If It Makes You Happy(14)

But before she can push the door, it swings in toward us. The door narrowly misses Michelle. She stumbles back, and I place a hand on her lower back, along with another under her palm to help balance the wobbling plates. Not that they’re particularly special china, but they’re the only plates we have.

Carol emerges, unloading her purse onto the breakfast nook. “If your pal Lars stops by one more time, asking for you when he knows you’re not there, so help me—oh. Hi.”

My sister freezes, finally spotting the stranger in my home. It’s about the same time I realize I’m holding said stranger. Being this close, I catch a hint of amber and cloves in her hair. No, burnt sugar. Over time, as a baker, a lot of smells grow sickly sweet, but burnt sugar never gets old.

I step back and wave my palm toward my sister.

“Carol, this is Michelle. She’s Birdie’s daughter. She’ll be running the inn. Michelle, this is my sister. She lives in a constant state of distress.”

Carol extends a hand to Michelle. “That’s my brother. He’s a dick. But it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Michelle says, reaching her free hand out to shake.

The corner of her lips kicks up. I think that might be the first smile I’ve seen from her. I return the gesture even though her smile isn’t aimed at me.

“I forgot to introduce you to everyone,” I realize, threading my palm through my hair. “Right here is Emily.” I drop my arm around her shoulders. “She’s studying for home ec, so we keep her by the stove.”

Emily pokes her wooden spoon at my chest. “He’s a misogynist actually. Big one.”

“Huge,” I sarcastically agree. “She’s gotta learn her place now while she’s young.”

Emily barks out a laugh, but Carol admonishes me with a “Jeez, Clifford.”

“And that’s Brittany over there.”

My daughter is splayed on the floor next to the dog now, way too close to his mouth. God. I swear my heart rate triples.

“Hey, Britt Britt, back up a bit, will you?”

Without breaking her giddy eye contact, Brittany scoots away a millimeter.

“How many sisters do you have?” Michelle asks.

“Why? Do you wanna take one?” I joke. “Actually, these two are my daughters.”

It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, but I swear Michelle’s eyes snap to my fourth finger. I’m the one huffing out a laugh this time.

No ring here. Not even a summer tan line of one.

Emily claps the pot again with the wooden spoon. “All right, it’s ready! Extra squash chunks. Just for you, big dog.”

I whip open the fridge. “I’m not ready. How’d you get ahead of me?”

“You got distracted,” she accuses.

I flash my hand, palm up, toward Michelle. “By being a polite neighbor.”

Michelle arches a single eyebrow at me again—an I’m not your excuse eyebrow. I chuckle at the small hint of playfulness.

“I’ll get the toast started,” Carol says, shucking off her jacket, hanging it on the door hook next to Britt’s pint-size one.

My family and I bustle around the kitchen, getting the last of the meal prepared. Michelle disappears through the swinging door with the plates. When she comes back, she pulls open a random drawer until she finds utensils. She gathers those up as well without a word. I smile. She doesn’t like to stay idle. I can respect that.

Before long, we’re in the dining room with soups and sandwiches, side by side, atop frilly place mats. Spoons clink into bowls. Brittany’s soup slurps echo. Emily was right. We never eat in here—and for good reason. The mahogany table, the uniform chairs with stiff, padded seats, and the bronze-framed photos of beaches are relics of my ex-wife’s decorating. We much prefer the kitchen nook, marinating in the oven’s lingering warmth, with Emily as our DJ, playing music on the boom box.

“So,” Carol says, “Michelle, how do you like it in Copper Run so far?”

“I’ve only been here an hour.”

“An hour?” Carol gawks.

“I stole her,” I say nonchalantly.

“I did too!” Brittany adds.

“Is the inn yours now?” Emily interjects, crisscrossing her legs in the chair.

“No,” Michelle answers, dipping her spoon in the ginger soup. “I’m only staying until after Christmas.”

“When are your first guests?” Emily asks.

I click my tongue and say out of the corner of my mouth, “What did I say about interrogating?”

“Tomorrow,” Michelle answers.

I freeze. “Wait, you only have one day to learn the ins and outs of running that place?”

“Thought we weren’t interrogating,” Emily mumbles.

“I’m a fast learner,” Michelle responds with raised eyebrows once more. I like the way they touch the wisps of her brown hair. It’s almost delicate. “I didn’t want to cancel on guests at the last minute.”

“Daddy can help,” Brittany chimes in, slurping the soup from her spoon. “He promised.”

“Sure did,” I agree. “We were pretty close to your mother,” I explain. “There weren’t enough bushes to keep out this kid.” I shuffle my hand through Brittany’s hair, sending her ponytail lopsided. “So she and your dad were forced to put up with us.”