Page 2 of Fixing Up My Love Life

I grab the teal blanket Michelle had been using and drape it over myself, one arm still free to polish off the wine.

“The girls are in bed.” Mads walks in fromthe hall.

My eyes pop open. “Oh, thanks.” I must have dozed off.

She plops onto the couch beside me.

“Do you need to leave? I don’t want to keep you from hanging out with Spencer.”

She waves a hand. “He’s working late. We’re meeting up tomorrow.”

The room goes quiet.

“Mom, I’ve been thinking about something for a while.”

I glance over at her. “Should I be worried?”

“Just hear me out,” Mads says. “I hate seeing you alone. Dating Spencer makes me happy. You deserve that too.”

I wave her off. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Maybe. But you could be more than fine. You could be living heaven on earth.”

“How am I supposed to date anyone at my age? I’m forty-two, Mads. This town isn’t exactly overflowing with single men. The good ones are all married.”

“Try a dating app. That’s how Spencer and I met.”

I recoil. “No way. I’ve heard horror stories.”

Her eyes sparkle. “It’s not bad if you know what you’re doing. Trust me. I’ve tried them all. I know what works.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to set it up.”

She grins like she’s won. “I’ll do it for you. I’m your dating coach now.”

“Isn’t this a little backward? Shouldn’t I be givingyouthe dating advice?”

“Just give me your phone. I promise to behave.”

I hand her my device. “Don’t do anything crazy,” I say, yawning.

She hides a smile.

My bed is calling after a long day of boutique shifts and book club fun. “Have fun. I’m out.”

As I shuffle toward the bathroom, something twists in my gut.

Maybe Mads is right. Maybe it’s time.

Who knows? The right guy might actually be out there.

CHAPTER 2

Jack

My stomach growls like this beast has opinions of its own, and honestly, I can’t argue. This hunger has gotten me into trouble before—like the time I downed too many hushpuppies at The Fish Shack and blamed the whole mess on the dog.

Nails. Hammers. Needle-nose pliers. There they are. I grab the tools and hand them to the customer, an angel of a woman with a halo of curly white hair who looks exactly like Grandma Sanders. She’s been gone a decade now, but is still sharp in my memory.

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