If It Makes You Happy(110)

Emily’s been crankier lately, especially with mentions of Josh. I was starting to like the guy too. He gave me a Billy Joel CD as an early Christmas gift, and I can’t fault a Billy fan.

“Nothing,” she murmurs, nonchalantly adding, “I’m just PMSing, I guess.”

“Need anything? I can go on a tampon run.”

For some reason, that has her slumping more. “No. Thanks,” she mumbles.

Emily doesn’t normally get embarrassed about that stuff around me, but it’s been the season for changes with her, so I’m not gonna question it.

“All right, kiddo. Well, cheer up.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I cross through the foyer and ascend the stairwell to the second floor.

“Marco!” I call.

I hear Michelle’s airy laugh from a room down the hall. I grin, following the sound to the last room on the right. Michelle is halfway in the closet, hanging up a new robe and wiping out the wrinkles with her palms. I knock on the threshold.

“Marco?” I ask again.

“Polo,” she answers.

I walk through, kicking the door closed behind me. I cross the room, wrap my arms around her waist from behind, and bury myself in the crook of her neck. This is the highlight of every afternoon. The new ability to touch Michelle whenever I want—as long as it’s in private, away from prying eyes—is my new obsession.

I place kiss after kiss up the column of her throat. I can feel her pulse against my lips. She smells like amber and sugar. My favorite smells.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” I can’t see her face, but it sounds like she’s smiling.

I purse my lips behind her ear and murmur, “How was your day?”

“Busy,” she says on a breath.

“Busy how?”

“Lots of check-ins. The days feel like they’re blurring together.” She exhales and adjusts the hanger that doesn’t need adjusting before dropping her hands to her sides.

She looks a little exhausted. I don’t blame her. It’s too soon before she moves back to Seattle. Every day feels like the sands of time slipping through my fingers, and I can’t catch it fast enough. After Thanksgiving, our situation has felt both better and worse. Better because we’re together. Worse because we’ve made our situation impossible to win. We were friends, parting ways one month ago, and now she’s a woman I love, leaving Copper Run. Again.

“They’ll blur together, and the next thing you know, you’ll be working your new, fancy executive job.”

She rolls her head to the opposite shoulder.

“I’ll be happy to no longer be working two jobs.”

I scoff. “No, you won’t. You love it.”

She laughs and nods to herself.

I kiss her neck. “You workaholic, you.”

Honestly, I’m terrified of what will happen after the holidays when this woman moves across the country, back to her old life. But I’m not here to make it worse than it already is. Michelle worked hard to be where she’s at in Seattle. And I’m just some baker from a small town in Vermont.

She twists in my arms, turning around to wrap her hands behind my neck. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it.

She’s the loudest thinker I’ve ever met.

Michelle smiles, but it’s a little weaker than I want. She feels bad for leaving, and I simply cannot have that.

I tilt her chin up, and her head lolls to the side. She has that defiant look about her. I kiss it away.

“We’re gonna make it work, okay?”

“How?”

“Hmm,” I muse, pulling her closer. “Well, because you’re a wonderful, stubborn woman, and I’m the kind of man who will pay astronomical phone bills to reach you.” I grin down at her. “So, how can I help?”

“With what?”

“Anything. To make you a little less stressed.”

She snorts. “Coffee?”

“It’s already brewing.”

“Well … Rocket hasn’t been out.”

“Just finished doing that too.”

Her head jerks back, and a slow grin spreads across her face. “You did all that?”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

“Why are you so irritating?”

“Gonna be honest—not the reaction I expected.”

She chews her bottom lip and shakes her head. “You are. You’re …” She lightly beats a fist against my chest and sighs.

I stroke her back. “Well, since I’m irritating already, I can irritate you in some more fun ways.”

The little crease in the center of her brow slowly relaxes, and a small twitch at the edge of her lips appears instead.

She holds back laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”

I lean down, my words shifting the small strands of hair hanging in her face as I whisper, “Would you like me to irritate you, Michelle?”

“Cliff …” she says, the word fading off.

It’s as if she’s debating this, but I know she’s already made up her mind. I can tell in the way her heart rate picks up. How her fingers stroke along the back of my neck.

I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. My hand slides from her back, over her ribs, and over the outside of her shirt. The satin fabric is thin. When I ghost the back of my fingers over her, her nipples harden underneath. I pinch one between my index and middle finger knuckles. Her hand snakes down my stomach to the bulge straining against my zipper.