Chapter 47
Michelle
M y new favorite Copper Run holiday is New Year's Eve.
Papier-maché stars hang over dim tea lights in the square. Streamers in white, gold, and black twist and drape over archways and lampposts. A small ice rink has been created in a corner of the park, only big enough to fit three skaters at a time. It snowed earlier today, so ice clings to the ground, making each step a little slippery.
Cliff and I run the small booth with the Burke's Bakery sign hanging over the top. The line hasn't been long enough for Cliff to need help, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
I open the cash box, digging out a couple of quarters for George, whose hands are cupped around a coveted chocolate scone. I hold out my hand to empty change into his palm, but he shakes his head.
"Keep the change."
I toss it back into the box and click it shut, peering at Cliff, who is already staring at me.
"What?" I ask with a laugh.
"You look good in my flannel," he says, the side of his mouth tilting up into that halfway grin.
I push up the baggy sleeve of his coat that engulfs me. My luggage is currently in Seattle, where I notably am not.
I called Topsy's and said that I would have to, happily, decline the offer of employment. I then faxed my resignation to my former manager as well, all while proudly adjusting the plaque at Bird & Breakfast's front desk reading, Michelle Cadell, Owner and Operator.
We're working out how to get my luggage back, considering it holds every piece of fashionable clothing I own. For the past four days, I've been wearing Sara's cropped shirts, layered under Cliff's baggy sweaters. It's not much, but it'll do for now.
I traipse over to him, resting my chin on his chest and looking up into his blue eyes.
"I could look better without it," I tease.
He sucks in a breath and lets it out with a laugh. He chews his bottom lip and shakes his head. "I love you—you know that?"
"You can tell me every minute of my life."
His eyes shadow over, and he leans down to whisper, "God, I love?—"
But Brittany runs behind the booth, tugging Rocket on a leash behind her. They both crouch down.
Cliff looks at me, then back at her. "Uh, what's going on, Britt Britt?"
She scrunches her nose. "Luke keeps following me."
Cliff sighs out a low groan. A grin slides over my mouth, but I curl my lips in to hide it. He's not ready for another boy chasing his daughter—literally or figuratively. I can't blame him.
"Hide here all you like," I say, patting the top of her bouncing scrunchie, poking out over her earmuffs. But she's only there for a moment or two before running out again. Kids have short memories, I suppose.
Sara slides up to the booth next, breathing heavily in exhaustion. "Sorry I'm late. Trying to get things cleaned up."
"You've got"—I peer over the crowd at the giant clock ticking down a makeshift stage—"thirty seconds."
Sara pumps her eyebrows. "Just in time then."
I reach out and run my thumb over the small dot of yellow paint on her forehead. "Missed some."
She laughs. "Thanks."
When I came back to Copper Run, Sara moved out from the innkeeper suite and is staying in a vacant apartment above Betty's store on the square. I don't know how quickly she found it, but Sara's always had that kind of charm and resourcefulness about her. Half the town already loves her, and the other half simply hasn't met her yet.
Her studio apartment has Bird & Breakfast's air mattress on the floor and clothes strewn in the corner. The walls are already coated in half a mural. When Sara paints, she disappears. I had to convince Betty to key me in when twenty-four hours had passed after Sara moved and we still hadn't heard from her. She'd stayed up all night, painting half of one wall, coated with a sunny mountain.
She's decided to assist with the inn, but it's not long term. Her dreams lie elsewhere. She's already talking about opening a studio for local artists in Copper Run. Winston had his name in the hat the moment he heard about it.
I look out in the crowd as she runs off.
Emily and Josh skate three circuits in the tiny ice rink until Josh slips, causing a collective, "Ooh," from onlookers.
She helps him up with a cringe, and they slip and slide on the ice until they're on level ground again. Carol pulls Emily up to steady her, twisting her lips until her cigarette hangs out the corner of her mouth.
Lars comes up behind Carol, plucking the cigarette from her mouth and tossing it on the ground.
"You're littering!" she whines, but he shrugs nonchalantly, traipsing over to us and leaning on the counter.
"Doughnut, please?"
"Yes, sir," I say, holding out a palm for Cliff to drop it in my hand on a neat napkin.
"All yours."
Carol saunters over with another cigarette between her lips.
Cliff sighs. "Carol, you promised you'd try to quit."
"I always do, and it never sticks."
"Try again," Lars says, elbowing her.
She tilts her head to the side in defiance.
"It's a new year," Cliff says. "Don't you want to have a fresh start?"
She looks to the darkened midnight sky, as if thinking, then shrugs. "No. Not this year."
I peer from the corner of my eye at Cliff. That makes only two of us then.
Cliff and I talked a lot about fresh starts, about what staying in Copper Run would mean for me and for us. But we're trying to not plan too far ahead. We both want to live in the moment more—for the now instead of the anxious future.
So, all I know is, for now, I'm here with him. With this town. And my mom's inn. My inn.
And that's more than enough for me.
"Oh, oh, it's happening!" Lars says.
Suddenly, all of Copper Run starts counting down from ten.
Nine …
Lisa and George linger alone outside the white fence surrounding the park, clutching champagne and a scone, knocking them together in a toast and smiling.
Eight …
Emily and Josh hold hands beside a lamppost. He kisses the top of her forehead.
Seven …
Sara runs to join Dad by the clock, hooking a hand into the crook of his elbow and leaning her head on his shoulder. I can see his shaky inhale and the smile that looks relieved on the breath out.
Six …
Carol pushes her cigarette butt into the top of the city trash can's ashtray. She pulls the pack from her pocket, flips it over once, then twice, and then tosses it into the trash can.
Five …
Cliff's arms wrap around my waist. I close my eyes, breathing in his cinnamon and vanilla scent, the leftover smells of his afternoon baking for the booth. And beneath it, that citrus smell. The uniquely Cliff scent.
Four …
He slides his hands up my hips, around to my spine, and over my shoulders. Touching, always touching. But I love when he touches me.
Three …
He cups the side of my cheek, turning my head to face his.
Two …
I search his eyes—the blue eyes that I saw from across the chapel. A man I knew before I even met him. A man who loves me in the same way I love him. For exactly who we are. