38. Cliff
Chapter 38
Cliff
T he morning Tracy rolls into town is, of course, the one day we get multiple orders placed for holiday parties around town. I called George and told him his usual order wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow. Considering he and Lisa are attending two out of the three other parties I’m catering, he didn’t hem and haw much.
Once everything is either finished or in the oven for Carol, I frantically rush back to the house with flour on my arms and probably smeared somewhere on my face. My tires screech over the driveway with the key fob jangling against the ignition. Emily walks out the back door with lifeless, bored eyes.
I barely have the car door open before she’s whispering, “Mom keeps asking Josh about his plans for the future. Make her stop asking Josh things.”
“She’s your mother; be nice.”
“She’s also asking where you’ve been.”
“Perfect,” I breathe out sarcastically.
“That’s your ex-wife; be nice,” Emily mocks.
I ruffle her hair, and she pushes my palm away.
Creaking open the screened back door is a Herculean effort because I know in two seconds, I’ll see?—
Tracy.
Standing in our kitchen, with one hand pressing buttons on our phone and the other clutching her beeper, is my ex-wife. Her lips are pursed tightly, but her hair is pulled back in an even tighter ponytail. Her sharp, tailored blazer and slacks look like they popped out from the pages of Michelle’s Cosmopolitan. The city life suits her.
Years ago, she wore T-shirts and denim. She went through a funny leg-warmer phase in our early twenties and a padded blazer phase years later. As time passed, I realized she always hinted at wanting more than the small-town life. She always wanted to be more put together, and now, she has the money to do so.
Tracy’s eyes dart back and forth between the two pieces of technology until the door snaps shut behind me. She jerks her gaze to mine. I hold up a hand in a wave. She returns it while tucking the beeper back on her belt loop and leaning the kitchen phone between her ear and shoulder.
She holds up a single finger in my direction. Please wait.
Brittany, sitting at the breakfast nook, flashes me a piece of paper with crayon-doodled stick people.
“Look, Dad! I drew you and Michelle!”
“That’s great, Britt Britt.”
“Did you see Rocket too?” She shakes the flopping, crinkled paper closer.
It’s a drawing of me, Michelle, and the two girls. My mouth crooks into a smile. Michelle is wearing a short red skirt. Emily has big black circles for eyes, probably to show how doe-eyed she is. In the corner, there’s a black-and-white dog with stick legs.
“I love it,” I say. “We’ll put it on the fridge.”
“Yay!” she squeals.
I press my finger to my lips, and Brittany mirrors the motion.
“We gotta be quiet while Mom’s on the phone though, all right?”
“Why?” Emily asks loudly from the corner.
I run a palm over my face.
Emily passes her mom like she’s not even there, reaching in the fridge to grab some pop and take it into the next room. Josh follows dutifully.
Tracy crosses her arms, peering into the dining room to look at Emily, silent on the phone. Suddenly, she straightens up, switching her phone to her other ear. “Hi. Yes, this is Tracy Marie.”
She’s going by her middle name now?
“Mmhmm.”
As Tracy continues her conversation, the back door opens, almost slamming into my back. Michelle’s head pokes through.
“Trying to kill me?” I whisper with a grin.
“Sorry,” Michelle says, snickering. Her voice isn’t low, so it cuts through the kitchen like a knife.
Tracy flicks her eyes at Michelle, like laser beams ready to fire.
Tracy was always stiff around women. She had a few friends in Copper Run, but I don’t think she’s talked to them since moving. Most of all though, she never liked when I made other women laugh.
I move to the side, guiding Michelle in with a hand on her lower back.
Emily traipses back in the kitchen with a grin on her face, leaning against the doorway, loudly slurping on her can. She’s here for the drama.
“Hey, Michelle,” she says at normal volume, obliterating the quiet again.
I roll my eyes, and Emily grins wider.
Tracy covers the receiver. “Let me call you back, Doug. Mmhmm. Yep. Mmkay. Buh-bye.” She jabs her finger against the phone’s button, staring at our motley crew.
Emily slurps again. It echoes.
Michelle takes the first step forward, extending her hand. “Hi. You must be Tracy.”
Tracy turns her head to the side, as if analyzing Michelle’s entire being—her body, her face, her hair, which has that freshly washed bounce to it.
It’s weird, seeing them side by side because, aside from the hair color (Tracy’s high blonde ponytail and Michelle’s brown) and the complexion (Tracy’s ivory and Michelle’s almost olive), they look like they could be friends. At minimum, colleagues. Like two sides of the same coin.
Tracy takes Michelle’s hand and shakes in a definitive way. Almost jerky.
“This is Michelle,” I say. “She owns the inn next door.”
“She’s dad’s best friend,” Brittany throws in, mindlessly coloring, not realizing she threw a grenade into the room.
“Really?” Tracy asks, blinking at Michelle.
