If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

One year ago, our parents retired to a small town in Vermont to open a kitschy bed-and-breakfast. It was technically both of theirs, but it was Mom’s heart and soul. It makes sense that Copper Run residents are here. Mom was the kind of person who could be revered and loved in only a year. Give me two years in a single room with one person, and we’d still be strangers. Maybe that’s where I went wrong in my marriage.

Rocket doesn’t listen to me. He barely lets me pet him. But what was I supposed to do? Rocket’s fate came down to either staying with me or following Allen into the humane society. Rocket’s prima donna disposition would have been appalled, and I’m not even remotely that heartless. Realistically, Rocket shouldn’t be in the chapel, but he won’t bother anyone—even if he does give me the cold shoulder.

“Did D.A.R.E. teach you nothing?” Emily shrugs. “It made smoking sound cool actually.” I can’t hold back my grin as I shake my head. “You’re such a little snot. And it’s not cool. How cool can it be if Carol does it?” “I’m standing right here,” Carol says. “Your aunt is an adult,” I continue. “She’s allowed to make terrible, life-ruining decisions.” “When can I make terrible decisions?” Emily asks. “When you’re fifty.” “Oh, wow, maybe by then I’ll be old enough to date Josh too,” Emily says sarcastically. I smirk. “He’ll be dead by then, the old geezer.”

“Her lipstick was smeared,” she says. “It was,” Betty chimes in with a solemn nod. She’s outside her sandwich shop, pushing a dustless broom. Nosy. “I saw it too.” Dolly, three more doors down at the bookstore, tips her empty watering can over dry flowers. Winston chuckles from his stool. “You’re in trouble.” It’s impossible to have a one-on-one conversation in this town. “Yeah, I know it was smeared,” I mutter to all of them.

I raise my girls day by day, week by week. It’s always something new, and I always hope the problems get spread out over the course of weeks or years. But sometimes they happen all at once on the same day.

But the more he talks, the more it dawns on me that Tracy still hasn’t called. Again. The Burke family is held together by duct tape, glue, and the old wood of this bakery. But we are held together, and I suppose that’s all we can ask for. It’ll be my ex-wife who sends me into a stressful, early grave. Maybe I can hang out with Birdie in heaven.

windows. I look up and watch a taxi pass by. I don’t know the last time I saw a taxi rumbling through Copper Run. I lean over the counter with George continuing to murmur in my ear, peering through the car’s back window. Inside, a stiff border collie watches the town square buildings pass. And beside the dog, a beautiful, familiar woman flips over a map.

When I left Seattle, I intended to disappear completely. Thankfully, Copper Run is in the middle of nowhere, Vermont.

In Seattle, buildings overshadow the already scarce trees. But out here, it’s all foliage and fences. Not a skyscraper in sight.

I lean over the center console, watching the hills of autumn gold and red slowly part to reveal a white lattice sign. Welcome to Copper Run!

“What’re you gonna do all the way out here?” Louis asks. “I’m running a bed-and-breakfast.” A sentence I would have never uttered thirty days ago. He chortles out a “No kidding?” “No kidding,” I echo.

The crisp air is a reprieve from the smoky taxi. 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.

Mom gave the inn to Sara, but my little sister has one semester left in art school, and she’s already taken a couple of gap years. Dad can barely get out of bed, let alone run the love of his life’s dream business. So, I’m doing what I always do—whatever needs to be done. Which means running this place until Sara graduates in December.

This is the man from Mom’s wake. That same sensation—the feeling of being seen, our eyes snagging—overtakes me once more. His eyes scan my own before tracing over me—from my cheeks to my lips and farther, to my fist clutching Rocket’s collar. Closer now, I can see his eyes are a

I’m in some type of awe too. There are lots of beautiful women in Copper Run, but I can’t remember the last time I saw someone as breathtaking as her. Even now, out of her black funeral dress

“So,” Carol says, “Michelle, how do you like it in Copper Run so far?” “I’ve only been here an hour.” “An hour?” Carol gawks. “I stole her,” I say nonchalantly. “I did too!” Brittany adds. “Is the inn yours now?” Emily interjects, crisscrossing her legs in the chair.

“Y’know, I promised Birdie I’d help you. Well, Sara, but also you.” She raises an eyebrow.

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. I know who I am. I’m proud of who I am. I built my advertising career from nothing. I was the first female manager in our office and the first advertising manager in our company overall. I’ve worked very hard to be in a position where people do what I tell them. Sara got Mom’s carefree, optimistic gene. She even helped pick out this property. When Mom bought it, I didn’t find out until after the signature had long dried.

Mom romanticized this town so much that it started to feel untouchable. It’s like a little pocket of the universe that existed only in her imagination. A place with the best pumpkin pies in the world, festivals for every holiday, and perfectly breezy autumn weather.

“So, what exactly is your plan here, Michelle?” I tug at my earring and pull my knees up to my chest. “I’m here to keep this place running,” I answer honestly. “If I can make it until December with this place intact, then I’ll be happy.” “What happens in December?” “I go back to Seattle. Back to my job. My life. Dad and Sara will move back and take over.”

I wish she could see me now. I’m running her inn. I’m doing fine with my career in Seattle. People listen to me. I sell dreams and make them happen. No, I’m not just fine—I’m thriving. I’ll make her inn thrive too.

