If It Makes You Happy(109)

“Oh.”

“That won’t be a problem, will it?” she asks.

That’s four fewer days in Copper Run. Four days without Cliff.

But this is my dream.

Isn’t it?

Starting a new advertising department. My own department.

“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head to get through the fog. “No. Gosh, no, it’s not a problem at all.”

“Fantastic. Well then, I’ll fax you—wait, what’s the fax number?—anyway, once I have that, I’ll send a packet with some information. Nothing official, some things to look over. There’s a number on there, too, for our internal booking. They’ll get you set up with a plane ticket.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Mm-hmm. And, hey, welcome aboard. Hopefully?”

We share laughs, but the moment I put down the phone, I’m overwhelmed.

This is unreal.

But something—something, something—shimmers down my spine in a sudden pool of unease.

This is perfect. So … why doesn’t it feel as good as it should?

I hold my hand to my uneasy stomach.

This is good. This is fantastic. This is …

I tuck the rest of my paperwork into the desk, grab my mom’s purse from the hook, and head back out and over to Cliff’s. The chill outside bites, and the wind hissing over my cheeks is too loud, but I push through the back door of Cliff’s house at a run.

Boots and jackets are piled near the kitchen table on soaked towels. The air is warm from the oven. The kitchen is coated in smells of melted butter and jam. On the stovetop, some type of berry compote bubbles. The girls laugh in the living room. The Rugrats theme plays from the TV. Rocket taps into the kitchen with a wagging tail, his tongue lolling out from the corner of his teeth.

Cliff comes around the corner behind Rocket, laughing that beautiful laugh of his as he straddles over Rocket to pass by. He’s already changed from the swishing windbreaker coat to his white cable-knit sweater. But the moment he sees me, his brow furrows.

“Everything okay?”

I don’t know how to answer. There’s no easy way to.

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “I … I got a call from the travel agency. That top client, you know?”

“Oh,” he says. And then, as if it dawns on him, he echoes, “Oh.”

“They … they want me. They offered me a job. There. Building their advertising from scratch.”

“Oh!”

His eyebrows rise to his hairline, and he grins from ear to ear. He strides forward, pulling me into his chest, stroking a palm through my hair. He kisses my forehead, and I close my eyes as it lingers before he pulls back, ducking to look into my eyes.

“That’s great. Congratulations.”

He’s so supportive. So overjoyed for me.

I swallow, leaning forward to bury my nose in his neck. He holds me tighter.

“It’s great,” he says. “You deserve every bit of success you get.”

I let Cliff be optimistic. I let him be happy—feeling emotions for the both of us … because I’m not sure how to feel at all.





CHAPTER 36





Cliff




After two weeks, the girls are out of school for holiday break. By the time I get home from the bakery every afternoon, stuffed animals are strewn all over the living room, the TV is blaring, and bits of snack crumbs litter the coffee table. But the house is always empty.

I drop off my wallet and keys and cross over to Bird & Breakfast, where the real party is. Brittany sits at the breakfast nook with a Christmas coloring book. Lisa is across from her with markers of her own. Rocket lies on the floor at their feet. I grab his leash and click my tongue. The inn is full these days, and Michelle is always busy, so I imagine he hasn’t been walked in a few hours.

Rocket trots to me in good spirits. I scratch behind his ear. A month ago, he might have turned the other cheek, but he leans into my palm now.

I can even say, “Stay,” and he’ll halt as I clip him into his leash.

After a chilly walk around the block, I give him a treat and start the coffeepot before beginning the search for my busy woman.

I pass under the collection of Thomas Kinkade holiday cards hanging along the kitchen doorjamb, walking down the hall and back toward Michelle’s bedroom. Emily flips through a Seventeen magazine on her bed, where Michelle notably isn’t. She lies on her stomach, her feet kicked up in the air. A music video for Chumbawamba’s “Tubthumping” plays on the TV.

“Where’s Michelle?” I ask.

Emily shrugs, mumbling, “She’s fixing a room, I think.”

“Thanks.” I turn to leave but grab the doorway and pull myself back in. “Wait, where’s Josh?”

Emily’s back stiffens, her feet kicking a bit harder. “Working.”

“And you’re not sitting on his counter?”

“We don’t have to be tied at the hip,” she shoots back to me.

I raise my hands. “Singing a different tune than two months ago, but, hey, not my business.” I rap my knuckles on the doorway, taking one last look at the TV. “Have fun burning your eyes out.”

“Whatever.”

I lift my eyebrows and chuckle. “What’s with the attitude?”