If It Makes You Happy(34)

“You’ll forgive me tomorrow.”

“I won’t because I’ve already forgiven you now, you old coot.”

I’m giving him a hard time, and he knows it.

With a final wave and a smirk, he lowers into his car, backs out of the spot with the type of lead foot the confident elderly love, and putters down the street toward the community center for evening bingo.

“Why is there a mess?” Carol asks when I get back to the bakery.

“George had a fire drill again. I had to improvise.”

I take my blue apron from its hook beside the prep table and tie it back around me. My trusty apron is old, scarred by burns and multiple stitched-up rips. But Emily’s little kindergarten handprints, smacked on the front in faded red and white paint, are visible beneath it all.

“Brittany didn’t get off the bus today,” Carol observes.

“I know.” I shift a pan of croissants to the left of the steel table to make room.

“I haven’t seen Emily either.”

“Probably at work. I’ll call Lisa later.”

She narrows her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Baking.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what I do here.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “But aren’t you worried about where your daughters are?”

“No.”

Carol shakes her head, pinching her eyes closed. “I’m confused.”

“There are some leftover cannoli in the case if you want some.”

“Don’t change the subject. I mean, yes, I’ll get one, but”—she waves her hands—“not the point! You’re here. You’re never here past three. At least not since Birdie passed. And your girls aren’t running around here either.”

The bell above the front door dings, but before either of us can go to the front, heavy footfalls grow louder and Lars appears in the kitchen.

“Whoa, what’s with the mess?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be heading out soon?”

I narrow my eyes. “Why are you here?”

“I always pick up a doughnut before opening shop,” he says.

“Every day?”

“Every weekday lately,” Carol says with a sneer. “Freeloader.”

Lars tosses her a wink. “You let it happen.”

He crosses in front of her to grab an already set-aside doughnut on a square napkin. I was wondering why that was there.

“So, what’s going on, Cliff?”

I clear my throat. “Michelle is watching Brittany.”

Carol gasps, her palm flying to her chest. “Really?”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

A slow smirk curls onto Lars’s mouth. “It’s driving you insane, isn’t it?”

Carol shakes her head. “God, how’d you trick her into watching Britt?”

I scoff out a laugh. “I don’t trick people. Ever stopped to think that maybe I’m naturally charming?”

“No,” they both say.

I click my tongue. “All right. Well, other people think so.”

“I know, and it’s so annoying,” Lars teases, taking a bite of his doughnut. That’s been Lars’s favorite pastry since we were kids. Specifically, he likes the plain glazed kind. He’s a simple guy.

Carol groans, slouching against the wall. “I swear, Betty asks me weekly if you’re ready to get back on the market. She said she has a niece or a distant cousin or something. I don’t know.”

My stomach clenches. “Definitely not ready for that.”

I’ve been divorced for two years, and Copper Run has been waiting for the gun at the starting line ever since. It’s not that I’m not ready to date. I’m ready for a lot of things—Michelle digging into my pocket last month proved that. The real concern is that I’m not sure who would want to date me. Copper Run wants to set me up, but they don’t know what it’s like to be with me all the time. Tracy wasn’t shy about telling me when I irritated her. I don’t need someone else voicing that again.

Lars talks through a mouthful of doughnut. “You know what? You need to get laid, man. You made two kids, so I know you can do it.”

“Gross,” Carol says, folding her arms over her chest.

“I’m not gonna sleep with just anyone,” I murmur.

“And why not?” he asks.

“Because … I’m not.” I shake my head.

“Because you’ve only slept with Trace?”

Carol groans. “Can we not talk about my brother having sex, please?”

Lars grins wolfishly and takes another bite of his doughnut.

“Anyway, yes,” I continue, “Michelle offered to watch Britt. I didn’t trick her into anything.”

“And why would she offer?” Carol asks.

“I’m giving her hospitality lessons.”

“Why does she need those?” Lars says through a laugh. “Is Michelle not a nice person? She seemed nice to me. And pretty.” He raises his eyebrows and lowers them.

“You’ve got doughnut in your mustache,” Carol says.

I shoot him a look. “Michelle’s not your type. She’ll be here for three months.”