If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

We exchange another small smile, and he goes back to kneading the dough. Cliff can be frustrating. But I also kinda like him. A little bit.

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.

He’s got that baker charm.

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.”

Not my baker Cliff.

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

My stomach tightens into a hard knot. I like Michelle. I’m attracted to Michelle, which isn’t news to me at all, but this heart-pounding affection…it’s foreign yet so oddly familiar, all at once.

I have a crush on my very unattainable friend.

“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.

A person I wish wasn’t interrupting the heart-pounding thrill I’d experienced from kissing someone else for the first time.

And for the first time, my precious meat lovers pizza tastes like shit. Absolute shit.

“He didn’t even look at my cleavage, which, for the record, is incredible. I put glitter on the girls.”

“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.

What is with this weird assumption that I like blondes? Didn’t I divorce a blonde?

And all at once, I know it as clear as day. I love him. I love him.

I love this man.

I’m in love with a good guy.

“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. So, what do I do? Huh? What do I do?”

My Cliff. All mine.

And it hits me. I love this woman.

I love Michelle. I’ve loved her for far too long.

We were friends, parting ways one month ago, and now she’s a woman I love, leaving Copper Run. Again.

Words against Michelle? Not in my house. Not anywhere.

It’s not the end of the world. And we feel fine.