If It Makes You Happy(41)

He smiles to himself. “Well … I didn’t. It’s what Tracy wanted.” He nods to the stack of paperwork on the counter. They’re faxed papers from Mark. The logo for Topsy’s Travel Agency—our biggest client in Washington—is displayed on the first page. “Are you working your Seattle job, even out here?”

“I can’t help myself.”

“Love it that much, huh? Why?”

“I don’t know … I do. It’s hard to describe.”

“I assume that’s not the juicy secret I’ll be getting today,” he says with a side smile.

Cliff is so unabashedly honest. So himself.

“Fine,” I say. “You want a secret?”

“The best one you got,” he confirms.

“I …” I tilt up my chin. “I hated when Allen snored.”

Guilt roils through me. Like I shouldn’t be talking about my husband—ex-husband—like that.

Cliff opens his mouth in a mocking gasp. “Whoa, tone it down over there. That’s hard-hitting. I can’t handle that level of cruelty.”

Cliff relaxes into a teasing, lopsided grin, and that little piece of me—the one that felt guilty for even bringing up a silly annoyance—breaks apart and flits down to the ground. Because my answer wasn’t that serious and Cliff’s question wasn’t either.

I choke out a laugh and step forward to push his shoulder. “Hey! You asked for a secret, and I gave you one.”

He stares at the small spot where I touched him, then grins. “Barely.”

“That was big for me.”

He chuckles in sync with me, as he darts his eyes down to my lips. Similar to his lack of personal space, Cliff also has no issues lingering with his gaze either. My smile quickly fades, descending into a defensive frown.

He flicks his eyes up to meet mine once more. “See? I was right. You’re beautiful, even when you scowl.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up, Cliff.”

But the simple moment has me smiling, and I can’t wipe it off my face.

He glances at the sandwich next to me, then at the switched one closer to him on the counter.

“Change your mind?” he asks.

“I could tell turkey is actually your favorite.”

“You said you wanted it though,” he says. “I was trying to be nice.”

“And I’m trying too.”

We exchange another small smile, and he goes back to kneading the dough.

Cliff can be frustrating.

But I also kinda like him.

A little bit.





CHAPTER 12





Michelle




“The bathroom towels are in your dresser, and I have a little binder on top with some things to do in Copper Run. The fall festival is over now, and Halloween decorations are around town. There’s a man two blocks down, named Winston—you can’t miss his house—and he sits on his porch every night to watch people look at his decorations. He’s really proud.”

“Wow, and are they good?”

I have no idea. This information was fed to me by Cliff, even though he won’t let me walk past Winston’s house myself yet.

Cliff says Winston’s an artist. He makes murals around town, but he also decorates for every holiday. He transforms his house into an erected haunted maze on Halloween, and Cliff doesn’t want to ruin the surprise for me until it’s finished.

But Miss Margaret and her single suitcase won’t be staying long enough to see it, so I smile and answer, “They’re the perfect amount of spooky.”

The woman grins from ear to ear.

“Well”—I clap my hands together—“I won’t keep you. Make yourself at home. And please let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with. I’m heading to lunch, but I’ll be back after one to make some extra coffee.”

She beams. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Cliff’s words echo in my ears. “Enough to be present, but not enough to be overwhelming.”

As she sits on the end of her freshly made bed, complete with a welcome letter on the pillow, I discreetly drop a wrapped toffee on the dresser. Lisa says leaving little breadcrumbs are the thoughtful things guests will remember.

I take the stairs down to the foyer and grab Mom’s purse from its hook in the kitchen. I take Rocket’s leash beside it. The rattling sound makes Rocket shoot out from the bedroom. I clip it to his collar, and we head out the front door, down the cobblestone walkway, and to the mailbox, where I gather mail, tuck it under my arm for later, and head toward Copper Run’s square.

The details I left for Miss Margaret are correct; Copper Run has exploded with decorations the past two weeks. Spiderwebs stretch across front doors, porches, and gates. Pumpkins with carved Cheshire cat grins line fences, and plastic skeletons claw up from rough dirt graves throughout grassy yards. Every time we pass the house with dangling linen ghosts swaying from tree branches, Rocket lets out a low growl.

“They’re not gonna hurt you.”

He huffs out through his nose. Liar.

We hit the square, and I drop by the sandwich shop first, smiling as nice as I can to the owner, Betty, who always insists I try new ingredients.