If It Makes You Happy(133)

His eyebrows pull in, and the corner of his mouth tips into a smile. “God, I love you,” he says, shaking his head. “I love that you roll your eyes when I make stupid jokes. I love that you argue with your dog when you think nobody’s watching. I love that you have coffee at night and that you don’t dress up for Halloween. And I love how great you are with my girls. I told myself I would never ask someone to stay with me again. But I love you. And that’s gotta mean something, right?” His eyes dart between mine, and he echoes on another breath, “That’s gotta mean something.”

I can’t find words. I can’t think at all.

Rocket nudges his nose against my leg, but it’s stock-still.

“I …” I lick my lips. “Cliff …”

His face slowly, agonizingly falls. “I’m sorry,” he cuts in. “I … That was … I—”

“I don’t want to go,” I interrupt.

His chest heaves up and down. “You don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want to go,” I repeat, a slow smile spreading over my face. “I love you.”

“You love me?” And there’s relief, sadness, then disbelief.

I smile even wider. “I love you, Cliff.”

He exhales, his face going slack as he cups my jaw. “Oh, thank God.”

And then he kisses me.

Just like that, the little piece of my heart that he took clicks back into place. I sink into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him as close as I can. And maybe we should stop—maybe I’m making a scene in a public place, being reckless and embarrassing—but Cliff continues kissing me.

Even as the guards around us start to say words I can’t decipher; even as Rocket barks over and over, jumping on my leg; even as the attendant tells me this is my last chance to board—I’m so lost in Cliff that I don’t care.

Then he pulls away, gathering his breath, running a palm through his hair.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, ma’am. I forgot to introduce myself.” He sticks out his palm. “My name is Cliff. I can’t believe I showed up and kissed you. So rude of me.”

My heart leaps so high that it cuts into my throat and stings my eyes.

I slide my hand into his.

“I’m Michelle,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Shake.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says. “I actually think I might love you.”

“I think I might love you too.”

Shake.

He looks at the security guards, standing with their arms crossed.

Shake.

“I need to go,” he says. He leans forward to murmur, “I’m about to be arrested.”

I laugh. “You or Rocket?”

“I shouldn’t have let a dog run through an airport.”

“Probably not.”

Cliff looks down at Rocket and smiles.

Rocket wags his tail, beating it against the airport carpet. He barks again. For once, I know exactly what that dog is thinking without a single doubt in my mind.

I smile. “I think Rocket wants to go home.”

“Yeah. Me too.”





CHAPTER 47





Michelle




My new favorite Copper Run holiday is New Year’s Eve.

Papier-m?ché stars hang over dim tea lights in the square. Streamers in white, gold, and black twist and drape over archways and lampposts. A small ice rink has been created in a corner of the park, only big enough to fit three skaters at a time. It snowed earlier today, so ice clings to the ground, making each step a little slippery.

Cliff and I run the small booth with the Burke’s Bakery sign hanging over the top. The line hasn’t been long enough for Cliff to need help, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

I open the cash box, digging out a couple of quarters for George, whose hands are cupped around a coveted chocolate scone. I hold out my hand to empty the change into his palm, but he shakes his head.

“Keep the change.”

I toss it back into the box and click it shut, peering at Cliff, who is already staring at me.

“What?” I ask with a laugh.

“You look good in my flannel,” he says, the side of his mouth tilting up into that halfway grin.

I push up the baggy sleeve of his coat, which engulfs me. My luggage is currently in Seattle, where I notably am not.

I called Topsy’s and said that I would have to, happily, decline the offer of employment. I then faxed my resignation to my former manager as well, all while proudly adjusting the plaque at Bird & Breakfast’s front desk reading, MICHELLE CADELL, OWNER AND OPERATOR.

We’re working out how to get my luggage back, considering it holds every piece of fashionable clothing I own. For the past four days, I’ve been wearing Sara’s cropped shirts layered under Cliff’s baggy sweaters. It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.

I traipse over to him, resting my chin on his chest and looking up into his blue eyes.

“I could look better without it,” I tease.

He sucks in a breath and lets it out with a laugh. He chews his bottom lip and shakes his head. “I love you—you know that?”

“You can tell me every minute of my life.”