Along Came Amor (Primas of Power #3)

Chapter 1

October

To: Ava Rodriguez

From: Pam Perez

Subject: Re: Divorce Petition

Good news. It’s done. The Court has signed the Judgment of Divorce. I’ll handle filing and sending the papers.

If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to reach out.

—Pam

Perez & Russo Family Law LLP

A s an English teacher, Ava Rodriguez believed a character’s backstory provided vital context for their behavior.

Therefore, to understand her reaction to the email that had just landed in her inbox, anyone looking over her shoulder would need to know three things.

The first was that a year and a half ago, Ava’s husband, Hector, had arrived home from work one evening and announced his

hitherto unmentioned dream to travel the world as a photojournalist—oh, and by the way, he no longer wanted to be married

to Ava.

Two, he’d said, “I’ll be back for my stuff” on his way out the door, and then did not, in fact, ever return for his stuff.

And finally, after Hector failed to initiate proceedings for the divorce he’d insisted upon, Ava had, as she’d done so many times during their marriage, taken care of everything herself.

Without this context, Ava’s response to the email— good fucking riddance —might have appeared callous, cynical, or even bitter. And Ava was none of those things.

Well, maybe a little cynical, after everything that had happened. But never callous, and only occasionally bitter within the

privacy of her own mind.

The sentiment wasn’t toward her lawyer, of course. Pam had been nothing but kind.

But good fucking riddance to Hector, to their marriage, and to the process of disentangling herself from a ten-year relationship.

At least the email had arrived while she was alone in a hotel room, and not, god forbid, while she was around her family .

From her rolling suitcase, Ava pulled out her main planner—an A5 six-ring binder with a padded leather cover in blush pink,

stuffed to the gills with custom inserts. She never went anywhere without it, and that included dinky little education conferences

like this one.

Sitting on the bed, she leaned against the headboard and opened the planner on her lap. She flipped to the checklist labeled “Divorce Tasks” and zeroed in on the final unchecked box. Her fingers itched to mark it as “done,” already anticipating the hit of dopamine from completing a goal.

Instead, she ripped out the checklist and crumpled it in her fist.

On the next page, another list waited for her. At the top, in big block letters, was a question.

Who is New Ava?

Below that, hand lettered in the brush script she’d spent hours perfecting, were three statements.

New Ava embraces life boldly.

New Ava is confident in her own skin.

New Ava is open to new experiences.

She’d started The New Ava List while visiting her cousins Jasmine Lin Rodriguez and Michelle Amato in California earlier that

week, as a sort of pep talk before getting a Brazilian wax. The list had been Jasmine’s idea, the wax had been Michelle’s.

After selecting a purple brush pen from her “Teaching is a Work of Heart” zippered pouch, Ava added another item to the page.

New Ava is ready to move the fuck on.

There. Maybe writing it down would make it true.

She set the planner aside and picked up her phone from the nightstand. Her cousins wanted to know the second the divorce was finalized, so she opened the Primas of Power group text and started a video call. As it rang, Ava fixed an easy smile on her face, one she hoped said, I’m absolutely fine, no need to worry .

Neither of them answered.

Ava let the smile fade.

A text from Michelle popped up a second later, followed immediately by one from Jasmine.

Michelle: In a meeting. What’s up?

Jasmine: I’m on set, can we touch base later?

Oh, right. It was only Friday afternoon in Los Angeles, of course they were still working. She typed back a reply.

Ava: Sure, maybe later.

It was for the best. Commiserating with her cousins wasn’t the same since Jasmine had gotten engaged to fellow actor Ashton

Suarez, and Michelle had started dating her childhood best friend, Gabriel Aguilar. Jas and Mich would try to cheer her up,

but lately, that only made things worse.

Ava was thrilled for her cousins. They both deserved to find their happily-ever-afters. But she had no interest or desire

to get so wrapped up in another person ever again.

A group dinner for the conference attendees was due to start in a few minutes. But as she was refreshing her curls in the

bathroom mirror, she paused to study her reflection. Her hazel eyes looked dull and distant, as they had for the past year

and a half.

Was this really how she was going to celebrate her divorce? With rubbery chicken and small talk about standardized testing?

Fuck that.

She tossed the nude gloss she’d been about to apply back into her makeup bag and swapped it out for a muted red lip stain,

painting her mouth with defiant swipes.

So what if she was stuck in a hotel on the Jersey Shore during the off-season? At the very least, she could swing by the lobby

bar to enjoy a nice, stiff drink.

Especially since she wasn’t enjoying a nice, stiff anything else these days.

Jeez. She was starting to sound like Michelle.

Unfortunately, it was an accurate assessment. Because while Ava wasn’t anxious to jump into anything resembling a serious

relationship—now or ever again—she was ready to jump on a man.

Alas, the prospects from the dating apps she’d tried earlier in the year had left her so depressed, she’d deleted them before

messaging anyone.

Grabbing her phone, she texted Damaris Fuentes, her conference roommate and best work friend.

Ava: What time are you getting here?

Damaris: Around 11. How were the workshops?

Ava: You didn’t miss anything. How’s the astrology class?

Damaris: Surprising amount of math.

Ava: It’s a good thing you’re a math teacher.

Damaris: Right?

Ava hesitated, then decided to go for it. She had to tell someone .

Ava: My lawyer emailed.

Damaris: And?

Ava: The divorce is finalized.

Damaris: I meant, “And how are you doing?” not, “And what did the email say?” So, I ask again: And?

Ava: And... I’m going to the bar to get a drink.

Damaris: By yourself?

Ava: Yes.

Damaris: Good! Do NOT order rosé.

Ava: But I like rosé!

Damaris: You ALWAYS drink rosé. Get something else.

Ava: Like what?

Damaris: I don’t know. Something new and different. Trust the Universe!

Ava stopped herself from replying with the eye-roll emoji. As far as she could tell, “the Universe,” as Damaris described

it, was by turns a benevolent dictator or a prankster with a juvenile sense of humor. Sort of like Ava’s cousin Sammy.

Either way, not to be trusted.

From the bed, her own purple brush script urged her to move the fuck on .

She headed down to the bar, determined to do just that.