Page 41 of Fixing Up My Love Life

I hold her there, anchoring us in the moment. “Happy hearts,” I whisper. “Yours and mine.”

Her eyes shine as she leans up and kisses me, soft and sure. “Forever?”

I nod against her forehead. “Forever sounds about right.”

The music swells, and people start gathering for the first dance. I look around the room—the soft light, the laughter, the smell of salt and cake—and for the first time in years, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Later, I join Hazel, Jace, Lucas, Aubrey, and Hazel’s grandma all gathered near the staircase, taking it in.

Hazel’s grandma runs her hand along the banister, misty-eyed. “This is exactly how I pictured it.”

“We kept the original floors,” Hazel says softly. “And we found some of the old Victorian hardware in the attic—cleaned it up and reused what we could.”

“It still smells like Grandma’s house,” Jace adds. “But in a good way.”

Lucas nods. “The best parts of the past linger here.”

Hazel smiles through the tears. “Now we get to make new memories here too.”

I glance around at the freshly painted walls, the refinished crown molding, the antique buffet table gleaming under the chandelier.This house had been a project, a challenge, a test—and now, standing here next to Hazel, it feels like home.

And standing here with Hazel, hand in hand in the home we rebuilt, I know without a doubt—I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. And this? This is just the beginning.

Epilogue

AMBER

Istill smell like fry grease, but I made it out of the diner I manage in one piece. Hazel’s birthday party was calling, and I’d never miss it, so here I am—ten minutes late.

The sun’s dropping low, casting a warm golden haze over everything. Hazel’s kids are digging a pit like they’re building an escape tunnel. Jack’s chatting with Hazel, looking like a man who already has everything he wants.

Hazel laughs at something he says, and it hits me harder than I expect. Not jealousy—just that quiet ache that comes when you realize your life doesn’t look anything like that. Mine’s order tickets, long shifts, running a place that never slows down, and then coming home to the chaos of kids. Hers is windswepthair, a man who adores her, and a big beautiful house full of second chances.

Jack clears his throat. “Hazel Hensley Cooper, I’ve got a serious question for you.”

I freeze, mid-bite of watermelon.

He drops to one knee and pulls a small velvet box from his pocket.

“Hazel,” he says, voice steady but soft. “I know I’m not perfect. I’ve taken the long road to get here and made mistakes, let time and fear get in the way. But loving you—it’s the one thing I’ve always been sure of. You’ve built a life out of ashes and turned a broken-down house into something full of hope. And somehow, you made room in it for me.”

He opens the box. “So now, if you’ll let me—I want to build the rest of that life with you. The messy parts, the good parts, all of it. Will you marry me?”

“Oh,” Hazel breathes, hands to her mouth.

The kids scream. Hazel nods through her tears. “Yes! Of course!” She leaps into Jack’s outstretched arms, and we all clap.

I try not to cry, but my eyes betray me and I smile, even if it feels a little crooked.

Brett meets my gaze across the bonfire. We’ve seen each other around all year—wedding planning, beach clean-ups, him stopping in for coffee anda stack of pancakes more often than any man with abs like his should. Still, every time he walked in, I felt it—that subtle, slow-burn hum that says maybe you’re not imagining it. Just for a second. Maybe two. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, silver at the temples, and those forearms could probably swing a hammer through solid oak—and help a neighbor fix a porch without being asked. Even just the thought of him swinging that hammer, shirt clinging to those muscles, is enough to make a woman need a fan. Not that I’ve noticed.

His grin is crooked, warm. “You always make an entrance?” he asks, voice low and smooth. “It’s getting harder to pretend I’m not impressed.”

My face heats—and not just from the way he looks at me. Of course he has a comeback. He always does. That easy confidence, the slow smile, the voice that wraps around a compliment like it’s nothing. Maybe I snap because it’s safer than admitting I like it. Safer than wondering what would happen if I didn’t.

“Better than thinking swinging a hammer makes you irresistible.”

He chuckles, deep and unbothered. “Didn’t say it did. But you noticed.”

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