23. Cliff
Chapter 23
Cliff
“ B rittany, off the counter. Sorry, George.”
George waves his hand away with a smile. Brittany kicks her legs out, then back in on the bakery’s front counter. Her heels bang against the hanging sign below.
“Britt Britt, head to the kitchen.” I pat her back, coaxing her down. “I bet Aunt Carol would love to hear a detailed breakdown of Steve’s fight last night.”
Brittany’s lips form a big O as she hops down and rushes to the kitchen.
I exhale and run a palm through my hair.
“Wasn’t she staying at the inn after school?” George asks.
I rest my palms on the counter. “Would you like doughnuts or not, George?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then, no questions, please.”
“Was it because of Halloween?”
“George …” I seethe.
He holds his hands up in the air.
“I’ll bring them to your car in a second.”
He gives a grumbling affirmation, then exits through the dinging door.
I stride back to the kitchen and find Carol nodding intently with wide eyes as Brittany regales the most recent wrestling match.
“Is that so? Wow ,” Carol says, feigning interest.
I lean my hip beside Brittany sitting on the prep table.
“He also does this thing where?—”
“Do you have any homework?” I interrupt.
She’s mid-sentence but nods. “Uh-huh.”
“Perfect. Go to my office, start it, and then I’ll lock the door behind you and throw away the key.”
“Dad,” she says through giggles.
“Come on. You’re all over the place today,” I say, pushing my hands under her armpits and lifting her. “Did they give you crack at school?”
“Pixi Stix,” she answers as I carry her on my hip.
“Close enough,” I murmur, kicking open my office door.
My desk is a mess. Papers that are, admittedly, never organized are now haphazard, flopping over the corner and fluttering to the floor by the wind from the open door. Order receipts overflow from their Tupperware, and some of the typed numbers are blurry from streaks of icing. Nothing is where it should be. I’ve been distracted, to say the least.
I unceremoniously swipe an arm over my desk and shove everything to one side. A pen or two clatters to the floor.
“Got your backpack in here?” I ask.
“Yep!” Brittany points to the corner.
She swivels around in my office chair while I unzip it and dig out her folder, placing it on the desk. I grip the back of the chair and halt it.
“Pencils are here.” I prop a cup full of pens and pencils in front of her. “Water bottles are behind you. Coffee machine is in the corner—I know you can’t live without it.”
She giggles. “I don’t drink coffee.”
I kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll check back in an hour, okay? Clock is up there if you wanna keep track,” I say, pointing to the wall clock, which is ticking loud enough to feel like a metronome in my cluttered brain.
“Got it,” she replies, rattling a pencil out of the cupholder.
I go to close the door, but she yells, “Dad!”
“Yes?”
“You aren’t really gonna lock it, are you?”
I roll my eyes with a smile. “Of course not.”
Shutting the door behind me, I trudge back to the kitchen with a sigh. It’s been a long week since Halloween. Brittany won’t go near the inn, in fear of Rocket, so now, she hangs out at the bakery after school. Emily barely talks to me. And everything that happened between Michelle and me is shoved under the rug.
It’s absolutely fantastic.
Not. Emily’s teen voice runs through my head.
The other night, I dreamed about Halloween again. For a fleeting moment, I felt like I was there, palms splayed over Michelle’s back, across her ribs, cupping her cheek. But I woke up, and all I saw was my circling ceiling fan.
I can’t get her flavor out of my mouth. I realize everything I’ve been trying to bake for her is nothing like the real thing. She isn’t cinnamon. She’s honey all the way through, and I need to taste it again.
“Sorry you lost your free babysitting,” Carol says.
I run a palm through my hair, but it does nothing to keep it out of my eyes.
“We can’t help that Brittany is scared of Rocket,” I respond with an exhale. “It’s understandable. But a little less chaos in the bakery would be nice.”
The bell above the door chimes again.
“Be there in a minute, George,” I call.
I rush to grab the doughnuts cooling on the rack. Carol strides past me.
“I’ll stall him.”
“Thanks.” I chuckle, patting her on the shoulder as she passes.
But as I’m loading up the doughnuts from the tray to the box, Carol returns.
“It’s Michelle,” she says. “She wants three peach pies.”
Her name alone has my heart leaping into my throat.
“Three?” A laugh bubbles up. “She’s worse than George.”
I round the corner to the front of the store. It’s raining outside, beating down on the sidewalk and splattering against the glass windows. But in the center of the lobby is the only woman who could make a rainy day seem not half bad. Maybe it’s because she’s a bigger storm cloud, and I like that about her. At her feet, Rocket sits, his nose wiggling, no doubt smelling the last croissants of the day finishing in the oven.
