If It Makes You Happy(77)

“I’ll stall him.”

“Thanks.” I chuckle, patting her on the shoulder as she passes.

But as I’m loading up the doughnuts from the tray to the box, Carol returns.

“It’s Michelle,” she says. “She wants three peach pies.”

Her name alone has my heart leaping into my throat.

“Three?” A laugh bubbles up. “She’s worse than George.”

I round the corner to the front of the store. It’s raining outside, beating down on the sidewalk and splattering against the glass windows. But in the center of the lobby is the only woman who could make a rainy day seem not half bad. Maybe it’s because she’s a bigger storm cloud, and I like that about her. At her feet, Rocket sits, his nose wiggling, no doubt smelling the last croissants of the day finishing in the oven.

“Three peach pies?” I ask Michelle. “Really?”

She lifts a single shoulder. “No, only cookies. And an apple fritter.”

“You wanted to get my attention?”

“Yes.”

“I assume an apple fritter for Emily?”

“You’re too good.”

“I know my girl.”

I flick through order form sheets and click a pen with my thumb. I almost fumble it. I can’t help but feel on edge. We’re doing fine as friends, but there’s a tightening in my chest whenever she’s around now. Erasing the taste of her isn’t something I can do overnight—or in seven days for that matter.

“So, ol’ Paulie’s coming back to town?” I ask, forcing conversation.

I don’t like the lingering silences between us anymore, and when I add a grin too, it feels unnatural.

“Ol’ Paulie,” Michelle muses with a smile. “Yeah, my dad and my sister will be here next week.”

“Excited?”

“Yes,” she says on a breath. “My dad sounds like he’s doing a bit better. And my sister is excited to travel out here. She loves going anywhere. She’s a hippie at heart.”

“We should get her a van.”

“Sara wishes.”

I chuckle. “Well, I’m excited to meet your sister. If she’s half as blunt as you, I’ll learn many new things about myself by the end of the month.”

“No, Sara’s nicer than me,” she says. “She’s total sunshine. Kind. Generous.”

“So are you. You gave up a lot to be here for her,” I say.

Suddenly, she’s quiet, blinking to herself, as if maybe she’s never considered it a sacrifice before. Of course she wouldn’t.

“Well,” she says quietly, “she means the world to me.”

The way her eyes glass over when she says it makes the corner of my mouth tip up. Her smile is a mix of admiration and contentment. It feels like I’m watching something I shouldn’t.

Rocket sniffs the seat near the door but stands solidly next to it. Always so statuesque.

Michelle catches me looking.

“Rocket misses her,” she says.

“Does he?”

I don’t blame him for Halloween. He’s a dog after all. Man’s best friend … more like a little girl’s best friend.

I pull open the display case and pull out a biscuit. I tear off part of it and step out from behind the counter. Rocket watches with cautious eyes as I bend down and hold it out. Sniffing, he walks closer, gingerly looking from it to me before nibbling the bread from my fingers.

I’m on edge, more than I should be as a grown man. But when I pat his head and he leans into my palm, it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.

“He waits by the back door for her every day,” Michelle says.

“Like how you wait on the front porch for me?” I ask.

She scoffs, her mouth gaping open with a twitching smile. “I do not.”

“Hey, you can admit it. I won’t get a big head. And I’m sure you’d bring me back down to earth if I did anyway.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“See?” I point out.

She slides her pendant over the delicate chain, holding back a laugh.

I rise and walk back behind the counter. “So, what can I do to help with your family coming into town?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “How can I help Brittany get comfortable with Rocket again?”

“Ah, so neither of us has answers.” I smile.

“What’s new?” Michelle says.

“Not a thing.”

And then, the moment I have a permanent smile on my face from our banter, logging her cookie order, Michelle says, “I meant what I said on Halloween. I … I think you should get back out there.”

My pen cuts across the page.

I don’t look away from the paper when I attempt to casually ask, “Get out where?”

“Dating.”

“Should I?” I add stiffly.

“You should,” she confirms. “It’s been two years for you. You deserve a second shot at happiness.”

I huff out a weak laugh. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” I rub the back of my neck, and I still can’t look at her. “I’ve never dated anyone except Tracy. What do you even say over dinner? Do you like the chicken? I got the pork; it’s fine. But don’t try the wine; it’s not divine.”