Page 32 of Fixing Up My Love Life

We get out of the car, and head up the path, Caroline dragging her sneakers just enough to kick up dust. “Why are we stopping here again?”

“Left the tile samples. And we’re dropping off cake.”

“You’re using cake as an excuse to see your ex.”

“Not an ex.”

“Okay, then what is she?” She raises a brow as I pause at the front door.

I don’t answer because I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to.

Hazel opens the door before I can knock. She’s barefoot, hair up in a messy bun, wearing one of those oversized beach T-shirts that makes you forget to breathe for a second. Her gaze locks on the cake box. “If that’s dessert, you’re forgiven for showing up unannounced.” She opens the door wider, and we step inside.

Ellen appears from the kitchen wearing her sparkly mermaid costume, grinning when she sees us.

“Pirate Jack!” she squeals, bouncing excitedly. “Did you bring treasure?”

“Even better,” I say, holding up the cake box. “Coconut cream cake from my mom.”

Hazel's face softens. “Your mom made this? That’s so sweet of her.”

The way she says it—touched, almost shy—makes something warm unfurl in my chest. I step closer, drawn by the gentle surprise in her voice.

“She wanted you to have it. Said it was her way welcoming you to the family.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and Hazel's eyes widen slightly.

“Jack . . .” she breathes, and suddenly the space between us feels charged.

Caroline clears her throat loudly. “Should I take this cake to the kitchen before you two start making out in the hallway?”

Heat floods Hazel's cheeks, but she laughs. “Kitchen. Definitely the kitchen.”

The girls migrate toward the kitchen, Caroline and Lila already deep in conversation about school. Ellen trails behind, asking if there are any “pirate treasures” in the cake.

Once they're out of earshot, the hallway falls quiet. Hazel and I are suddenly alone, and the air between us shifts, becoming charged with something unspoken.

“Your mom really said that about family?” she asks softly, stepping closer.

I nod, my voice dropping. “She never stopped hoping we'd find our way back toeach other.”

“And what about you?” Her eyes search mine. “What do you hope for?”

Before I can answer, Ellen's voice carries from the kitchen: “Mom! Where are the forks?”

The spell breaks, but the question hangs between us like a promise.

She glances at me, eyes softening. “Thanks for stopping by.”

I nod, trying to act casual. “I wanted to drop off the cake. And grab the tile samples. And . . . check in.”

Her smile fades just a touch. “We’re moving in.”

“What?”

“I mean, not all at once. But my lease is up in September, and the water main at the rental’s still a mess. I figured—I don’t know—might as well start bringing things over. We’re here anyway.”

I nod slowly. “That’s good.”

“I think so.”

---