26. Cliff
Chapter 26
Cliff
I don’t want to go on a date with Michelle’s sister.
It’s not that Sara isn’t cute. She’s very pretty—perky, I guess would be the best descriptor. Smiley with dimples that I could tuck my thumbs into and blue eyes that would make any man with half a brain, or even none at all, completely obsessed with her.
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.
“I’ll reserve you a table,” Lars says over the phone.
I groan. “Don’t make it a big deal.”
“But it is a big deal.”
“It’s really not.”
“I set out flowers.”
“ Lars. ”
I hear the dial tone before I can argue more.
I sigh. We’re set to have dinner at Lars’s pizzeria in the square. Inevitably, all of Copper Run will see, gossip, and ask questions for the next three to five business days.
I should have anticipated this, but when I asked Sara on a date, all I thought was, If this will make Michelle happy …
I throw on my best sweater, khakis, and a loose sports coat. I look at myself in the mirror, running a hand through my hair and shaking it out.
“Christ,” I murmur, threading fingers through it again and again but stopping because The Flop TM will never go away unless I get a different haircut.
I’ve only been on two first dates in my entire life. The first was at sixteen, when my parents drove me and Tracy to the theater. I paid for popcorn with my birthday money. And then we conceived Emily a couple of weeks later.
The second date was one month after I signed my divorce papers. Carol told me there was passion out there and that I needed to find it. I looked into ads and called a woman who said she loved kids. I drove into Burlington too early, realizing at the hostess stand that I hadn’t made reservations for the restaurant. We went to a sandwich shop down the road instead, talked about our jobs and the future—she wanted three of her “own kids,” then, “no, maybe five”—and then decided not to get dessert. I never called her back, and she never called me either.
I take the stairs down to the living room. Emily and Carol sit in front of the TV, watching some rom-com with Meg Ryan. She’s pretty, but I do not have a thing for blondes. I don’t.
“Be back later,” I call.
I don’t expect them to look—I’m getting Emily’s cold shoulder, and she’s taken sudden solace in her aunt—but they both turn at the same time.
“Whoa,” Emily breathes. “Where are you going tonight, Dad?”
Carol’s surprise is similar, but with an exaggerated gasp. “Hot date?”
I adjust my sleeve cuffs. “Actually, yes.”
Emily’s jaw drops. “Shut up. Really?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve never dated though,” Emily says.
“I did once. Sort of.”
After a second, a cool smile slides onto Emily’s lips. “Oh. Oh, I see.” She shoots out a palm toward Carol. “Cough it up.”
Carol digs in her pocket. “You were right.”
I narrow my eyes and point between them. “What’s going on here?”
“I called it,” Emily says with a grin.
“Called what?” I ask.
“That you and Michelle were totally doing it.”
It feels like a cold bucket of ice—not water because water would hurt less—is thrown in my face.
“Emily. Burke.”
She startles, and I wonder if my tone was sharper than intended. Though I think my blood pressure wanted it to be.
“Ugh,” she groans, rolling her eyes. “I meant dating .”
“I’m not going on a date with Michelle.”
“What?!” Carol asks.
“Shh, Brittany is asleep,” I whisper.
“What do you mean , it’s not Michelle?” Carol hisses back.
“Who are you going on a date with?” Emily asks.
“Sara.”
“Michelle’s sister ?!” they ask at the same time.
“Shh! Yes.”
Carol scrunches up her nose, finally looking at my outfit. “God, you’ve got to change your shoes then.”
“What? Why?” I kick out my brown boots.
“They’re Classic Cliff,” Carol says. “Classic Cliff is the person you show after a few dates.”
“But you weren’t gonna say anything if I was on a date with Michelle?”
Carol shrugs. “Well, yeah, she already knows you and likes you for who you are.”
I suck in a breath, and an awkward silence follows when Carol’s sentence washes over all three of us. I don’t like it.
Emily pops her lips. “They don’t match your jacket, Dad. You need to make a good first impression.”
I clap my hands together and gesture between them. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, but thank you anyway.”
I’m halfway through the back door when Carol calls, “Change your shoes if you want her to like you!”
I hesitate for a moment on the threshold, and then I shut the door behind me, wearing my same brown shoes.
I knock on the door to Bird a colorful macaron would suit her.
“So,” I say, lowering my menu as well. “Art school, huh? That’s really neat.”
“Yes!” Immediately, her expression changes. It’s like light beams through to her very soul at the mention of art. “I have this dream of opening my own studio. Like something with installations that rotate through each month, you know?”
“That sounds ambitious.”
“What can I say? We’re an ambitious family.”
I snort. “You’re right. Michelle can’t cut away from work if she tried.”
“She’s admittedly a bit more ambitious than me.”
I try not to act too interested when I ask, “Is she? How so?”
“Well”—she tilts her head to the side—“she moved to the city in her early twenties—which I would never have done—and she … did it, y’know? Found a job. Moved her way up. Did she tell you she was the first woman exec at her company?”
I smile. “Really?”
“Yeah. And now, God,”—her eyes widen and she shakes her head—“she took over the B and B so easily.” She blows out a breath. “She’s my superhero. And I can’t even imagine how much she’s had to learn about this place in such a short amount of time.”
“She’s a quick learner,” I say, a laugh tickling up my throat. “Very quick.”
Sara exhales shakily. “It’s a lot to learn.”
I peer up at her as her eyes bore a hole through the table’s wood. “Hey, I’m sure you’ll do great.”
“Yeah.” She readjusts in her seat and waves a nonchalant hand in the air. “Ugh, anyway, enough about me. What about you? How’d you get to be a baker?”
