Page 1 of Fixing Up My Love Life

CHAPTER 1

Hazel

Valentine’s Day can take its heart-shaped helium balloons and float away. That’s why I decided to host the Twin Waves Bookaholics Anonymous meeting at my house tonight. We’re all single, so we might as well celebrate our freedom together—or something like that.

A cracking fire warms the room where we’re curled up on my sectional, wrapping up for the night after discussing the final book in a rom-com series we’d been reading each month.

You know that light, fluffy stuff with the perfect escape and a happy ending? Bring it on.

“Amber, can I get some more of that merlot?” I stretch out my arm with my empty glass.

“I’ve got you, girl.” Shefills it halfway.

“So what’s next?” Michelle snuggles under my favorite ocean-colored fuzzy blanket. “Another rom-com series?”

“I know of a really good one with the grumpy-sunshine trope,” my twenty-one-year-old daughter, Mads, pipes up.

“I love me a grumpy-sunshine romcom!” Amber says, setting the wine bottle back on the table.

“Too bad there aren’t actual men around like these book boyfriends,” Jessica says. “I could use me a grumpy hero.”

“I’m more of a cinnamon-roll-hero type of girl myself,” I admit. “Not that I’m looking.” I hold up a hand like I’m stopping the idea from leaving their mouths.

“You deserve happiness too, Mom,” Mads says. Clearly, she missed the assignment.

I take a sip of my wine, the warmth winding through me. “Who says I’m not happy?” I wave my glass toward the room. “I have all of you and a huge family in town. I’m hardly alone.”

“But doesn’t that big bed feel empty at night?” Jessica grabs a pink frosted cookie from my heart-shaped tray.

“I get to stretch out as much as I want.” I grin and take another sip. “I don’t need a man.Half the time Ellen climbs into bed with me anyway.”

Speak of the devil. My three-year-old struts into the room like she owns the place, a broken plastic tiara perched crookedly on her head, auburn curls bouncing. “Mommy, Kira won’t let me have any more cookies,” she whines in that sing-songy voice kids come pre-programmed with.

My twelve-year-old, Kira, trails behind, brown waves sticking out at odd angles. “Sorry, Mom. I tried to keep her in our room, but she wouldn’t listen. And Lila’s too busy texting some new guy.”

Before I can address the cookie theft, Ellen snatches another one and shoves it in her mouth, frosting everywhere. She wipes her fingers on her torn Rapunzel dress—the same one she refuses to take off.

“Ellen!” Kira tugs on her arm. “Those are for the grownups. I told you no.”

“Do you want me to help?” Amber offers. She’s got her own circus at home, but this isn’t her job.

I sigh. “You enjoy the food. I’ve got it.”

I reach for Ellen, but Mads steps in. “I got it, Mom. You deserve a break.” She scoops up my frosting-covered toddler. “Come on, Ellen. Pajamas time.”

I mouth a “thank you.” What would I do without that girl?

“I’ll text you the link to that romcom series,” Mads calls from the hallway.

Michelle scrolls through her phone. “Just sent a few other options to the group chat. We can vote this week.”

“I can host next month,” Amber says. “My kids will be at their dad’s for spring break. I’ll have the house to myself.”

We schedule next month’s meeting, and one by one, my friends file out. I close the door behind Michelle, the last to leave, and let out a breath.

There’s still a bit of wine left in my glass. A few cookies on the tray. I sink into the couch, bite into one, and savor the buttery vanilla sweetness. A peach mango candle burns on the piano, and the room smells heavenly.

These women have been with me since high school. We’ve walked through divorce, more than one in Michelle’s case, and survived by sticking together. Nights like this have saved me from burnout more than once.

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