Michelle rolls her eyes with a smile. “He helps with the inn a lot.”
“Sounds like Cliff. Did he force you to be his friend?”
“I forced him actually,” Michelle says matter-of-factly.
I bark out a laugh without thinking. It’s not true, and we both know it, but I can see what she’s doing.
He’s not a burden , she’s saying.
And, God, I love her for it.
Tracy and Michelle might be equally intense women, but they’re undeniably different .
Michelle’s posture is tall. Her look is effortless. She’s not wearing a blazer, like Tracy. Michelle’s only in a button-up and jeans, but it’s somehow nicer. Tucked in. And Tracy keeps looking at all of her with hawk eyes.
“So”—Tracy claps her hands together—“what’s new out here, family? What are we doing?”
I don’t miss the family dropped in there, and I also catch the side-eye Tracy gives to Michelle.
I don’t like that. Not one bit.
Brittany shrugs. “We play in the snow.”
“That’s fun,” Tracy says with raised eyebrows, but the words are stilted, then quiet.
I’m not sure she knows how to interact with her girls anymore. Emily bemoaned how uncomfortable Thanksgiving was for the entire week afterward. I didn’t consider it might be this bad though.
Tracy takes in Michelle again, eyes flicking from her face down to her black loafers. We’re probably standing closer than best friends should, and Tracy clocks it from a mile away. But neither I nor Michelle budge.
Tracy’s eyes narrow.
What the hell?
I work out my stiff jaw with a forced smile. “Hey, how about we put up the Christmas tree, huh? We’ve been waiting for Mommy to arrive to do that, haven’t we?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” Brittany gasps, leaping up and running into the living room with a happy squeal.
Yesterday, I brought down rattling boxes of decorations from the attic. I almost dropped them halfway down the ladder, but Emily and Michelle fumbled to catch my fall. All four of us laughed about it for a while after. It felt comfortable. It felt like home.
Now, with Tracy flashing a big smile to us and following her daughter into the living room, the house feels still, like the static air before a storm. Emily raises both eyebrows at Michelle and me and exhales.
“Fun,” she whispers sarcastically.
I give a weak smile as she leaves to go in the living room too.
The kitchen is quiet again.
“So, that’s your ex,” Michelle announces.
I nod solemnly, trying to gauge her reaction, but she seems unaffected. So sure of herself. I smile. Of course she is; she’s Michelle. But I also know she hides behind a lot of walls.
“She’s not so bad,” Michelle says.
“She’s not,” I agree. Except I keep thinking about that look she gave Michelle and how much I didn’t like it.
“This won’t be an issue.”
I smirk at Michelle. “Oh, really?”
“I’ve handled harsher women. I’m a harsher woman.”
I wrap my arm around Michelle’s waist and tug her into my hip. I run my thumb up to her ribs and lean over to nip her earlobe between my teeth. She hisses in a breath, followed by bubbling laughter. Having her in my arms instantly makes me feel better.
Her eyes cling to the threshold Tracy passed through. She might not want me to think she’s self-conscious, but I can read her like a book.
Pressing my forehead against her temple, I whisper, “Have I told you lately how badly I want to rip off these pants?”
I tuck my palm into her back pocket and squeeze a handful of her cheek.
A small smile slides over her lips.
There we go.
“Many times,” she whispers back.
“Ah, I was afraid of that.”
“You can tell me again, if you want though.”
“How about I show you later?” I murmur. “Maybe unzip them with my teeth, if you’re lucky.”
Shivers break out over her neck. I trace my finger over them.
“You want that?”
“Of course I do,” she answers defiantly. If she’d tacked on the word idiot , it would have fit seamlessly.
I run my nose over her neck. She leans back, exposing herself to me more as I place kiss after kiss down her jaw and onto her collarbone. I feel her swallow.
God, she’s intoxicating, and she’s mine . For some reason, this quiet, closed-off woman chose me . She lets my hands roam where they like. I didn’t know something this healthy could exist, yet here I am, with a woman who longs for my touch.
Michelle leans back and traces her fingertips over my jaw.
“Are you doing all right?” she asks. “Seriously.”
I smile, kissing her once more, tucking my thumb under the hem of her jeans and murmuring, “Come on. We’ve got a Christmas tree to put up.”
She inhales an offended breath, then grabs a fistful of my shirt and pushes me away.
“You tease,” she snarls with a grin.
I chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called a tease.”
I walk behind her through the dining room, and she halts in front of me. Instinctually, I grab her hips to steady us both, but she takes the opportunity to push her ass against me.
I choke out a laugh. “Michelle?—”
“Good luck with your boner,” she whispers, reaching behind her to pat the growing bulge in my jeans for good measure.
I let out a frustrated growl as we cross into the living room.
Brittany digs through the box of ornaments. Emily sifts through her CD collection next to the stereo. But from the armchair, Tracy stares at Michelle and me with tense, pursed lips.