Page 8 of Fixing Up My Love Life

“So why haven’t you messaged him back?”

“Because I have four kids and zero bandwidth for heartbreak.”

She gives me a look. “Just think about it.”

I already am.

That afternoon, Grandma shows up at the boutique with two mugs of tea and a look that means business.

“I have a proposal.” She slides into the chair across from me. “I’m moving into the retirement community. You know, the one with the bingo nights and all-you-can-eat soft serve.”

I laugh. “You always said you’d never leave the beach house.”

“Well, things change. And I want you to have the house.”

My breath catches. “You’re not leaving it to Dad?”

Her face hardens. “He doesn’t deserve it. You know that. He couldn’t even stick around to raise you girls.”

I blink hard. “That’s . . . really generous. But I don’t have the money tofix it.”

She waves a hand like she’s shooing a fly. “Already set aside funds. But I have one condition.”

Of course she does.

“You get the house fixed in time for your brother Lucas and Anabelle’s wedding. Six months from now.”

I nearly choke on my tea. “Six months?!”

She nods. “Remember Aubrey Wheaton? From the Maple Creek wedding venue? She wants to expand to the coast. We’ll turn the Hensley House into a wedding destination. You’d get a percentage of bookings and a fully renovated home.”

My brain short-circuits.

The Hensley House. My great-great-grandfather built that place. I used to dream of watching the waves from the upper balcony, coffee in hand.

“You’re serious?”

“If you renovate it in time, it’s yours. No strings. Full ownership.”

I swallow. This is big. Huge. Life-changing.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel something rise in my chest—hope.

“I’ll do it.”

She beams. “That’s my girl.”

And just like that, everything shifts.

CHAPTER 4

Jack

Eight days.

That’s how long it’s been since I swiped right on Hazel and sent her a message. Not that I’m obsessively checking the app. Or rereading what I wrote like it’s a job application and she’s the hiring manager of my heart.

She hasn’t responded. Not even a polite no, thank you. Just silence.

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