“Three peach pies?” I ask Michelle. “Really?”
She lifts a single shoulder. “No, only cookies. And an apple fritter.”
“You wanted to get my attention?”
“Yes.”
“I assume an apple fritter for Emily?”
“You’re too good.”
“I know my girl.”
I flick through order form sheets and click a pen with my thumb. I almost fumble it. I can’t help but feel on edge. We’re doing fine as friends, but there’s a tightening in my chest whenever she’s around now. Erasing the taste of her isn’t something I can do overnight—or in seven days for that matter.
“So, ol’ Paulie’s coming back in town?” I ask, forcing conversation.
I don’t like the lingering silences between us anymore, and when I add a grin, too, it feels unnatural.
“Ol’ Paulie,” Michelle muses with a smile. “Yeah, my dad and my sister will be here next week.”
“Excited?”
“Yes,” she says on a breath. “My dad sounds like he’s doing a bit better. And my sister is excited to travel out here. She loves going anywhere. She’s a hippie at heart.”
“We should get her a van.”
“Sara wishes.”
I chuckle. “Well, I’m excited to meet your sister. If she’s half as blunt as you, I’ll learn many new things about myself by the end of the month.”
“No, Sara’s nicer than me,” she says. “She’s total sunshine. Kind. Generous.”
“So are you. You gave up a lot to be here for her,” I say.
Suddenly, she’s quiet, blinking to herself, as if maybe she’s never considered it a sacrifice before. Of course she wouldn’t.
“Well,” she says quietly, “she means the world to me.”
The way her eyes glass over when she says it makes the corner of my mouth tip up. Her smile is a mix of admiration and contentment. It feels like I’m watching something I shouldn’t.
Rocket sniffs the seat near the door but stands solidly next to it. Always so statuesque.
Michelle catches me looking.
“Rocket misses her,” she says.
“Does he?”
I don’t blame him for Halloween. He’s a dog after all. Man’s best friend … more like a little girl’s best friend.
I pull open the display case and pull out a biscuit. I tear off part of it and step out from the counter. Rocket watches with cautious eyes as I bend down and hold it out. Sniffing, he walks closer, gingerly looking from it to me before nibbling the bread from my fingers.
I’m on edge, more than I should be as a grown man. But when I pat his head and he leans into my palm, it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.
“He waits by the back door for her every day,” Michelle says.
“Like how you wait on the front porch for me?” I ask.
She scoffs, her mouth gaping open with a twitching smile. “I do not .”
“Hey, you can admit it. I won’t get a big head. And I’m sure you’ll bring me back down to earth if I did anyway.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“See?” I point out.
She slides her pendant over the delicate chain, holding back a laugh.
I rise and walk back behind the counter. “So, what can I do to help with your family coming into town?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “How can I help Brittany get comfortable with Rocket again?”
“Ah, so neither of us has answers.” I smile.
“What’s new?” Michelle says.
“Not a thing.”
And then, the moment I have a permanent smile on my face from our banter, logging her cookie order, Michelle says, “I meant what I said on Halloween. I … I think you should get back out there.”
My pen cuts across the page.
I don’t look away from the paper when I attempt to casually ask, “Get out where?”
“Dating.”
“Should I?” I add stiffly.
“You should,” she confirms. “It’s been two years for you. You deserve a second shot at happiness.”
I huff out a weak laugh. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” I rub the back of my neck, and I still can’t look at her. “I’ve never dated anyone except Tracy. What do you even say over dinner? Do you like the chicken? I got the pork; it’s fine. But don’t try the wine; it’s not divine .”
“You’d rhyme the whole time?”
“Now, you’re doing it. See? It’s contagious.”
She laughs. “Seriously. Go on a date. See what happens. And be yourself.”
“’Cause that worked out so well the first time.”
Finally, I look at her. Her eyebrows are pulled in the middle.
“I want you to be happy, Cliff.”
I don’t want to date anyone. And it’s not because I’m nervous. It’s because I want the storm cloud of a woman in front of me. I want the unattainable. Problem is, I can’t say no to this woman either way.
“Fine, I’ll get out there,” I concede.
She smiles. “I’ll put out feelers. Lisa has the hots for you.”
“Not into married women,” I tease back with an eye roll. But it doesn’t stifle the tugging in my chest.
Two months.
She’s leaving in two months.
From behind me, tiny footfalls echo out from the kitchen. Brittany peeks from behind the counter at Rocket. When he finally sees her, she pops her head away again.
“It’ll take time,” I say to him.
Unfortunately, time is what we both need more of.