Perfectly Complicated (Perfect Crush #4)

Chapter 1

ONE

Janie

End of the School Year—June

“It’s complicated” might be the most useless phrase in the English language—right up there with “we need to talk” and “I’m fine.” It’s the verbal equivalent of dodging the question, saying absolutely everything while managing to say nothing at all.

How are things with your ex? Complicated.

What’s your relationship status? Complicated.

Do you want pineapple on your pizza? That’s a definite no. But you get the idea.

So when my friends ask about my dating life, I try to avoid saying it’s complicated, even though my feelings about dating are complicated.

It’s not that I’m against it—I just have zero desire to get my heart stomped on again since my marriage ended.

Add in the fact that I’m a single mom to a baby who doesn’t sleep through the night, and suddenly “it’s complicated” starts looking like the understatement of the century.

That’s how I’ve ended up here, getting ready for my first girls’ night out since Aria was born, with Gabriella perched on my bathroom counter applying lip gloss and Madi searching my closet for something besides a stained sweatshirt and slippers.

“There’s only one ground rule for this evening,” Gabriella announces, pulling out her lip gloss wand and pointing it at me. “That you have fun.”

“But I’m already having fun,” I say. “I don’t see why we have to leave my house.”

“Janie.” She gives me a pointed look. “You suggested we work on your school Christmas pageant as our fun for tonight.”

“Christmas is fun, right?” I say enthusiastically. I’m probably the only adult who gets genuinely excited about angel costumes and kindergartners forgetting their lines, but Christmas is my absolute favorite holiday.

Her frown deepens. “Christmas, yes. But not in June. When was the last time you went out just for fun?”

I chew my lip, thinking. “Does going to Target while Aria slept in her carrier count?”

She shakes her head.

“Really, I’m fine.” I take out an old container of mascara—one I haven’t used in months, maybe even a year. The fact that I can’t remember says everything. Between one a.m. feedings and diaper changes, makeup feels like a luxury from another lifetime.

“You’re surviving. There’s a difference.

” Gabriella turns toward the mirror. “Tonight is about remembering what it feels like to laugh with people over the age of six—actual adults who already know how to tie their shoes.” Then she swipes on her lip gloss.

“And maybe…putting yourself out there a little.”

I freeze, my mascara wand halfway to my lashes. “What do you mean, putting yourself out there?”

“You know,” Gabriella says with a smile that tells me I do not want to know. “With men.”

“Oh, heck no. I thought this was girls’ night, not ‘throw Janie to the dating wolves’ night.”

“It is girls’ night,” she insists. “I just meant, if some guy comes up to you…you should talk to him. You’re gorgeous, Janie.”

I stare at her, wondering how the former hockey player turned physical therapist became so invested in my love life.

Actually, it’s not just Gabriella. All my friends have been patiently waiting for me to say the word that I’m ready to be social again.

They want the pre-baby version of me—the enthusiastic friend who was always up for a night at the karaoke bar.

But that was before Nick.

I scoff. “I talk to men all the time.”

“David Peterson doesn’t count,” Scarlett says from where she’s sprawled across my bedroom floor, watching Aria after her shift at the Magnolia Brew Coffee Shop.

“What’s wrong with David?” I say indignantly. “He’s a teacher and very interested in my grading rubrics.”

“That’s exactly what’s wrong with him,” Gabriella says. “I’ve met houseplants with more sex appeal.”

“David is a nice guy,” I say, though I don’t know why I’m defending him.

I have zero chemistry with the fourth-grade teacher, even if he does stop by my classroom daily to borrow something—stapler, hole punch, paper clips.

The man’s idea of living on the edge is using a colored gel pen instead of a ballpoint.

“I think you need to see what’s out there,” Madi interrupts, emerging from my closet with three different pairs of boots for me to try on.

Of the three of us, she’s the big sister of the group. “You’re twenty-seven with the habits of a seventy-five-year-old.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“It’s not,” Madi says, holding up a sensible ankle boot, “if you’re actively looking for a nice widower who enjoys Jeopardy.”

I toss the mascara into the drawer. “I’m a mom now. I can’t just talk to a random guy at a karaoke bar. As soon as they find out I have a baby, they’ll bolt for the door.”

Gabriella roots through my jewelry box for a pair of earrings. “It’s not like you have to open with that fact.”

I shake my head. “And what—surprise him when he comes over? Maybe answer the door with Aria and say, ‘Did I forget to mention I’m a mom?’”

“Listen, any guy worth your time will think she’s amazing too,” Scarlett says, handing Aria a block. “You’re a package deal, and that’s not a flaw.”

“You know what else is not a flaw?” I turn toward my friends. “Me being happily single.”

“We all agree,” Gabriella says, handing me some hoop earrings. “But we’ve watched you put yourself in this little protective bubble since Nick—”

“Don’t.” I hold up a hand.

“—and we get it,” Scarlett finishes softly. “What he did was awful. But you can’t let him steal your joy forever.”

I concentrate on the earrings while avoiding my friends’ concerned looks. “It’s not about Nick or Lia,” I say, though we all know that’s not entirely true. “It’s about being realistic.”

Even now, their names feel like a wound that hasn’t quite healed.

Lia used to be part of our friend group, my closest friend since kindergarten when we bonded over cheese sticks during snack time.

Which is why it hurt so badly when I found out my husband was seeing her behind my back, the same woman who’d stood as my maid of honor at our wedding.

“Finding out about him and Lia when you were pregnant…that’s not something you just get over,” Gabriella says quietly. “But you’re letting him keep you from moving forward.”

I struggle with the clasp on my necklace, and Madi takes over, fastening it from behind.

“That’s why we’re here for you,” Madi says, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

“We want you to remember who you were before all this happened with Nick. You used to light up a room. We miss that version of you.” She adjusts the simple gold chain so it’s centered. “And we think she’s still in there.”

My daughter squeals and I cross to where she’s sitting on the floor. “I just don’t know if I remember how to behave in public without a baby attached to my hip,” I say, kissing her head and breathing in her baby-scented hair.

Scarlett motions toward the door. “Which is why you need to leave now, before you settle for a bowl of ice cream and a Netflix binge.”

“Oooh, maybe a rom-com?” I ask, brightening. If only I could convince them that a Nora Ephron film would be so much better than a night out.

“No,” Gabriella says firmly. “You just need to put yourself out there.”

I don’t know how to explain that the solution to every problem is not putting yourself out there.

“Truthfully? I’d rather put myself in witness protection,” I mutter, wondering if it’s too soon for this. “I just want easy for once. Is that too much to ask?”

“Well, that’s your problem right there.” Gabriella laughs as we head out the door. “Love is always complicated.”