If It Makes You Happy(51)

“Seattle work?”

I nod, and he gives an almost pitying smile.

“Workaholic,” he teases. “Even when I take over one thing, you have something else.”

My stomach drops, and I simply reply, “Yes.”

He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder, sending sparks running through my chest again.

“Go do what you’ve gotta do.”

“Thanks, Cliff.”

“Anytime,” he says, but when his hand leaves me, I want it back.



That evening, I lie in bed until the sunset beams through my sheer curtains, leaving a haze across the room in muted shades of bronze and gold and a white glow so bright that I have to shut my eyes while they disappear below the horizon.

I looked over documents all night, but the papers blurred together until the only clear thing in my room was Allen’s birthday card resting on my side table. I fell down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, and now it’s too dark to see anything. I never bothered to turn on my lamp, and the sun has been going down earlier and earlier lately.

The Burke kitchen window is open, as usual. Brittany whines about dinner, then laughs at something else. Carol yells something across the house, making Emily reply equally loudly, and below it all is Cliff’s husky laughter.

I close my eyes, but I can’t sleep, so I lie in the dark with the sounds of Rocket’s lazy snoring and the leaves tumbling together in occasional gusts of wind.

He invited me to dinner, and I said no. What if he never invites me again?

For the first time in almost a month, I feel alone. Me and the heartless birthday card. I would cry if I wasn’t so angry. If my blood wasn’t overflowing from my heart like lava and dripping down to my stomach in hissing drops of disdain. It’s so loud in my ears that I can hear each drop plunk.

Plunk.

Plunk.

Plunk!

My eyes flash open.

Plunk!

I rise in bed and peer out the window, jumping at the sight of Cliff silhouetted in his kitchen window. He waves. I return it. With his other hand, he tosses something at my window. I flinch when it hits the glass with another plunk!

Creaking forward on my mattress, I spot six large cherries in the grass below my windowsill.

Across our yards and in his kitchen, Cliff curls a single finger, gesturing for me to come over. The motion snags on me, coaxing my chest forward, like his finger has a string tied to my body.

But when I don’t noticeably budge, Cliff mouths, Please.

I fight a wide smile, holding up my index finger, indicating that I’ll be there in a minute. He disappears from the window before I can second-guess my decision. I slip into house shoes and throw on a loose sweater over my dress.

Rocket’s head rises from his dog bed. Where are you sneaking off to?

“Next door,” I whisper.

I thought you didn’t like him.

I hesitate. “We’re friends.”

Rocket huffs out a sleepy grunt and rests his head on the cushion.

I walk down the hall and push out the kitchen’s back door, crossing through the rosebushes and into Cliff’s yard, trailing the three steps to his kitchen’s back door. The screen door creaks open before I can knock, and I’m greeted by Cliff’s body in the threshold, blocking my entrance.

He holds up a silk tie and snaps it. “Turn around.”

He’s gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.

I laugh awkwardly. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“What are you gonna do?”

He lowers the tie and leans his head to the side. “Can you not be suspicious for once?”

“Well, you’re acting very suspicious, Cliff.”

He gently holds up the fabric again, slipping it between his fingers, as if showing me how harmless it is. The tie is frayed in places, the raised stitches fuzzy and pilled. I vaguely recognize it as his wake outfit. This was worn by a more serious, unfamiliar, salesy Cliff. Not my baker Cliff.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

“No.” Yes.

He barks out a laugh. “Turn around. Let me put it over your eyes.”

I turn on my heel and face the dark backyard. The last things I see before the fabric slips over my eyes are the orange Halloween lights from a house on the opposite side of the fence.

Cliff’s fingers trace over my cheeks as he ties the soft silk behind my head. I can feel his breath tickling the hair at my neck. Swishes of fabric rustle against my ears. His hand ghosts over my hair, like he’s fixing strands he messed up in the process.

“All right,” he whispers. “Now we’re heading to my bedroom.”

My heart rises into my throat. “Cliff,” I warn out loud.

“Shh, the girls are asleep,” he admonishes on a chuckle, winding his palm up my forearm to tug my inner elbow.

He walks us into the house and gingerly shuts the kitchen door behind us. I stumble as he guides me down the hall, occasionally pulling me closer or coaxing me around a corner with a palm on my lower back.

“Couldn’t you have only covered my eyes?” I whisper.

“And have you peek and spoil the surprise? No.”

“So, it’s a surprise,” I guess.

“Why else would I blindfold you, Michelle?”

I can think of a few reasons echoes in my head, and my cheeks instantly heat.