Page 27 of Fixing Up My Love Life

“It’s not like that,” I say, fast. “I don’t even know if I want to leave now.”

Her brows lift, unimpressed. “But you didn’t tell me. You let me believe you were all in. You didn’t trust me with the truth.”

“It’s not about trust.” I shift on my feet. “Okay,maybe it is. But it’s also about not wanting to scare you off. I left before, Hazel. I didn’t want to be that guy again.”

She crosses her arms. “So how exactly did you afford all these properties?”

I let out a breath, raking a hand through my hair. “I left Twin Waves right after graduation and went to a tech program in Charleston. I didn’t know anyone there, but I found a way to make it work—shared a crummy apartment with three other guys and learned everything I could about logistics and software. After school, I started a tech company—logistics software. Boring stuff, but it worked. I sold it a few years ago.”

Her eyes flicker with surprise, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“After that, I started investing. Real estate mostly—Charleston, Wilmington, Jacksonville. I built something people point to and assume I’ve got it all figured out.” I pause. “But I don’t. Especially not when it comes to this.”

Hazel doesn’t say anything, so I keep going. Not because I have a plan—just because I need her to know.

“When Caroline started acting out, none of the business success mattered. I couldn’t fix things with another project or a bigger paycheck. Sheneeded something solid. And I wasn’t giving her that. Not from boardrooms or beachfronts.”

I glance at Hazel, but her expression is hard to read. For a second, I almost hope she’ll say something—ask something—that gives me a lifeline.

Instead, I fill the silence.

“That’s what brought me here. Not some grand plan. Just... desperation, really. I didn’t know what else to do. My mom’s always been the steady one, and I thought maybe being near her would help Caroline feel anchored again. I wasn’t thinking about business or long-term plans. I just wanted to stop failing my daughter.”

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You say you didn’t have a plan, but you still showed up like someone passing through. You didn’t just walk away from me—you walked away from this town. And I’ve been through this before. Anthony did the same thing. So did my dad. Lucas. Even Jace.”

Her voice breaks at the edges, and it fractures a crack in my chest.

Before I can figure out what to say, Michelle swoops in from behind the counter, sliding into the moment like she’s been waiting in the wings of a soap opera. She wraps an arm around Hazel and looks at melike I’m a raccoon caught rooting through the town pantry.

“You okay, sweetie?” Michelle asks Hazel, not even pretending I exist.

Hazel nods. “I just think I need to focus on the girls. And myself. I need space. I can’t keep trying to build something with someone who might vanish again.”

I step forward. “Hazel, I didn’t mean for you to find out like that. I’m not trying to keep things from you.”

“It’s not how I found out.” Her voice wavers, but her gaze is steady. “It’s that you weren’t going to tell me at all. You’re acting like this place is temporary—like we’re all just a layover before your real life starts again somewhere else.”

The words hit harder than I expect because they’re true. And I don’t have a defense that makes any of it better.

“I didn’t tell you,” I admit, “because I didn’t want you to think I was already gone. But I’m not. I’m still here.”

She shakes her head slowly. “For now.”

I want to argue, to list all the reasons she should believe me. But Michelle gives me a look that says “don’t,” and Hazel’s already pulling away. Her curls bounce as she walks toward the door, spine straight, chin up, the picture of a woman who’s done being left behind.

The bell chimes as she walks out. Stillness. Her silhouette fades, and in the glass, a reflection stares back—a man split between the life he built and the one he wants, with no idea how to keep either.

CHAPTER 11

Hazel

When I pull into Seabreeze Village, I head straight for the cluster of charming cottages nestled around a butterfly garden. Grandma’s place is the pale yellow one with a sky-blue door and a flamingo-shaped wind chime that clinks in the breeze. The air smells like fresh-cut grass and ocean salt, and someone’s playing the Beach Boys near the shuffleboard courts.

Seabreeze isn’t anything like the dreary retirement homes I used to picture back in high school. Those gray cement buildings with mystery meat Mondays and a faint whiff of antiseptic. These cottages have cheerful shutters in cotton-candy colors and white rockers on every porch. Window boxes overflow with petunias, and every neighbor seemsto be hosting a garden party or a card game. It’s like Pleasantville—if it had more walkers and stronger opinions.

Grandma’s cottage sits at the far end of the main loop, tucked beside a magnolia tree that’s been blooming since she moved in this past February. She’s already out on the porch with a glass of sweet tea, lazily fanning herself with a folded-up magazine.

I climb the brick path and plop onto the swing beside her without a word.

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