If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

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.

I want to go to there

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.

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.”

The world tilts. It suddenly feels like I’m falling through the ground, straight to the center of the earth. God, she’s breathtaking.

How the hell did I get privileged enough to see this side of her?

“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.

“Ah, screw it.” Cliff sinks his hand into my hair, cups my head, and collides his lips with mine. It takes the breath out of me. I stumble, but his other hand steadies my waist. The flame in my chest licks up to my throat. It’s fire. He is fire. My fingers slide up his robe, tangling in the fabric, tugging him closer. And when his hard chest hits mine, I melt into it.

FINALLY !!!!

“I want you to be happy and—” His next words almost come out in a whisper. “Have you ever thought I might be happy with you?” I tense, taking in a shaky breath. “You can’t mean that.” “I almost wish I didn’t.” “But you said—” “I say so many things that I don’t know what comes out of my mouth half the time,” he says. “But you do…you make me happy. So, there.

I’m stuck in my own damn head with thoughts of you that I can’t get rid of.

I open my mouth to speak. To say, I love you. You can break my walls down. But then Cliff traces his thumb over my bottom lip and says, “I like you because you’re Michelle. And that’s enough.”

Cliff walks around the side of his truck, swinging his keys over his fingers. He’s such a beacon of light in this winter weather that I swear even the snowflakes part for him.

He’s so calm when I’m simply not. But that’s who Cliff is; he’s the glue keeping me together. He has been since day one.