“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.”

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 sarcastic and shameless and cocky and…attractive.

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.

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. Michelle won’t laugh out of pity, so when I do get one, I know it’s real. I know I’ve cracked through yet another brick in her wall.

“What? Are we not making fun of the kid anymore?” “Maybe—” Cliff gasps. “She got to you. You’re a double agent. You’ve been compromised.” I tongue my cheek to hold in a laugh. “You know…maybe we should give him a chance. Let him come over for dinner or something. Don’t you trust her?” He pulls in a breath and sighs. “Yes.” “At least spend an evening with him.” Cliff hums for a second, then nods. “Fine. But you have to endure it too.”

“I can’t believe I’m starting over. I’m in my thirties. No guy wants a thirty-year-old.” Cliff grins. “I love women in their thirties.”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret. Men? We want women. Period. Over thirty. Forty. Hell, over sixty. Short, tall, brunette, blond—doesn’t matter. We like them all. Especially women over thirty.”

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.”

down one side. “Happy birthday,” Cliff says. “You said you don’t like big celebrations. And there’s no way you ate dinner tonight. Also”—he picks up the remote to the TV—“I checked what’s on TV tonight, and you’re in time for Saturday Night Live.” My mouth opens and closes. “Cliff…” “I hear Chris Farley is hosting—” A laugh bubbles out of me. “Cliff…this is—” “All right?” he finishes for me with an unsure lilt to his words. “Is it all right?” “It’s all right,” I agree, but all right comes out more like perfect, and I can tell he knows. I reach up to twist my earring. “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.

“You’re not underwhelming,” I say, smiling.

I have a crush on my very unattainable friend. Maybe in another world, it could work out. I don’t know what world that would be, but it sure isn’t this one, where I’m a walking tornado and she’s beautiful, out of my league, and leaving in two months.

“Not even a little bit. You deserve to be taken care of, Michelle.”

I don’t need to feel my heart beating faster. And I definitely don’t need to confirm my newest secret. I like Cliff Burke. Like like, as Emily might say. I like his deadpan humor and his messy, complicated life. I like the fact that he needs touch as much as he needs oxygen. I like that he says what he wants and takes what he wants and doesn’t apologize for either. I like that, at the end of the day, he’s my friend. I like Cliff Burke. And this charming guy who has the entire small town wrapped around his finger? I know he could never like an abrasive woman like me.

Halloween is the biggest holiday in Copper Run. Sure, we love Christmas too, with the snowflakes hanging on bare branches and hot chocolate stands, but if you want to get Copper Run hyped up, place a few crusty skeletons in the yards and blast the “Monster Mash.” If you live here, it’s expected that you celebrate ghouls and slasher films like the good resident that you are and you always wear a costume.

I have butterflies for this small-town baker nestled in Vermont. For this man—a friend—I would have never met in any lifetime except this one, with my divorce and without my mom. But I’m not sure I’d want to be in any other place right now, and that’s the scariest part.

I bust out laughing, 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.

“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 wouldn’t regret this,” I whisper. Cliff blinks at me, eyes darting between mine. “You wouldn’t?” I shake my head side to side. “No.” Cliff slowly traces his fingers along my jaw. The glove’s fabric is rough, catching in my hair as he cups the back of my neck. I close my eyes when he purses his lips on my forehead, lingering for a moment before trailing a kiss to my temple. My cheek. My jaw. Cliff is slow with action, like he’s savoring every piece of me I’m allowing him to touch.

exhales. “Ah, screw it.” Cliff sinks his hand into my hair, cups my head, and collides his lips with mine.

I stop next to Michelle. I don’t know what to say. I wish I could tell her that everything about tonight was so new to me, that it was the first time in nearly twenty years that I felt alive again.

Somewhere in the last month, we’ve become inseparable, and I don’t know when it started. It’s like how, one day, the leaves are bright and green, and then, suddenly, they’re flittering to the ground in dull browns and oranges. The seasons of our relationship changed without my consent. Now I don’t know what to make of us.

Maybe it’ll be best for both of us when we leave. He won’t be heartbroken over Brittany, and I won’t be desperately grasping for every moment I can with the charming local baker. It’s pathetic. Selfish. In two months, Rocket and I can get back to our comfortable, less confusing version of happy.

“Uh-huh,” he muses, his voice low as his blue eyes flick between mine. “And what is my type, Michelle?” I straighten my spine. “Blond. Bubbly.” He tongues his cheek. He looks irritated, but that only makes me stand taller. He’s never been like this with me, and I don’t know what to do with it. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Blond. Bubbly. That pretty perfectly describes the woman I divorced.” The words ooze with disdain. It’s like getting shot in the chest, puncturing my heart so swiftly that I didn’t see it coming. “Are you mad at me now?” I ask sharply.

Unfortunately, I’ve developed this irritating attraction to sour, controlling brunettes. I can’t say no to Michelle. And that is why I’m five minutes away from picking up this woman’s sister for a date.

“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.” “That’s not…” I laugh through growing nerves. “We’re friends.”

“She tells you things she won’t even tell me.” “Okay, we’re close friends,” I amend. “She’s in love with you too, isn’t she?” “No, it’s not like that.”