If It Makes You Happy(27)

I’m not accustomed to being this close to a man who isn’t Allen. I can feel Cliff’s breath on my lips. I see every little line beside his eyes and that faded scar above his mouth. He smells like cinnamon and vanilla—the organic cologne of a working baker.

Slowly, that crease beside his lips deepens. My chest feels so hot; it’s like lava boiling up into my neck.

“Were you eavesdropping?” he teases in a whisper that sends goose bumps rolling over my arms and chest.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I lie.

“I’ve gotta say, you’re awfully defensive.”

“And you’re quick to draw conclusions.”

“I’m not the one who fell off a stool.”

My heart hammers as one corner of his lips slides up.

“Shelly?!” I jump as Sara’s tinny voice echoes from the phone on the floor across the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

I notice Cliff’s hand holding my arm, his rough thumb catching the sleeve over my elbow. I pull away. His eyes flick to me, and he lowers his hand as well.

I dust my skirt off with any potential dignity I have left and bend to grab the phone.

“Hang on, Sara.”

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I fell. I’m fine. Hang on,” I repeat. I push the mute button and set the phone on the counter.

“Goodness, are you okay?” Lisa asks by the doorway, her palm over her mouth and a snickerdoodle cookie held in the other hand. George appears behind her with furrowed eyebrows.

“I’m fine,” I answer. “Really.”

“Are you sure?” Lisa asks.

“Yes.” My response is stiff and probably too stilted.

Rocket slinks around the corner, giving me a once-over. I can’t tell if he’s checking if I’m okay or if he’s making sure there are no more loud noises. He eyes Cliff tentatively.

“Gonna be nice to me today?” Cliff asks, bending down and extending his hand.

Rocket sniffs it for a second, then walks away.

“Guess not.”

“Give me one second,” I say, picking up the phone once more.

Lisa and George leave with indecipherable murmurs. Cliff is last, lingering at the doorway. I wave goodbye, and he chuckles. I don’t know what to make of it.

I unmute the phone. “Hey, Sara.”

“God, what happened?”

“I fell. I’m fine.”

“Did I hear other voices?”

I sigh. “Yeah. My neighbor was here.”

“I thought you said you didn’t talk to him.”

“It’s impossible to not talk to him.”

There’s a pause, and I swear she’s grinning on the other end. “Well then, he’s the perfect candidate to be your first friend.”

My body tenses. “Sara—”

I hear slurping and a clank of a bowl. Mouth likely full of cereal, she says, “Please try to be happy there. I’m so jealous of you! I bet the leaves are so gorgeous this time of year.”

“Yeah,” I admit, “they are.”

“Then enjoy it. And accept some help. And stop being off-putting.”

“Hey.”

She giggles. “Do it for me.”

I let out a frustrated groan. I pace the kitchen and watch Cliff cross toward the front door.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” Lisa asks him before he’s all the way out. “We’ll make enough meat loaf for the whole family.”

As if he can sense me looking, Cliff’s eyes dart to mine, sending waves of flames over my chest and up my neck. He inhales before turning his gaze back to Lisa.

“No,” he says, letting out an exhale and laughing. “But thank you. I should get back before the house explodes. Emily is finishing her volcano science project.”

George smiles, and it’s so much kinder than any he’s ever given me. “We’ll keep a lookout for an explosion.”

Cliff gives Lisa a final hug, and the door shuts behind him.

“Promise me you’ll make a friend,” Sara says in my ear. “Talk to guests. Something.” Then she swallows. “If not for me, then for Mom.”

I sigh, looking down at Rocket, whose nose is pushed against the window again, looking out in the backyard for the little girl next door.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”





CHAPTER 7





Michelle




My shoes squeak over Bird & Breakfast’s cobblestones in the front yard as I flex my fingers out, then back in. As much as I want to turn heel and storm back to the inn, I’ve procrastinated having this conversation for as long as I can.

All three rooms at the inn are fully booked for the first time since I arrived. I tried smiling more this afternoon—thinking, I can do this on my own—but my first attempt at small talk didn’t go over well.

“Love your dress! Might have to find it later,” I said to a woman as she unloaded her suitcase.

In retrospect, her disgusted expression was valid. She must have thought I was threatening to steal the worn clothes from her room. I walked away, beating my head against my hallway wall.