If It Makes You Happy(65)

“Something not for little-girl eyes,” I say, nudging her to the other room and covering her ears with my palms.

The kitchen back door swings open the moment our feet hit the tiles. Rocket barrels through, immediately circling around Brittany in a mad rush. Michelle stands in the doorway, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she closes the door behind her.

“Is there no courtesy knocking anymore?” I tease as I attempt to pocket my hands, but my palms slide down my thin, pocketless robe instead. It only makes me uneasy.

God, I’m uneasy around Michelle. And it’s not because she’s in a cute costume—she didn’t dress up, which I’m definitely gonna rag her about. Or because Michelle is any more stunning than usual—impossible. It’s because she’s here and it’s her.

I don’t know what would have happened if Josh hadn’t stopped by the bakery when he did. The rational part of me knows she would have likely gone back to the inn and I would have continued baking. But there’s another part of me that wonders if we would have crossed an unspoken line.

Michelle, the confident woman from the city, and me, some random small-town baker. My closest friend right now and I … crossing a line.

Her hooded eyes, surrounded by her dark lashes, were staring at me with an intensity I’d never seen before. My hands were threaded through her hair. Her lips were parted, and her warm breath tickled my own. My heart was hammering.

Then Josh happened.

I’ve plotted at least five different ways to kill him since then.

“I should have dressed up,” Michelle says, her lips in a fine line.

“You definitely should have dressed up,” I agree with a grin. “But I like it. It’s casual. Looks good on you.”

“You didn’t dress up?” Brittany asks Michelle, her face falling.

“I didn’t want to take away from your amazing costume,” Michelle responds, crouching down and tucking a few errant hairs back into Brittany’s haphazard bald cap.

My chest stings. She’s so good with Brittany.

“Too cool for costumes?” I tease under my breath.

Michelle pushes my arm. “Not cool enough.”

We both laugh, but her gaze sticks to me, and I swear we inhale at the same time because I think we both realize what happened. Michelle never touches me playfully.

“Who are you again?” she asks.

I hold out my palm. “Ghostface. Pleasure to meet you …”

Her bottom lip tucks between her teeth as she shakes my palm. My large gloved hand engulfs hers.

“Michelle,” she answers.

Shake.

“Well, Michelle, I’ll be your guide for Halloween in Copper Run tonight.”

Shake.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Ghostface.”

Shake.

Our hands linger.

I slide my hand from hers. “All right, let’s get moving out there.” I squeeze Brittany’s shoulder. “Ready?”

“Yep,” Brittany says, lifting her camera and taking another picture of me.

I blink through starry eyes.

“Britt, be careful with that thing,” I say, fumbling to pick up the kitchen phone. I bring it to my ear and hear Josh’s voice saying something about how the drummer for R.E.M. left the band.

I tuck the phone closer to my lips and channel my best Ghostface impression to growl, “Do you like scary movies?”

From the floor above, Emily screams, and Josh squeals even louder over the phone.

“O-oh my God,” Josh stutters through the phone.

“Don’t do that, Dad!” Emily screeches.

“You gave me the costume, Em. I have the power to do the voice. Get off the phone.”

“Whatever,” she whines through a terrified exhale. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

“You’ll see each other in two seconds anyway.”

“Y-yes, Mr. Burke.”

Emily groans. “Josh, he said you can call him—” But I don’t hear the end because I put the phone back on its base, letting them sort out their goodbyes themselves.

I clap my palms together. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

I peer over at Michelle, and she’s paused and staring directly at my lips. My heart does that terrible thing again, flip-flopping like a fish out of water. I clear my throat, and she flicks her eyes to mine.

“Ready?” I ask with a chuckle, trying to keep my words steady when I am anything but.

“Ready when you are,” she answers quickly, walking past me to the living room with her thumb and forefinger dragging her mom’s pendant over the chain.

She only does that when she’s nervous.

Is she nervous?

Emily barrels down the stairwell with an empty pillowcase flying over her head. “Let’s go get candy!”

“Yeah!” Brittany yells in the lowest, most wrestler-like voice a six-year-old girl could muster.

I swing open the front door. Brittany skips out first, followed by Emily ducking under my arm to run out too.

I tilt my chin, signaling Michelle to pass. Without looking at me, she crouches to cross under my arm. Her hair slides against my hanging robe, adding static to some loose strands. Instinctively, I chuckle and stroke them back into place.

I swear she stares at my lips again, then smiles, as if trying to cover up how obvious it was, before turning on her heel and clicking down the sidewalk after my girls.