If It Makes You Happy(87)

Sara laughs, but it peters out. She curls her lips in.

“Well, Michelle only says what she means,” she says.

I smile. “That’s what I like most about her.”

Sara’s eyes flicker between mine for an uncomfortable moment before she leans forward on her elbows and threads her fingers together.

“Question for you now, Clifford,” she says, mocking my tone from earlier.

I chuckle and raise my glass. “Shoot.”

“Do you know you’re in love with my sister?”

I sputter into my water, spilling it over the table. I grab the napkin and wipe down the tabletop.

“Yeah,” she says through smacking lips. “That’s what I thought.”

“That’s not …” I laugh through growing nerves. “We’re friends.”

Sara narrows her eyes. “She tells you things she won’t even tell me.”

“Okay, we’re close friends,” I amend.

“She’s in love with you too, isn’t she?”

“No, it’s not like that.”

She toys with her napkin and fork. “Did you want to go on this date?” She peers up at me through her lashes.

My heart sinks.

I exhale. “You’re very nice.”

“But …”

“Michelle wanted me to get back out there, and she really loves you, so it made sense. She really does talk highly of you, and you’re nothing but lovely. But … I also haven’t been on a date in a long time. So, no, I didn’t. But that has nothing to do with you.”

She smiles. “Well, good. Because I am lovely. And I’m happy Michelle has a friend like you.”

I nod. “She means a lot to me. And she’s leaving in two months, and I’m …” I blink for a moment. “I’m happy to have been her friend for this short amount of time. That’s all.” I shrug. “She’s special to me.”

Sara’s mouth gapes open. “Oh my God, you are so obsessed with her.”

I shake my head, continuing to let out uncomfortable laughter. “I’m not.”

“It’s so crazy too. She said nothing was going on between you two.”

My heart skips. “Oh … oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean …” Sara blinks, widening her palms beside her head like she’s trying to comprehend too many things at once. “God, she even joked about it.”

Joked.

I clear my throat. “Did she really?” Suddenly, my chair is very uncomfortable. It’s too hard. I shift my position and click my tongue. “Huh.”

Sara’s eyes widen. “Oh, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s okay,” I say, managing a laugh. “Yeah.” I inhale and let it out. “Well, like you said, she doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.”

“She … I mean, it’s hard to know what she’s really thinking,” Sara says.

“I know,” I agree. “Yeah, that’s true.”

Of course, it’s at that exact moment that Lars comes over with two palms balancing the pizzas. He sets them down, grinning between us again.

“Anything I can get for you?” he asks. “A candle?”

I shake my head. “We’re good, Lars.”

And for the first time, my precious meat lovers pizza tastes like shit.

Absolute shit.





CHAPTER 27





Michelle




My coffee has been cold for hours. I glance at the clock. It’s a little after ten, so I can’t reheat it or I’ll be up all night. Though I’ll be awake anyway with how my mind is racing.

Rocket grumbles on the other side of the sofa. I realize I’ve been tapping my feet, making the cushions bounce under his head.

Shelly, calm down.

I grip my cold mug closer. “Sorry.”

Are you apologizing to me?

“I’m capable of apologizing,” I counter, irritably sipping, then scrunching my nose. Cold coffee again.

I’ve been in the same position on this sofa for hours, reliving every second before Sara and Cliff left for their date.

I didn’t like how Cliff looked when he left. Sure, he was handsome in his sports coat—I didn’t know he was capable of dressing up outside of funerals—but I didn’t like how softly he cooed when he called Sara pretty.

My sister is gorgeous, so he’s honestly blind if he thinks pretty is a good enough word for her, but I shift uncomfortably on the cushion when I remember that he complimented her at all. I can’t forget that Cliff is only a man—and he’s a nice one at that. Of course he noticed her looks, and of course he told her.

But …

It was also the way he touched her lower back. I know Cliff touches everyone—if his hand isn’t resting on someone for any length of time, he might shrivel up and die—but I didn’t know I’d feel a heart-aching stab while watching.

There are footsteps on the porch. Rocket’s head lifts. I shush him, and he lets out that irritated whine of his.

I didn’t even bark, Shelly.

I barely decipher murmurs through the front door, but nothing discernible except a laugh or two.