recently ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Maple Heights, my heart pounding so hard it made my chest ache and my palms clammy. Every step toward the building felt like walking into a lion’s den—my breath shallow, stomach twisted with dread. I was determined to clear things up face-to-face, but now that I was here, nerves threatened to send me running the other way.

As I stepped out of my battered Corolla, the icy Cleveland wind slapped my cheeks, whipping my hair across my face. The old brick apartment building loomed over me, stoop crusted with last night’s salt and snow, faded numbers barely visible under the flickering porch light. The air carried the sharp tang of treated roads and the distant rumble of a snow plow. I paused for a second, heart racing, mentally rehearsing what I’d say. No more texts, no more avoidance—just a real, grown-up conversation. I squared my shoulders and buzzed up, half-expecting him to ignore me. He didn’t.

To my surprise, his not-quite-girlfriend was there too.

She sat cross-legged on the futon, scrolling her phone, a steaming mug of coffee sending up little vanilla-scented clouds. Her eyes flicked up at me—too quickly to be casual. The air was thick with the smell of coffee, perfume, and my own anxious sweat. Tension filled the room, dense enough to slice with a butter knife.

Even worse, just after I arrived, someone knocked at the door.

When it opened, several health department staff stood outside in blue jackets, faces serious:

"Hi there, there’s been a COVID exposure in the building. Everyone here needs to quarantine for 14 days..."

The three of us stared at each other, the silence so awkward it felt like we were in a bad reality show.

The clock on the microwave ticked, each second dragging out like a year. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out any chance of conversation.

My head spun!

The world seemed to tilt, the reality of the situation slamming into me like a runaway snowplow. Ex-boyfriend, his maybe-girlfriend, and now the universe locking us together for two weeks? Was this some kind of twisted cosmic prank?

Eyes stinging with tears, I lurched toward the door. "Um... I’m not part of this household. Can I still leave?"

My voice wobbled, desperate, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, I could escape this sitcom nightmare. I could already imagine the group chat memes: my face Photoshopped into a Big Brother house or a Survivor tribal council.

The staff member shook his head. "Sorry! I know it’s rough, but you’ll have to stay here for now."

He offered a sympathetic shrug, eyes crinkling above his mask. The clipboard in his hand trembled a little—maybe I wasn’t the only one having a bad week.

"To be precise... he’s my ex-boyfriend," I muttered, staring at my shoes.

My cheeks burned. I could almost feel the health department guy’s awkward pity. I focused on the faded Ohio State banner instead of Ethan or Mariah.

It had only been two days, but officially, he was definitely my ex.

Two days—forty-eight hours of heartbreak, and now fate was shoving me right back into his world. Was this a deleted scene from some Netflix rom-com?

Ethan Kimble gently pulled me back, flashed those two infuriating dimples, and assured the staff with mock-seriousness:

"We’ll cooperate with the quarantine. Sure, what could possibly go wrong?"

His tone was the kind you’d use to reassure a skittish puppy, but with just enough sarcasm to make me want to roll my eyes. Those dimples—God, I hated that they still made my stomach flip.

The staff nodded, scribbled down our info, and left as quickly as possible—like they were afraid the awkwardness was contagious.

The door clicked shut, sealing our fate. The apartment shrank around us; I could practically hear my own embarrassment echo off the hardwood floors.

I was completely numb. My hands felt cold and my head buzzed, like my brain was buffering. This was just too much—my body couldn’t decide whether to cry, laugh, or just shut down.

I stared at the faded Ohio State banner tacked above the TV, trying to anchor myself in something familiar. Was this real life, or was I about to wake up drooling on my pillow?

This girl’s got a pandemic, not a love life. I’m living out a quarantine episode, not a rom-com.

I’d run straight into the fire, and now I was stuck.

I could already picture the group chat: “Ava, girl, you need Jesus and a hazmat suit.” Actually, I started composing a meme in my head: my face, mask on, with the caption "When you try to get closure and get COVID instead."

Stiffly, I turned to see the two of them grinning like they’d just been caught sneaking snacks in class.

Their smiles were nervous, stretched a little too wide. Ethan ran a hand through his hair, Mariah hugged her knees up to her chest like a kid waiting outside the principal’s office.

"Um... Sorry for the trouble these days. Don’t worry, I barely eat, I won’t get in your way."

I tried to sound breezy, but my voice cracked. I bit my lip, twisting my phone charger cord around my finger, wishing I could text myself out of this mess.

Ethan’s dark eyes sparkled, the corners of his lips tugging up in a sly, familiar grin.

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, that teasing glint in his gaze. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was actually enjoying this disaster.

"It’s no trouble. You can sleep in my room tonight."

He said it like he was offering me the last slice of pizza—casual, but with a mischievous undertone that made my cheeks heat up.