If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

If Carol is a cannoli, Tracy is a yule log—more difficult to bake than it needs to be and only seen by me at Christmas.

I decided weeks ago that Josh was undeniably a fig roll. Dry and boring.

Somehow, her being annoyed with me only makes her prettier. Flushed cheeks serve her well.

I wonder what pastry she likes. I wonder if it smells like the burnt sugar on her neck.

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.

He’s so different from me. If I’m autumn, he’s spring. He’s all smiles and glowing warmth.

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.