If It Makes You Happy(68)

“You gotta keep walking,” he repeats, and the husky murmur brushes against the nape of my neck.

My body heats. I reluctantly take more steps forward.

Another turn reveals a man in a leather mask. The one after that is a werewolf. Then a devil. But my jumps are smaller. Maybe I’m getting desensitized. Or maybe my focus is solidly on the man behind me, spreading his fingers wider around my waist.

His chest is against my back. His breath is in my hair. I never realized how tall Cliff was until now, as he towers behind me like a shield. I gingerly reach back and entwine my opposite fingers with his. His thumb makes gentle circles around my wrist.

This man—this charming man—is so close. To me. Why me?

The maze empties out on the side of Winston’s house. A man darts toward us with a chain saw extended over his head. Cliff and I bolt away from the exit, our synchronous laughter echoing in the night.

We run down the grassy yard until we reach an impasse. To the right, leaves raked on either side of a pathway lead back to the neighborhood sidewalk. On the left is a tall row of bushes, coated in fake spiderwebs, with a small sliver in the middle to sneak through.

My feet halt at the fork in the road.

I hate that they do.

I hate that I consider the what-if of turning left. Of being alone—hidden in the bushes—with Cliff. What would happen? Do I want something to happen?

I turn around, and I’m met with a white mask staring back. I scream so loud that Cliff bursts out laughing and places his palm over my mouth.

“I forgot about your stupid mask,” I say, partially muffled against his gloved hand.

But our laughs lessen, and then we’re standing there, frozen together, with his palm cupped over my lips. My stomach twists into knots.

And then I make the decision. I don’t know when my mind decided to, but I’m already stepping backward toward the bushes. Cliff walks forward after me.

I walk backward.

He paces forward.

Step by heart-pounding step, Cliff and I disappear into the bushes. We take the quiet, alone, away-from-the-world path.

Beyond the bushes, the bramble-filled dirt is pitch-black under our feet. My backside hits the paneling of Winston’s house. The distant streetlamps and house decorations trickle through the bushes, leaving only a sliver of light. Cliff lifts his mask up. His eyes hide under the shadow of the long white mask, but I can feel them on me.

He removes his hand from my mouth, tracing the back of his knuckles over my cheek, down the column of my neck, and to my shoulder. His thumb dips into my collarbone as we both draw in a shaky breath.

The air around us changes. The autumn breeze that’s been still all night suddenly rustles the leaves. A single leaf catches on Cliff’s hood. I reach up to pick it off, and he sucks in a breath as my arm brushes over his cheek.

He leans closer, resting a palm on the wall beside my head, caging me against the paneled siding. His other hand ghosts up my arm, tickling the fabric of my shirt with the back of his gloved fingers. Shivers prickle over my skin despite the layers of clothing between us. I’m trying to breathe normally, but my inhales keep catching.

I want to kiss him.

I want to kiss Cliff so bad it hurts. But he’s so cautious. So careful.

I wonder if it’s because he’s unsure. I don’t blame him.

“Don’t do something you think you’ll regret,” I whisper.

He shakes his head without hesitation. “I wouldn’t regret this.”

His hand finds the column of my neck, running up the side. I pull in a breathy gasp.

“Do you think you would?”

I don’t know what answer to give. My heart is beating out of my chest.

What would this mean for us? Is he looking for an autumn fling? Am I? Or is this more? He’s my friend. My best friend. I’ve never had a best friend outside my sister.

In my extended silence, Cliff finally lets out a choked laugh. He removes his hand from beside my head and pushes away. My heart pounds at the loss of his warmth. Anxiety courses through me as he steps back.

He pulls his mask back down and tilts his head to the side. “Do you have a favorite scary movie?” he teases, his voice carrying a sinister, raspy timbre beneath the mask as he quotes the movie from his costume.

Cliff laughs at himself, and then I’m laughing too.

Leave it to him to break the tension.

“Come on, Michelle,” he says in his normal voice. I can hear the smile on his face. “Let’s get you back.”

And that—that right there—is the exact moment I know I need to kiss him. Because, despite Cliff taking a risk, he immediately backtracks when he thinks I’m uncomfortable. Because he’s that kind of friend. He’s that kind of man.

I don’t know what our kiss might lead to. I don’t know if my leaving in two months will matter. Maybe we won’t stay in touch, or maybe we will. Maybe this will be something we can laugh about. There’s a lot of uncertainties, but one thing is for sure: I’m not uncertain about Cliff. He’s sarcastic and loud and open. He’s not buttoned-up, like Allen. But Cliff is more of a man than any of the self-proclaimed kind and altruistic men I’ve dated before. He’s more of a man than Allen ever was.

Cliff turns to walk away, but I shoot my hand out and grasp his elbow. He stiffens, twisting back to look at me. His mask—no, Cliff—suddenly rips fear through my heart, but I tug the crook of his arm anyway, coaxing him back. Leaves crunch beneath his boots as he stalks back to me again. This time closer. Chest to chest.