After that I dated a few guys, enough still to count on one hand. The length of time each relationship lasted varied between one (awkward) date and six months. I had just begun to see someone when I got my cancer diagnosis, the first one. To his credit, he tried to do the right thing and play the part of caring boyfriend. He drove me to some of my appointments and bought me flowers when I started treatment. But then shit got real, and I got really sick, and neither of us had the strength to pretend that we cared enough to take things any further. Considering we were still in the first flushes of our relationship and he had yet to see me in my less-than-best knickers or with more than a day’s growth of hair on my legs, I couldn’t blame him. Nothing takes the shine off a new relationship more than your girlfriend breaking out with festering mouth sores from chemotherapy.

So it’s been a while since I’ve been with a man, and although I am dying, I am not yet dead. I have the same desires and urges as the next woman, and the man in front of me is awakening all of them.

I realize he is also scrutinizing me, waiting for me to speak. I am not typically brave when it comes to situations like this, so I try to think of something Amanda would say.

“Well.” I tuck my hair behind one ear and try hard to look nonchalant. “If I had to choose someone to be stalked by and you were in the line-up, I’d pick you.” Then I blush, hoping he won’t notice with all the makeup I am wearing.

“Are you serious?”

“Sorry,” I say, cringing. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. That’s not the kind of thing I would normally say.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I find that hard to believe. You said it so eloquently.” The upward pull of the corner of his lips suggests he is teasing.

“Yeah, right.”

“If it’s not the kind of thing you normally say, then why did you say it?”

I screw up my face because when I look up at him the sun blinds my eyes. “I’m not sure. I just thought I’d try being someone else for a minute. Someone fearless and uncontrolled by normal societal decorum.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

“Terribly. How about we try again.” I hold out my hand and adopt a serious expression. “Hi, there, I’m Ava. And you must be James. I’ve heard so much about you.”

His cheeks dimple with amusement. “You have?”

“No. Not a thing. Again, I don’t know why I said that. For some reason you’re making me nervous. But I’m guessing you have that effect on a lot of women.”

“Not that I’m aware of, no.”

“Seriously? But look at you. You’re like…you know.” I gesture toward him and wave my hand up and down.

“Tall?”

“Yes. Tall. That’s exactly what I was getting at.”