If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

He swivels his eyes toward us, and his gaze lands on mine. It snags, like a stuck zipper in fabric, jerking against my stomach and taking threads with it. My gaze can’t budge. His doesn’t either.

His eyes relax, like he’s mentally extending a chair for me to join him in our silent, all-seeing space. He’s kicking his feet back. He’s not going anywhere. I inhale a shaky breath. How can he seem so at ease, staring at a stranger?

“Who all is out there?” “Apparently the entire town of Copper Run.” “Oh,” he says, a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips. “Good people, that bunch.” “So I hear.”

If people were pastries, Carol would be a cannoli. When you take a bite of a perfect cannoli—even though it’s perfect—it cracks apart, and all that’s left is a gooey center. Carol is always on the verge of showing her soft side.

Burke’s Bakery is both my biggest accomplishment and one of my biggest problems. I love it.

Copper Run smells like crunching leaves and breezes that bite. There’s a hint of something warm in the air too—baked bread of some kind. Maybe a pie or biscuits in the oven. Mazzy Star hums from my neighbor’s open window.

There are lots of beautiful women in Copper Run, but I can’t remember the last time I saw someone as breathtaking as her.

“Carol, this is Michelle. She’s Birdie’s daughter. She’ll be running the inn. Michelle, this is my sister. She lives in a constant state of distress.” Carol extends a hand to Michelle. “That’s my brother. He’s a dick. But it’s nice to meet you.”

I understand why my sister inherited Mom’s pride and joy. Her bubbly personality is perfect for hospitality. I’m the woman who gets things done—not the fun daughter.

“My neighbor invited me to dinner last night.” She gasps. “You went to dinner? With the hot neighbor?” My face heats. “I didn’t say he was hot.” “Yeah, but Mom always said he was. The guy with daughters, right?”

It’s like a whole comedy routine is permanently at his lips, ready to be unleashed without request. Someone walks up to Cliff, and they exchange words. The woman is laughing, clutching her stomach, basically bent over. Okay, Cliff’s not that funny.

My beautiful new neighbor—a woman who seems to roll her eyes at most things I do—is offering to dig around in my pocket. I lean my head back and blink at the sky. The big man upstairs really decided to test me today.

Michelle tucks her fingers closer to the outside, probably making sure to not brush against my inner thigh. Each movement zips through my veins. I haven’t had a hand…well, that close in years. I try to think of anything else. Dennis Rodman kicking that cameraman in the balls. That pig in Toy Story. “Candle in the Wind.”

“This is the start of a very weird friendship.” I return the smile. “Agreed.” “Agreed.”

“Three o’clock,” I repeat. She shakes her thumb higher in irritation. I laugh. “So happy we’re friends now.” “Don’t make me show you a different finger, Cliff.”

People love saying hi here. I’m accustomed to strangers who generally don’t talk to me unless there’s a coffee in hand or in special circumstances, like if I cut them off in traffic. Apparently, every circumstance is special in Copper Run.

One boy grips a skateboard and kicks himself down the sidewalk. Two girls giggle over a magazine with the face of Jonathan Taylor Thomas plastered on the cover. And finally, Brittany emerges with bright pink pants and an oversize Spice Girls tee.

“Mrs. Birdie used to have Pop-Tarts.” I turn around, popping my hip and leaning it against the counter. “Pop-Tarts? Really?” My mother gave her Pop-Tarts? This was the same woman who said TV dinners weren’t nutritious enough.

“Michelle’s not your type. She’ll be here for three months.” “Oh. Never mind.” For some reason, relief washes through me. It’s probably because I know the last thing Michelle needs is Lars and his crumb-filled mustache.

“Of course she’s nice,” I say. “But…she’s nice with many walls up.” I smile to myself. “But even brick houses have charm. So, I’m helping.”

“That’s ridiculous.” “Or endearing.” “I’m not endearing.” “I’m endeared by you.”

“Anyway, thanks for that.” “For what?” “Listening.” “You talk so much; it’s hard not to.” He smirks. “I know.”

“Allen,” I correct. “Right. The loser.” “He’s not a loser. He’s…well, he’s a doctor actually.” I give a pointed stare. “Not a loser.” “He’s a loser,” Cliff repeats, moving back to kneading dough. “Why else would he cheat on you? You’re stunning.” My heart skips as I stammer, “Wh-what?” “That’s not an opinion. That’s a fact. You are. Even when you scowl at me.”

Cliff can be frustrating. But I also kinda like him. A little bit.

Cliff might lean too close or ask too many personal questions that catch me off guard, but he knows how to make people feel seen. Sometimes too seen.

