Chapter Six

Rules, Resolutions, & Really Bad Timing

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No sex.

There it was.

Isla had finally made up her mind.

Not a month. Not three months. Not until she met someone who seemed different.

One full year.

She was already nine weeks in — sixty-three whole days without sex — and somehow the world hadn’t ended.

She hadn’t withered away into a shriveled prune. Her vibrator hadn’t filed a missing person’s report—and it wasn’t about to.

If she’d already made it sixty-three days, she could make it the rest of the year.

She opened the calendar app on her phone and counted the days before smiling to herself.

Fourth of July weekend.

That would be her finish line.

One year of putting herself first. One year of no meaningless hookups, no settling, no convincing herself red flags were merely festive decorations.

One year of figuring out who Isla Monroe was when a man wasn’t occupying space in her mind.

Her phone pinged against the kitchen counter.

Are you sure you’re not making it to book club tonight? -Mom

Do moms ever know how to take no for an answer?

Isla smiled despite herself. On second thought…

Maybe going wasn’t such a terrible idea.

When was the last time she’d wandered the aisles of Down the Rabbit Hole?

Four months? Five?

Somewhere between freelance deadlines, editing manuscripts, client meetings, and trying to convince emotionally unavailable men they were emotionally unavailable, she’d somehow stopped visiting her favorite place in the world.

She hated that.

She tried spending as much time with Iris as possible, but life had gotten busy.

Really busy.

Especially since going freelance.

Her editing business had exploded over the past several months, and every new client seemed to refer two more. She genuinely loved what she did. Helping authors polish their stories never felt like work.

She only wished she had someone waiting at home to celebrate the wins with.

Someone she’d actually want to tell.

Maybe one day.

After finishing her morning Zoom meetings, she’d spent the better part of the afternoon researching celibacy, journaling, and meticulously writing out what she now affectionately called The No Sex Rule.

She simply knew exactly what she wanted.

And more importantly…

What she absolutely refused to accept ever again.

No more men who promised forever while entertaining someone else behind a phone screen.

No more men who swore honesty and loyalty only for her to discover another woman’s name lighting up their lock screen halfway through dinner.

No more men who painted pictures of marriage, babies, and white picket fences before deciding years later they’d changed their minds — leaving her to sweep up the broken pieces while wondering why she’d ignored every warning sign.

No.

Never again.

Isla wanted what her parents had.

The kind of love that survived ordinary Tuesdays.

The secret smile across the crowded rooms.

The absent-minded brush of fingertips while washing the dishes.

The lingering kisses that had nothing to prove because they already knew.

She’d watched Mitch wink at Iris from across the bookstore countless times growing up.

Her mother blused every single time.

That was the love Isla believed existed.

The only love worth waiting for.

Normally she’d be lying across her couch mindlessly swiping though one of the five dating apps cluttering her phone.

Left.

Left.

Absolutely not.

Instead, she had an entirely open evening.

No dates.

No awkward small talk.

No pretending someone’s personality could make up for the fact they almost cried when brought the appetizer.

Before she’d stumbled across articles about celibacy, she’d originally planned on simply deleting the apps for a while.

Block the exes. Delete the walking red flags. Stop recycling men who should’ve stayed in the trash.

Progress wasn’t supposed to include moving backward.

Somewhere between self-help articles, relationship podcasts, and enough internet rabbit holes to qualify for a psychology degree, one idea kept resurfacing.

Celibacy.

At first she laughed.

Then she’d kept reading.

Then she started making lists.

Lists were her specialty.

Pros.

Cons.

Rules.

Boundaries.

Goals.

The more she wrote, the calmer she became.

After Ben admitted he was gay moments before attempting to go down on her…

After Shit-Stain Steve nearly fumigated an entire apartment with his gastrointestinal crimes against humanity.

After every emotionally stunted man who’d wandered through her life…

Peace suddenly sounded incredibly sexy.

And book club suddenly sounded…

Peaceful.

Sure, she hadn’t read this month’s selection.

Minor detail.

She could surprise Iris, spend time with her mom, give her an update on her non-existent love life, and maybe convince her to grab brunch later this week.

Or shopping.

Both.

Now, as Isla walked toward Down the Rabbit Hole beneath the golden haze on one of the last evenings of summer. She physically patted herself on the back.

“Good job,” she muttered.

Sixty-three days down.

Three hundred and two to go.

