If It Makes You Happy(92)
I’m frozen on the spot, shivering in the whipping wind.
Cliff eyes my arms, then lurches forward for half a second, like maybe he wants to rub the chill from me, but instead pauses and grits his teeth. “And, for God’s sake, go inside. You’re gonna catch a cold or something.”
I don’t move from my spot as Cliff tightens his fist, then stretches it out. He turns on his heel, and his boots thump on the stone walkway. He crunches through the hard, dying grass between our yards and gets in his truck. He shuts the door, turns down the loud radio, and putters out of his driveway with Brittany and Emily blinking back at me through the window.
CHAPTER 29
Cliff
I slap down a bag of canned food on the folding table outside Brittany’s elementary school.
“You’re a thief,” I joke. “You swindle me out of cans every year.”
Brittany’s elementary school principal—and my former kindergarten teacher—shakes her head with a smile. “Hi, Cliff.”
“Hi, Debra.”
Debra scribbles on her clipboard, then peers up at me through her lashes. She smiles sweetly, chewing on her bottom lip.
I narrow my eyes suspiciously, the twitch of a smile at the edge of my lips. “What?”
“Well, you see, my cousin, she’s got a thing for bakers and …”
Every fiber in me recoils.
“Deb …”
This is the fifth person to pitch their loved one to me today, and it’s only noon. George and Lisa parked outside the bakery with Polaroids of their cute granddaughter. Sandra rushed over after with a handful of photos tucked beside flowers. Divorce proceedings almost feel like a cakewalk compared to hearing, Oh, my aunt’s best friend’s daughter is single …
I force a smile at Debra. The last thing I want is for my neighbors to think I’m ungrateful for their matchmaking, even if it makes me want to stab my eyes out.
“I’m not dating, Deb.”
Her face falls. “What? But Lars said he saw you with Michelle’s sister.”
The knife twists.
“It was a onetime thing.”
I cringe, thinking about how much we brought up Michelle, but Sara wanted to know everything about our relationship, and talking about Michelle felt comfortable. I don’t know how to date, but the thought of Michelle relaxed me.
The smile on Sara’s face grew wider and wider further into the night, until she finally touched me on the arm and said, “You’ve got to tell her.”
All I could respond was, “It wouldn’t work.”
If I’d been asked a few weeks ago whether I should date Michelle, I would have said it didn’t matter. That we were friends and I was going to enjoy every moment with her while I could. But after my date with Sara, things shifted in me, like a craggy, yawning hole opened up in my heart.
I don’t want to go on more dates. I want Michelle. Not as a friend. Not as a fling. I want her. But I know who I am, and I know what our situation is. Michelle loves her life in Seattle. She wants nothing more than to go back. Life after divorce isn’t easy, and any sense of normalcy is so vital. I want her to heal. I would be a selfish man to steal that from her. The last thing I want is to take what’s not mine to begin with.
I clear my throat, coming back to the here and now with another bag of canned food in the crook of my arm and a pastry box in the other.
“Doughnut?” I set it on the table and unfold the top. “Take as many as you want.”
Her eyes light up. “Thanks,” she says, taking out a lemon-filled doughnut.
I figured out Debra’s doughnut preference a long time ago. A sweet, bright, lemon-filled doughnut to match her kind, elementary-school-teacher interior. Some people are easy to guess. Michelle, on the other hand …
“If you change your mind, my other cousin is a dentist and really pretty.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind, Deb.”
“Boy, you’ve got a lot on your hands lately, huh? You know Luke has a crush on Brittany, right?”
“Luke? The boy who pushed my daughter Luke?”
“Yep. Two little wrestling-loving lovebirds.”
“Good grief,” I sarcastically murmur to myself. “Not in my house.”
I recently got accustomed to Josh. Now, I’ve gotta worry about Luke? How did the whole Burke clan go from having zero relationship issues to being saddled with every single one?
Debra sets the pastry aside on a spare sheet of paper, licks the glaze from her thumb, then slides over a piece of paper.
“Hand turkey?” she offers.
“Can’t the school come up with any other crafts to send home?”
Her face turns to unamused stone. “My other cousin—”
I snatch the paper turkey and wave it in the air. “It’s perfect. Thanks for the turkey.”
She waves. “Have a happy Thanksgiving, Cliff.”
I pick up my doughnut box, slap some random kid’s hand turkey on the top, and stroll toward the high school and the second food drive of the day.
It’s cold. It’s overcast. And the fall leaves have mostly disintegrated into a piecemeal mess beside gutters and cracks in the sidewalk. Thanksgiving is only a few days away, but the weather and I aren’t exactly in the turkey-and-cranberry-sauce spirit this year.