He’s so different from me. If I’m autumn, he’s spring. He’s all smiles and glowing warmth. His blue eyes are so deep, like the first beautiful clear sky of the season. He likes to rest them on my breeze-blown hair, drift them down to my painted lips or to the cardigan falling off my shoulder.

Cliff is attractive when he runs a palm through his hair. He’s attractive when he huffs out frustrated breaths in defense of his daughters. He’s attractive when he smiles, and he’s attractive when he gives that half smirk and the little line beside his lips creases.

Michelle has walls. A lot of them. And I don’t know when they were built—whether it was with Birdie or her ex—but they’ve closed her off to everyone. They’ve made her tough though. Confident. And I kinda like her screw everyone attitude. But she’s also funny. Kind. Gentle even. More generous than she lets on or probably wants anyone to see. I don’t want to remove her walls because that’d destroy her strength, but I’d kill for more peeks into the other side.

Though, selfishly, it’s been nice, hanging out with her recently. I’ve been happier. Like my smiles aren’t as forced as usual. It’s become a game to see how often I can make her laugh.

“I want another Pop-Tart, Britt Britt. Move it or lose it.” “Emily!” she whines. “Move, or I’ll read your diary.” “It’s locked!” “It’s plastic.”

I sheepishly confess, “Men don’t want women like me.” “Like what?” Unfun, too serious, workaholics. “I don’t know,” I mumble. He gives a devilish, absolutely wicked smile. “I think men secretly want women just like you,” he growls, leaning even closer. “And the men who don’t are cowards.”

“Do you trust me?” he asks. “No.” Yes.

“So, it’s a surprise,” I guess. “Why else would I blindfold you, Michelle?” I can think of a few reasons echoes in my head, and my cheeks instantly heat. His low, husky laugh acknowledges my silence. “Naughty. But we’re not those types of friends.” It’s funny though; my heart tightens at his instant denial.

“This, uh…this isn’t because of the card today, is it?” His face scrunches up. “I’ve been planning this since you first told me about your birthday.” Cliff waggles his eyebrows. “Alex made it easier for me to look good doing it.” “His name is Allen,” I correct. “I know,” he says, a wicked smile dancing on his face.

The glow of the small lamp on the front desk reflects on her pink cheeks, casting her eyes in a dark shadow, where she peers at me with a grin. The world tilts. It suddenly feels like I’m falling through the ground, straight to the center of the earth. God, she’s breathtaking.

“Well, if you’re exhausting, so am I,” I say. “High-maintenance. Argumentative. Abrasive. According to my ex, boring.” I scoff. “First off, never call yourself that,” he says sternly with a pointed finger. “And second, what I’m hearing are other words. Classy. Opinionated. And intimidating to people who can’t handle strong women. Which I really like about you.”

Emily barrels down the stairwell with an empty pillowcase flying over her head. “Let’s go get candy!” “Yeah!” Brittany yells in the lowest, most wrestler-like voice a six-year-old girl could muster.

I laugh again, and the joy feels so foreign. But it’s there, releasing from me through a collapsed dam. I hold my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing louder. Cliff smiles down at me, almost like he doesn’t want to see anything else but me.

I’m not sure if it’s in response to the dark tunnel ahead of us or Cliff’s hand entwined with mine. I’m so scared.

“Don’t do something you think you’ll regret,” I whisper. He shakes his head without hesitation. “I wouldn’t regret this.”

And that—that right there—is the exact moment I know I need to kiss him. Because, despite Cliff taking a risk, he immediately backtracks when he thinks I’m uncomfortable. Because he’s that kind of friend. He’s that kind of man.

I can’t get enough. I could kiss him forever.

“I like you, Cliff. Someone needs to tell you that.” And that alone has me smiling. “Thank you for telling me.” “I’ll tell you anytime you need.”

“I want you to be happy, Cliff.” I don’t want to date anyone. And it’s not because I’m nervous. It’s because I want the storm cloud of a woman in front of me. I want the unattainable. Problem is, I can’t say no to this woman either way.

“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.”

“Be happy with the stupid, amazing man next door who is stupidly obsessed with you.”

I don’t want to go on more dates. I want Michelle. Not as a friend. Not as a fling. I want her.

“Oh, but you deserve to! You’re such a catch.” I narrow my eyes. “Are you buttering me up for a third doughnut?” “No, I’m being sincere,” she counters. “You’re a kind man with a great personality.” “People only say that about ugly people.” “You didn’t give me time to say that you’re handsome as well.”

“I feel terrible.” “Was it the date?” I groan, flopping my head into my folded arms on the desk. “It was a mistake,” I grumble. “Of course it was. It wasn’t Michelle.”

I like control over my own life, but somehow, I can’t get my wits about me around Cliff. He’s been the tornado barreling toward me since the day my taxi drove into town.