If It Makes You Happy(84)

I take the stairs down to the living room. Emily and Carol sit in front of the TV, watching some rom-com with Meg Ryan. She’s pretty, but I do not have a thing for blondes. I don’t.

“Be back later,” I call.

I don’t expect them to look—I’m getting Emily’s cold shoulder, and she’s taken sudden solace in her aunt—but they both turn at the same time.

“Whoa,” Emily breathes. “Where are you going tonight, Dad?”

Carol’s surprise is similar, but with an exaggerated gasp. “Hot date?”

I adjust my sleeve cuffs. “Actually, yes.”

Emily’s jaw drops. “Shut up. Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never dated though,” Emily says.

“I did once. Sort of.”

After a second, a cool smile slides onto Emily’s lips. “Oh. Oh, I see.” She shoots out a palm toward Carol. “Cough it up.”

Carol digs in her pocket. “You were right.”

I narrow my eyes and point between them. “What’s going on here?”

“I called it,” Emily says with a grin.

“Called what?” I ask.

“That you and Michelle were totally doing it.”

It feels like a cold bucket of ice—not water because water would hurt less—is thrown in my face.

“Emily. Burke.”

She startles, and I wonder if my tone was sharper than intended. Though I think my blood pressure wanted it to be.

“Ugh,” she groans, rolling her eyes. “I meant dating.”

“I’m not going on a date with Michelle.”

“What?!” Carol asks.

“Shh, Brittany is asleep,” I whisper.

“What do you mean, it’s not Michelle?” Carol hisses back.

“Who are you going on a date with?” Emily asks.

“Sara.”

“Michelle’s sister?!” they ask at the same time.

“Shh! Yes.”

Carol scrunches up her nose, finally looking at my outfit. “God, you’ve got to change your shoes, then.”

“What? Why?” I kick out my brown boots.

“They’re Classic Cliff,” Carol says. “Classic Cliff is the person you show after a few dates.”

“But you weren’t gonna say anything if I was on a date with Michelle?”

Carol shrugs. “Well, yeah, she already knows you and likes you for who you are.”

I suck in a breath, and an awkward silence follows when Carol’s sentence washes over all three of us. I don’t like it.

Emily pops her lips. “They don’t match your jacket, Dad. You need to make a good first impression.”

I clap my hands together and gesture between them. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, but thank you anyway.”

I’m halfway through the back door when Carol calls, “Change your shoes if you want her to like you!”

I hesitate for a moment on the threshold, and then I shut the door behind me, wearing my same brown shoes.



I knock on the door to Bird & Breakfast. I shake my head and bite my cheek. I’m embarrassed for myself.

When was the last time I knocked on any door in Copper Run?

I feel uneasy, like I’m missing something. Maybe I forgot to turn off the stove. Or maybe I forgot my wallet. I am patting my pockets to double-check that my wallet is there when the door rips open. I don’t know why I expected it to be Michelle—force of habit—but Sara’s cheery face answers instead.

“Hi,” she says on an exhale.

“Oh. Hey.” It’s awkward. I’m awkward.

Sara’s dressed very differently from me. I feel like an outdated old man in my sports coat. She’s cute. Too cute. Too young. Too much like a bubbly version of my own daughter, which sends a chill down my spine.

Her hair is parted into multiple intricately braided strands, pulled back to a sudden burst of spikes in some sort of updo. I don’t understand how any of it works. Around her neck, she wears one of those braided chokers that Emily has, and her shirt and skirt have enough space between them to show her belly button.

And I’m in khakis.

Before I can speak, she says, “Let me get my purse real quick!”

Sara hurries up the stairwell. She must be occupying one of the guest rooms. I stand on the threshold. I’ve never not casually walked into Bird & Breakfast, but it suddenly feels inappropriate, considering I’m on a date. It’s like walking into her parents’ house.

Instead, I lean to the side to see if I can spot—

There she is.

Michelle sits in the parlor with her legs tucked under her on the couch. A notebook lies open in her lap. She’s working.

I smile. Typical.

In one hand is a pen, and in the other is a steaming mug. Knowing her, I’m guessing there’s probably coffee in there.

I manage a low whistle. Her head pops up, and she bends forward to peer around the corner.

“Hi. I’m Cliff. Nice to meet you, Ms. Cadell.”

I hold out my hand in the air. With a twitching smile, Michelle holds hers out too. We shake hands through the air, twenty feet apart.

“Call me Michelle. Nice to meet you, Cliff.”