Page 22 of Fixing Up My Love Life

My heart slams against my ribs. Everything else falls away—the years, the regrets. Hazel’s kiss isn’t hesitant. It’s a memory relit, a promise on the edge of becoming.

And then, she breaks it.

She steps back with a sharp inhale, eyes wide and full of raw pain.

“Hazel?”

Her voice trembles. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

She turns before I can speak again. The hem of her dress lifts with the breeze as she walks back toward the house. Waves crash around her calves, but she doesn’t slow. Her footprints vanish behind her as quickly as she makes them.

I don’t move. I can’t. The cold presses into my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ache spreading through my chest.

She doesn’t look back. Not once.

The distance between us is only yards. But it might as well be miles.

Whatever I thought this was—whatever I hoped it could be—is slipping through my fingers like dry sand.

What if she’d told me I had a daughter? Would I have stayed? Married her? Built a life here?

Maybe. Maybe not. But that’s not the point anymore. Staying doesn’t have to mean failure.

It could be the start of something real. Hazel isn’t just someone from my past.

It’s time to stop building houses and start building a home.

CHAPTER 9

Hazel

“Hazel’s glowing, right? Like,suspiciouslyglowing,” Michelle mutters, refilling her wine like it’s investigative fuel.

Amber’s living room is trying its best to look presentable. The scent of cedar cleaner still lingers in the air, but picture books are jammed backward into the shelves, and a stuffed giraffe peeks out from under the couch like it’s eavesdropping. A smashed fast food straw juts out from beneath the piano like a white flag.

“Where are the kids tonight?” I ask, setting a plate of brownies on the table. They look deceptively normal, but one bite might break a tooth—I scrolled through social media a little too long while they were baking.

Her kids roughly line up in age with mine—ateenage girl, an eight-year-old boy, and a three-year-old who’s basically Ellen’s twin. Get the two of them together, and it’s like refereeing a baby boxing match.

“Their dad has them tonight. He’s taking them out for pancakes,” Amber says, bringing over a bowl of popcorn. “Sorry, it’s microwave. Tally used the air popper during a sleepover, and now it’s vanished into the void.”

“Is he still trying to skip out on visitations?” Jessica asks. “Chad’s been doing that again with me.”

Amber rolls her eyes. “Either that, or he’s introducing them to a new woman every week. Honestly, I’d rather hedidskip. But they need him. That part matters.”

“Did he at least help them do something for you on Mother’s Day?” Michelle asks.

Amber lets out a dramatic sigh and flops onto the couch. “Like that would ever happen. I’m not here to badmouth him, but let’s be real—there’s a reason we split. He never saw me. He was too busy chasing every shiny distraction with a push-up bra. Probably spent more effort planning brunch with the flavor of the week than helping the kids remember Mother’s Day.”

She takes a long sip of her wine, then fixes her gaze on me. “But enough about that loser. Let’s talk about whyHazelhas that little sparkle in her eye.”

My mouth falls open. “What sparkle?”

Michelle narrows her eyes like she’s seconds from creating a vision board with thumbtacks and string. “Don’t lie. You deflected so fast earlier it gave me whiplash.”

“I didnotdeflect,” I say, too sharply.

Amber grins. “Didn’t Mads say you matched with Jackson on a dating app?”

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