Page 6 of Fixing Up My Love Life

Iroll over and groan as my alarm blares. Time to get the girls to school and Ellen to daycare before my shift at the store. We’re putting out Easter products this week, which always means I’ll be staying busy today arranging cute wooden bunnies with their blue ribbons, pastel floral candles, and gourmet chocolate. I’ll also be preparing for the anticipation of spring break shoppers storming in for sand toys, swimsuits, and overpriced beach towels.

I sit up in bed and push my curls off my forehead. My phone buzzes—that new dating app Mads installed for me is lighting up like the twinkle lights on the back deck of Grandma’s beach house.

I haven’t been brave enough to check it—until now.

Mads had mentioned swiping on a few promising guys for me last night. Might as well assess the damage.

I open Current.

Gasp.

Twenty matches?! How long was she swiping? She must’ve liked every man in Twin Waves with a heartbeat and a pulse.

I scroll through the list, filtering: Nope. Nope. Definitely no. Hard pass. Oh, hello—wait, no. Just a good angle. Ugh.

Why does it sting? I didn’t expect much, but still . . . some part of me had hoped.

I’m about to close the app whenheshows up.

Whoa. Salt-and-pepper hair, graying beard, sunglasses, and a jawline that could slice drywall. Full silver fox.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I swipe right.

Confetti explodes across the screen.

You’ve got a match!

That hit of dopamine smacks me like I just leveled up in a video game. He matched with me? The hottest guy of the bunch?

I flip to his profile.

Jack, 42, Twin Waves.

A message pops up instantly.

Hey, it’s been a minute. How are you these days?

What?

I double-check the photos. My heart slams into my ribs.

Jackson Sanders.

No. No, no, no. I haven’t seen him since the summer after graduation. He goes by Jack now?

That old ache sucker punches me. The one I locked away in the deepest part of me—where I keep the hurts I don’t have time to feel.

I can’t do this. I won’t.

“Mom! We’re out of frozen waffles! Can I make pancakes?” Kira’s standing in my doorway, looking far too chipper for someone whose room looks like a tornado struck.

I glance at the clock. We’re officially running late.

“No time.” I kick off the covers and slide into my slippers like I’m storming a battlefield. “Help Ellen get dressed? I’m jumping in the shower.”

Kira groans, full drama. “Ugh, fine.”

“I’ll make pancakes this weekend.”

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