If It Makes You Happy(62)

“I don’t … I don’t think I was surprised when I learned he’d cheated,” I admit. “And honestly, I don’t even miss him all that much. I miss … noise. It’s so quiet, being alone.”

Cliff gently sets his thumb and forefinger on my chin, slowly rotating me to face him.

“It goes away,” he says.

My lips part as I whisper out a breathy “I hope so.”

“Tell me another secret,” he murmurs, the question humming in my ear.

“I’ve got too many,” I admit. “I don’t know where to start.”

“I’ll take any I can get.”

“I want to know more about you.”

He chuckles. “Your secret is that you want to know about me?”

“Why didn’t it work out between you and Tracy?”

Cliff is suddenly silent.

I cringe. My face burns red hot.

I wheeze out a laugh. “See? I’m abrasive.”

He removes my hand from his, but instead of walking away, he pushes my elbows up so my arms wrap over his shoulders. He pulls me closer to his chest. “Don’t say that,” he demands.

I link my hands behind his neck, and all I can think to say is “Okay,” because the shakiness in his tone felt painful. Like he’s angry the word left my mouth.

“What happened is that, one day, Tracy decided she didn’t want to be here anymore,” he confesses. “Simple as that. Said she’d been thinking about it a long time. Even before we had Brittany.”

“How old was Brittany when you split?”

“Three,” he answers. “I was surprised when she said she wanted to try for another, especially since Emily was getting old enough that we could do more things. Have a bit more freedom we hadn’t gotten as teen parents. But Trace said she wanted to try for a kid that was planned this time. And who was I to say no? I loved being a dad.

“But after Brittany, it was like whatever she was looking for still wasn’t there. Then she sat me down one day and said she didn’t like me anymore. Not love—I distinctly remember that. She didn’t like me. I asked how long she knew she didn’t like me, and she said maybe she never did.”

I feel a prick in my heart. An uneasiness. Who could say that to a person? Who could say that to Cliff?

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur.

He lets out a sardonic laugh. “You didn’t say it. I know I talk in jokes. I’m sarcastic and generally not serious. I’m difficult to like.”

The sentence doesn’t feel like they’re his words. They’re Tracy’s. These thoughts were planted years ago with time to sprout, and now they’re rooted in him.

“You’re very easy to like, Cliff,” I say. “I was serious. I don’t like most people. But you were right; I do like you. So, don’t apologize for your jokes now. I enjoy them.”

He snorts. “Don’t go soft on me.”

“Fine. No compliments for your jokes ever again as long as you keep telling them.”

He chuckles. “Deal.”

I let my head fall to his shoulder. His palm cradles the back of my head, his fingers massaging through my hair. Warm. Gentle.

“I can’t believe we’re dancing to this stupid song,” I say on an exhale.

“I can’t believe I actually got you to do it.”

I laugh a little, and then he does. He hugs me tighter, and I bury my head into the crook of his neck more. I can smell the vanilla and cinnamon on him, but also that unique citrus cologne underneath—the secret Cliff hides behind all his walls.

He strokes my back. I know Cliff is only touching me out of habit. That’s how he operates, no matter who the person is. But part of me wants Cliff to touch me because I’m me.

I lift my head slightly, and he leans his cheek against mine.

“You should get back to work,” I whisper.

“I should,” he murmurs back.

“Thanks for the secrets.”

“Thanks for the company.”

I lean back, but my arms don’t fall from his neck. His hands drift down to my waist, his thumbs running a circle over my ribs. My index finger finds its way to the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes dart to my lips and back up. I can’t calm my nerves when he looks at me like that. My heart is beating erratically, and with my chest pressed against his, I can feel his pulse thundering too.

I hear myself swallow. I can see every shimmer in his blue eyes, every small speck of hazel within. I feel how deeply they see through me, rattling me to my core, pinning my feet exactly where they stand. My heart claws its way up my throat, and maybe … maybe …

A loud knock booms on the bakery door. I jump, but Cliff doesn’t move. His hand pauses on my waist. His eyes search mine, but I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

A fist knocks against the glass again.

I blink and step out of his arms. “You might want to—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, running a palm through his hair and striding out of the kitchen to the front.

The bell above the door dings as Cliff rips it open.

“Mr. Burke—”

“Josh,” Cliff announces.

I walk to the bakery’s lobby, watching the color slowly drain from Josh’s face as his eyes dart between the two of us.