One full year.

Minimal dating.

Absolutely no sex.

Time to remember conversations with her mother that didn’t revolve around whichever man had disappointed her that week.

Poor Iris.

She’d listened to every dating horror story imaginable.

Thankfully, Isla spared her the truly horrifying details regarding most of them.

Like stained sheets.

The familiar brass bell chimed overhead as she stepped inside Down the Rabbit Hole.

Immediately, she inhaled.

Nothing smelled quite like an old bookstore.

The paper.

The coffee. The wood. The history.

Home.

The store lived up to its name. Every shelf held another surprise.

Vintage trinkets. First editions. Author-signed photographs. Paintings collected over decades.

Little gifts loyal customers had brought Mitch and Iris through the years.

Pictures of her parents standing beside bestselling authors. Photos of Isla as a child buried beneath stacks of books twice her height.

It felt like walking through her own memories.

Wrought-Iron chandeliers bathed the space in warm amber light, making every corner feel impossibly cozy.

She always forgot how beautiful this place was.

Then she’d visit…

Fall in love with it all over again…

Disappear another few months.

Tonight wouldn’t be one of those visits.

She silently promised herself she’d come back more often.

Making her way toward the reading corner, Isla spotted the familiar circle of women gathered around mismatched chairs.

Then she saw Iris.

Her mother looked radiant. Early sixties, yet strangers constantly assumed they were sisters.

Same dark chocolate hair. Same emerald green eyes. Same infectious smile.

It was like nature had copied and pasted Iris before adding thirty years of sarcasm.

“…and that’s why I always say you can never go wrong with a good morning blowie—“

That snapped Isla out of her sentimental trance. Turning toward the old woman whose raspy voice reverberated through the room.

Without missing a beat, Isla grinned. “Personally, I prefer my morning head with a side o’ joe.” A gentleman who had an open copy of a book in his hand, turned toward Isla. Eyebrows raised.

Isla’s face turned the shade of a beet.

Waving the man off.

“Isla! You made it!”

Iris practically leapt from her chair and hurried over, wrapping her daughter in a hug.

“Made it?” Agnes barked from across the circle. “We figured Iris buried you beside Walter. Been so long since you’ve shown your ugly mug around here.” The old woman slides a wink in there for good measure.

“Agnes!” The women collectively scolded before laughing even harder.

It was true.

She hadn’t been around nearly enough.

“Not everyone can mooch off the government until they die.” Isla shot back checking her watch. “Which should be about any day for you now, huh?“

“Bitch!”

“Hag!”

“You two never give it up, do you?” Arie slid in beside Isla and Iris.

Both of the women jump.

“Arie! Look at this, I have both my girls.” Iris pats Arie’s cheek.

The busy businesswoman shoves her phone in her bag and looks up, “I would never miss a book club meeting— Arie stops speaking, noticing Isla’s attention fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

“Oh good, I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” Arie says.

Isla’s gaze drifts upward.

Higher.

Holy Mother of God.

Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Black square-framed glasses that somehow made him even more attractive instead of less.

He looked like he stepped straight out of a ‘90s soap opera … Clark Kent, if Clark Kent spent his weekends reading first editions instead of saving Metropolis.

“Ellis!” Iris says.

Isla shots Iris a raised brow.

Ellis…

The name echoed around inside Isla’s head.

Why did that sound familiar?

Her eyes drifted between Iris.

Arie.

Then back to him.

“Isla, right? Nice to finally meet you.” Her name slides off his tongue like silk. “I’m Ellis. Arie’s older brother.”

Oh my — Ellis Mann.

Isla stared at his hand for half a second too long.

Of course.

Of course the universe would wait until she committed to one full year of focusing on her herself before dropping a six-foot-something pair of shoulders and dimples directly into her path.

She hadn’t even made it twenty-four hours since officially declaring her No Sex Rule.

Somewhere, God was laughing.

Not laughing. Cackling.

“Nice to meet you,” Ellis repeated.

Isla slipped her hand into his.

Oh, this was absolutely a test.

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E. Lynn Jimenez is the writer behind The Hollow Quill and The No Sex Rule, a members-only serialized rom-com about bad dates, bold rules, and the kind of attraction that loves showing up at the worst possible time. Inside the Fiction Book Club, she shares Isla’s story one chapter at a time—with all the tension, humor, heart, and emotional chaos readers came here for.

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