If It Makes You Happy(103)

“Love?” I ask with wide eyes, but my heart is hammering. Because maybe he knows. He knows. And what do I do with that? What will happen if he knows? “You’re one to talk.”

“What?”

“You, Mr. Copper Run, with your relentless charm and selflessly helping with town events and making stupid, perfect turkeys. You want to be the dad who has it all together. But you’re scared.”

“Michelle—”

It’s a warning. I don’t heed it.

I stalk toward him. “Look at you. Some innocent baker who offers to help out the new innkeeper next door—”

His teeth grit together. “What are you doing?”

“The guy who invites her to dinner on her first day here and makes her spend time with him and … and … you think you’re hilarious and”—my words start to choke out now—“you don’t understand …”

“Michelle!”

“Sometimes, you’re so irritating, and you make me crazy, and I can’t believe I even came over here to tell you that maybe you don’t even make me all that crazy at all.”

It’s silent. Eerily silent. The ticking clock on the wall. The whirring of the fridge from the kitchen. The house settling all around us.

“What the hell?” he finally breathes out, blinking at my finished outburst.

He looks at me like I’m damn near crazy. My fists are clenched, and the place behind my eyes burns, and I can feel my chin starting to shake.

“Tell me like it is, Cliff,” I whisper out. “I’m a mess. I deserve to be alone.”

“I’m not going to tell you—”

“Tell me I deserve to be alone,” I snap, the words louder than I intended, bouncing off the walls of his serene house with photos of his daughters and this town and everything that shouldn’t be tainted by me and my curses. “I know you think it. I know that’s what’s been going through your mind for weeks now. I know—”

His fists clench. “Stop saying that.”

“But it’s true.”

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s not.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Tell me I deserve to—”

“Fine! You want me to?” He storms forward.

I take a step backward, my heart pounding.

“You really want me to, Michelle?”

A chill runs over the room. My yells, which once permeated the air, are lost to his closeness. To the intensity of his gaze. The way he flexes his hand beside him.

“Yes,” I say, breathing heavy.

He’s so close. His chest is almost touching mine.

“Please.”

He grits his teeth. “Really?”

“Yes,” I whisper, but it’s more like a desperate whine. My whole body shakes.

I love him.

I love him so much.

Cliff takes another step. I suck in a breath. He exhales sharply through his nose.

And slowly, he clutches my jaw, traces a thumb over my lips, and murmurs, “God, you’re so stubborn.”

And then he presses his lips against mine.

It hurts, like I deserve. It’s painful, like I need. And I’m melting into it faster than either of us can breathe.

Our mouths move in heady, rushed kisses. I clutch the fabric of his sweater, curling it into a fist and jerking him closer. He walks me back against the wall. His hand stops my head from bouncing against the picture frame before threading through my hair, bunching it up to my ears and tangling it around his palm.

I try to catch a breath, but it barely slips between our lips as I push against him and he pulls, as if we’re fighting for something.

Then, finally, he murmurs against my lips, “I would never say you deserve to be alone. Because you don’t. And I never want to hear you say that again.”

I groan into his mouth, rising taller on my toes, gripping strands of his hair in my fists as I press my lips closer, harder.

“Do you hear me?” Another muffled kiss. “Never.” He crowds me closer to the wall, pushing his hips against mine, gripping my waist. He kisses against my lips so hard that they might bruise.

Then he suddenly pulls away.

We both gasp, inhaling and exhaling, our chests heaving, desperate for air or each other—I can’t tell. Our eyes search each other’s. I can smell the cologne beneath him—the Cliff behind the mask he puts out for the world. My Cliff. All mine.

He leans his forehead on mine and stares directly into my eyes as he says, “God, I like you so much. I like you when you lash out. I like you when you come up with a thousand reasons to hate me.” He cocks his head to the side. “And when you run to my house to tell me all those reasons. And even when you put up so many walls that even God can’t break them down.” He grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes razing me on the spot, blown out and wide and seeing me—always seeing me—right through to my core.

I open my mouth to speak. To say, I love you. You can break my walls down.

But then Cliff traces his thumb over my bottom lip and says, “I like you because you’re Michelle. And that’s enough.”





CHAPTER 34