If It Makes You Happy(91)

But why?

“Stay with me,” he insists.

I let out a frustrated exhale, peering over at Sara with her bottom lip pulled in and her shoulders raised to her ears. She gives the cheekiest grin imaginable.

“It does make the most sense,” she agrees innocently. “I don’t know Cliff as well as you do.”

I narrow my eyes. She knows what she’s doing.

“Perfect,” Cliff says.

His words don’t sound perfect at all. Not even a little bit.

“Got more coffee for me?” he asks Sara.

Sara—not me.

Why isn’t he talking to me?

“Half a pot. Have at it,” she says.

He smiles at her, patting her back when he passes by her.

Her. Not me.

Cliff makes his coffee with the same familiarity as his daughter. My chest strains when he walks past me to leave, a quick bit of warmth and cinnamon following. It’s like I’m both drawing closer and also being kept at arm’s length. The same ends of a magnet, pushing when we’ve been pulled together for so long.

“Bye, Cliff!” Sara says with a wave.

“Bye, guys.”

He leaves through the door without even a second glance.

Oh, screw this.

In only my jeans and tucked-in button-up, I rip open the back door and walk out barefoot onto the stone steps. The door snaps shut behind me as the cold surface freezes my toes. I clutch the outside of my arms, now prickled with chills, and stride forward.

“Cliff!”

He turns on the spot with the coffee mug halfway to his lips. His eyes scour over my shivering body.

“Hey, Michelle.” The sentence feels almost exhausted.

My face drops, along with my mouth. “I … well, I just …” I hate when I stumble over my words like this. I hate feeling out of control in a conversation, and I feel at a loss for words more than ever. This isn’t my Cliff. Not even a little. “You seem irritated.”

“I am,” he confirms without hesitation, making my head jerk back. His words are so matter-of-fact. Transactional.

“Why?” I ask stiffly, mirroring his tone.

He looks back to his truck idling in his driveway, hazy puffs from the exhaust warming the chilly air. Loud music from the radio blasts inside. Brittany taps Emily on the shoulder, and Emily looks like she’s seconds away from murdering her little sister.

Cliff faces me again, resting his eyes on my lips before looking back up.

“Because I’m really confused about us and I’m trying to sort through it,” he confesses.

My body heats. Goose bumps skitter over my arms. For once, I’m not sure I like how honest Cliff is.

“Us?” I ask.

“Us,” he echoes. “We agreed it was fine if we were friends, but … then you set me up on a date with your sister. And … it’s not … I don’t know. I said yes, so it’s my fault too.”

“If you felt weird about it, why’d you agree?” I ask.

“Because you told me I needed to move on. And, listen, you’re right, but …” He groans, as if upset with himself now. “But then I found out you never really felt the same about it as I did. And that …” He shakes his head. “That wasn’t fun to hear. Especially since it didn’t come from you.”

I’m speechless, my mouth opening and closing like a gutted fish. And part of me is gutted, torn in two because … not having feelings for Cliff? I snort, crossing my arms at my own thoughts. Quite frankly, I have too many feelings for this man. And right now, they’re bordering on frustration.

“Cliff—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “Really. I’ll get over it.”

“No, it’s not fine at all. Let’s talk about this.”

“Later.”

“Why not now? I didn’t say that. And it’s not true.”

He pinches his nose. “Michelle, it’s seven in the morning. I’ve already been up since four to prep the bakery, and I’m about to be late driving my daughters to their last day of school before break.” He holds his palm out. “And you’re standing there, freezing your ass off. I mean”—he laughs sardonically—“what type of conversation do you want to have right now?”

My blood pressure rises up to my ears.

“I don’t know,” I admit sharply. I repeat on a haughty breath, “I don’t know, Cliff. But I did have feelings. I do. I …” I shake my head. “I don’t know. You’re right. We can’t talk about it right now.”

He nods understandingly, the small bit of the Cliff I know seeping through. “All right.” He turns to walk toward the car, then whirls back around with a sigh. “And, for the record, of course it’s okay if you stay with us. Don’t think my irritation has any bearing on our friendship.”

“How can it not?” I say on a disbelieving laugh.

“Because you mean more to me than just a simple, confusing kiss.”

The quiet around us is deafening. The wind whips past my ears, but suddenly, I don’t feel so cold.

He runs his free palm through his hair. A little strand sticks out. “Stay with me.”

“What?”

“For Thanksgiving. I’ll take one of the girls’ beds since they’ll be gone anyway.”