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He doesn’t shake my hand with half his palm like I’m frail, but instead like I’m an equal—something most men at my company struggle to balance.
My heart aches. Something about when kids cry a single tear makes it infinitely sadder. And it’s worse when it’s my daughter.
“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.”
Birdie’s favorite pastry was cinnamon rolls. I’m determined to know Michelle’s too. It’s like an itch I need to scratch.
“He’s a loser,” Cliff repeats, moving back to kneading dough. “Why else would he cheat on you? You’re stunning.”
“You’re stunning. And he’s a bonehead.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. I like that he says my full name, mostly because I know it’s intentional. 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.
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.
What is a sisterly relationship if not tumultuous with immediate forgetfulness?
The man loves when his compliments disarm me because his smile always reaches the little wrinkles beside his eyes.
The world tilts. It suddenly feels like I’m falling through the ground, straight to the center of the earth. God, she’s breathtaking.
“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.”
You deserve to be taken care of, Michelle.”
“Can I…can you tell me what her favorite dessert is? I figure…I don’t know…I’d like to find out how to make it or something.” Cliff’s shoulders deflate, and he nods, breathing out, “Apple fritter.”
I’ve seen her without makeup, but even without her armor, she’s stunning.
And it hits me. I love this woman. I don’t know when it happened. It slipped over me so softly, like the changing of seasons. The seeping scent of baked bread first thing in the morning. A wistful sigh on a perfect fall day.
But with Cliff, it’s…easy. It’s respect, accented with adoration. It’s flannels instead of suits. It’s not going to fancy parties; it’s playing in the snow.
He’s such a beacon of light in this winter weather that I swear even the snowflakes part for him.