“Uh …” I rap my knuckles on the table. “Well, it was a dream forever. Home Ec in high school really resonated with me. And there was a storefront that went vacant—a block away actually—right after my divorce, and … I guess you look at life a little differently after everything you thought was real suddenly isn’t. You embrace silly dreams a bit more.”
Sara blinks at me, nodding slowly, as if really soaking in my words.
“I love that,” she says. “I mean, not the whole divorce thing. That didn’t work out. But I like that you went for it and made your dream come true.”
It’s always weird when people who aren’t divorced discuss divorce. That didn’t work out feels like such an oversimplification of it all. I manage a wan smile anyway.
“How old are you?” she blurts out.
“Thirty-three.”
“Twenty-four,” she counters.
“Oof,” I grunt out, shaking my head and tonguing the inside of my cheek with a hesitant laugh.
She grins. “Too young?”
I don’t know a nice way to say, Yes, because you’re less than ten years older than my daughter , so instead, I tilt my head to the side. “Question for you, Sara.”
“Okay,” she says, giddy.
“Why aren’t you dating someone at school?”
“Is this your dad side coming out?”
I chuckle. “Maybe.”
Sara sits taller. “I’m not interested in boys out there. They like to surf and smoke and listen to dumb music. And … I don’t know … they’re not my type.”
“What is your type?” I ask.
“Older dads.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. “You’re very confident—I’ll give you that.”
Sara grins, shimmying her shoulders as she settles into her seat. “Thank you.”
“Michelle talks really highly of you. It’s nice to see you match what I imagined.”
She blinks. “Wait, what? She did?”
“Yeah. You’re her favorite person in the world.”
Her posture falters more. “She said that?”
“Yes, a ball of sunshine …” I say slowly, then laugh. “Why? You sound like that’s weird to hear.”
“It is.”
“Nah, come on. She’d do anything for you. This should show it.”
“What should?”
“Taking over the inn. She wouldn’t sacrifice her job for anyone else.”
“Did she … I mean, she …” Sara shakes her head. “Yeah. Sure. I guess she doesn’t talk about her emotions much. Not with me.”
I can’t help but smile. “It almost feels rewarding when she does, doesn’t it?”
Sara opens her mouth, then closes it, but Lars comes back to the table before she can answer. We place our orders, and when he leaves again, he looks between us, curls his lips in like he has a secret, then rushes toward the back of the house.
“Don’t be weird, Lars!” I call after him.
Sara’s eyes dart between mine and the door he escaped through. “What does that mean?”
I lean across the table. “Well, just so you know,” I whisper, “this entire town will know about our date by the end of the evening.”
“Really?” she asks.
“Really. They’re vultures, all of them.” I look around, and a few people are staring our way. I wave at Betty until she has enough tact to look back at her pizza slice.
Sara bites her lip. “Well, we should give them something to talk about then.”
I raise my eyebrows, but my heart instantly starts racing.
“Uh, maybe,” I respond.
“I’ll come up with something; don’t worry,” Sara says.
“Come up with what?”
“Something to talk about,” she answers with a playful wink.
All I can manage is an amused laugh. “Man, you two are very different, aren’t you?”
“Who?”
“You and Michelle.”
“Oh. Yeah. Mom always said that too,” she replies. “Two sides of the same coin. Sun and moon. Blonde and brunette. Sagittarius and Scorpio.”
I chuckle. “I never understood the sign thing.”
“Okay, well, Scorpios are intense. That’s Michelle.”
“She’s definitely that,” I agree. “It took me forever to get a reaction out of her that wasn’t hate. But, eh”—I lean in like I’m sharing a conspiracy—“pretty sure she still hates me.”
Sara laughs, but it peters off. She curls her lips in.
“Well, Michelle only says what she means,” she says.
I smile. “That’s what I like most about her.”
Sara’s eyes flicker between mine for an uncomfortable moment before she leans forward on her elbows and threads her fingers together.
“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.”
Sara narrows her eyes. “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.”
She toys with her napkin and fork. “Did you want to go on this date?” She peers up at me through her lashes.
My heart sinks.
I exhale. “You’re very nice.”
“But …”
“Michelle wanted me to get back out there, and she really loves you, so it made sense. She really does talk highly of you, and you’re nothing but lovely. But … I also haven’t been on a date in a long time. So, no, I didn’t. But that has nothing to do with you.”
She smiles. “Well, good. Because I am lovely. And I’m happy Michelle has a friend like you.”
I nod. “She means a lot to me. And she’s leaving in two months, and I’m …” I blink for a moment. “I’m happy to have been her friend for this short amount of time. That’s all.” I shrug. “She’s special to me.”
Sara’s mouth gapes open. “Oh my God , you are so obsessed with her.”
I shake my head, continuing to let out uncomfortable laughter. “I’m not.”
“It’s so crazy too. She said nothing was going on between you two.”
My heart skips. “Oh … oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean …” Sara blinks, widening her palms beside her head like she’s trying to comprehend too many things at once. “God, she even joked about it.”
Joked.
I clear my throat. “Did she really?” Suddenly, my chair is very uncomfortable. It’s too hard. I shift my position and click my tongue. “Huh.”
Sara’s eyes widen. “Oh, I didn’t?—”
“No, it’s okay,” I say, managing a laugh. “Yeah.” I inhale and let it out. “Well, like you said, she doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.”
“She … I mean, it’s hard to know what she’s really thinking,” Sara says.
“I know,” I agree. “Yeah, that’s true.”
Of course, it’s that exact moment that Lars comes over with two palms balancing each pizza. He sets it down, grinning between us again.
“Anything I can get for you?” he asks. “A candle?”
I shake my head. “We’re good, Lars.”
And for the first time, my precious meat lovers pizza tastes like shit.
Absolute shit.