If It Makes You Happy(85)

I keep my hand moving.

“Lovely home you have here.”

Shake.

“Thank you,” she responds.

Shake.

I tip my chin at her coffee. “You’re gonna be up until midnight.”

“I can drink a cup and go to bed seconds later,” she says.

My mouth tilts up at the corners. “I know you can.”

Michelle twists her lips to the side, then stops moving her hand. I let mine fall too. She leans back to hide from my sight again. My smile disappears.

Sara barrels back down the stairs, taking them two at a time with her hand on the railing, rings on almost every finger skidding along the surface. She’s rubbing her lips together. A pink gloss shimmers on them.

“I’m ready!” she says, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. “What do ya think?” She spins.

I manage a smile. “You look very pretty.”

“Thank you.” She bats her eyelashes in an over-the-top way that makes me laugh.

“Want to head out?” I ask, throwing a thumb over my shoulder.

“Sure,” she says, raising her shoulders and dropping them, as if motioning, Yeah, whatever. It’s cool.

I place a hand on the small of her back and guide her through the door.

“I won’t stay out too late, Shells!” Sara calls behind us.

But before I follow Sara out the door, I turn back around to look at the parlor. Michelle peers around the corner. When our gazes catch, she squirrels away.



“Two, Lars.”

His eyes are so big that I can see the whites along every edge. I sigh. I know what it looks like. I, Clifford Burke, town celibate divorcé, am on a date. Not just a date, but a date with someone like Sara. Young. Cute.

“Two,” Lars echoes.

“Two,” I confirm, straightening my lips into a line and raising my eyebrows.

Lars quietly grabs two menus with a suppressed grin on his face. As he walks us to a table with a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth, I see Betty at dinner with Sandra. Luke is across from his parents. All eyes are on us. I’m going to be news tomorrow, if not in the next five minutes.

I pull out Sara’s chair for her with a whining screech on the hardwood and scoot it back in once she’s sitting. I take the chair across from her. Lars twiddles his thumbs.

“You’re serving us?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“You own the place.”

“I lead by example. Wine?”

I throw him a pointed look.

They don’t even have wine here.

“We’re all set, Lars. Two waters for now.”

“Of course,” he says, eyes darting between us. He doesn’t budge.

“Lars?”

He startles. “Yeah. Be back.”

Lars scuttles off, but when he gets behind Sara—out of her sight—he throws me a thumbs-up. I roll my eyes and prop up my menu.

“What do they have here?” Sara asks.

“Pizza,” I answer. “Cheese. Meats. Veg. Coffee.”

“Coffee?” she asks.

I smile. “It’s a combo pizzeria-slash-coffeehouse. Trust me, none of us understand Lars’s mind either.”

“Oh. Any pasta?” she asks hopefully.

“No, that would make too much sense.”

She giggles. “Then pizza it is. Any recommendations?”

“The meat lovers. I could only eat that for the rest of my life, and I’d never get sick of it.”

We look at the menu for a moment in silence. The loud, blaring sounds from the bright arcade machines in the corner are battling against Third Eye Blind over the speakers. I peer over at Sara. She’s pretty. Peppy. And definitely out of place, being on a date with me.

“What about the cheeseburger pizza?” she asks, then murmurs, “God, why do I feel like Michelle would love that?”

I feel my lips turn up in a smile. “Nah, she hates mustard.”

Sara flicks her eyes to mine, blinks for a moment, then smiles.

“I’m going with meat lovers,” she announces, gingerly setting down her menu.

“Good choice.”

“I hear it’s the best.”

I chuckle. She’s sweet; a colorful macaron would suit her.

“So,” I say, lowering my menu as well. “Art school, huh? That’s really neat.”

“Yes!” Immediately, her expression changes. It’s like light beams through to her very soul at the mention of art. “I have this dream of opening my own studio. Like something with installations that rotate through each month, you know?”

“That sounds ambitious.”

“What can I say? We’re an ambitious family.”

I snort. “You’re right. Michelle can’t cut away from work if she tried.”

“She’s admittedly a bit more ambitious than me.”

I try not to act too interested when I ask, “Is she? How so?”

“Well”—she tilts her head to the side—“she moved to the city in her early twenties—which I would never have done—and she … did it, y’know? Found a job. Moved her way up. Did she tell you she was the first woman exec at her company?”

I smile. “Really?”