If It Makes You Happy(78)

“You’d rhyme the whole time?”

“Now you’re doing it. See? It’s contagious.”

She laughs. “Seriously. Go on a date. See what happens. And be yourself.”

“’Cause that worked out so well the first time.”

Finally, I look at her. Her eyebrows are pulled in the middle.

“I want you to be happy, Cliff.”

I don’t want to date anyone. And it’s not because I’m nervous. It’s because I want the storm cloud of a woman in front of me. I want the unattainable. Problem is, I can’t say no to this woman either way.

“Fine, I’ll get out there,” I concede.

She smiles. “I’ll put out feelers. Lisa has the hots for you.”

“Not into married women,” I tease back with an eye roll. But it doesn’t stifle the tugging in my chest.

Two months.

She’s leaving in two months.

From behind me, tiny footfalls echo out from the kitchen. Brittany peeks from behind the counter at Rocket. When he finally sees her, she pops her head away again.

“It’ll take time,” I say to him.

Unfortunately, time is what we both need more of.





CHAPTER 24





Michelle




My sister’s umbrella blooms open like a flower, pink and beautiful, matching her massive grin.

“Shellfish!” Sara breaks out in a run. She bypasses going down the driveway or the cobblestone path, instead opting to slap through the muddy yard, kicking up patches of grass under her rain boots.

“Wait, get off the grass!” I call over the pounding rain.

Sara either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care because she runs the rest of the way, ducks under the porch awning, and tosses her open umbrella to the side before pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, I missed you,” she exhales into me.

Sara is shorter than me—five two to my five nine—which is why she nuzzles closer, burying her face into my breasts like a burrowing rabbit.

“Stop,” I groan through an exhausted laugh.

“I didn’t realize this was a customary greeting,” Cliff says, leaning away with his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been saying hello wrong for months.”

I elbow him, and he gives a grinning oof.

“How was the drive?” I ask her.

“Terrible,” Sara groans. “Our rental car was seconds away from breaking down. I was scared the entire last hour.”

“Sometimes I think they do it for fun,” Cliff comments. “Like a survival game. See who can cut it in the wild. Or on the highway.”

Sara’s eyes slowly swivel to Cliff, but they very quickly shadow over. I stiffen, following her gaze to him.

Cliff looks like he always does. He’s wearing his go-to flannel, double layered under a cable-knit sweater. His boots are the rustic brown kind with little love marks from the bakery. Sara lifts one curious eyebrow as she scans from his grinning smile down to the defined wrists peeking out from his pants pockets.

I thought only I noticed his wrists.

Sara extends her hand out to him. “Hi. Sara.”

She shamelessly bites her lower lip, giving one stunning, dimpled smile.

Cliff untucks a hand from his pocket and shakes hers. Sara looks down to his large, veiny hand.

“Cliff. I live next door.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Have you, now?” Holding her hand, Cliff swivels his eyes to me with a crooked grin before landing back on her.

Shake.

They aren’t letting go. It feels so similar to our handshakes. My stomach coils.

“Well, it’s great to finally meet you,” he says to her.

Shake.

Sara smiles, giving another shake of his hand as she bares her dimples at their full capacity. Adorable. “Pleasure is all mine, Cliff.”

Whoever said it was a chilly rain today was a liar because, suddenly, I’m heating up from the inside out.

I clear my throat and walk off the porch without an umbrella. “I’ll go check on Dad.”

“Need help?” Cliff calls after me.

“I’m fine.”

I use my arms to shield myself from the rain until I reach the rental car. I tug the handle once, then twice, and the door finally pops open. I slide in on the squeaking brown leather and shut it behind me.

Dad sits in the driver’s seat, letting out a slow exhale. The only other sounds are plunking raindrops on the roof and the low hum of Bob Dylan on the radio.

“Hey, Dad.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hi, Shellfish.”

Dad looks better than he did months ago. He’s gained a bit of weight. He’s shampooed the few remaining wisps of hair on his bald head. But he hasn’t lost that distant, thousand-yard stare. I follow his gaze to the parked car at the end of the driveway. Mom’s car, covered in wet leaves.

“How was the drive?” I ask, changing the unspoken subject.

“Good. A little rainy.”

“The whole way?”

“The last half.”

“Cliff is here,” I offer. “He’s excited to see you. He’s staying for dinner, along with his daughters and Carol.”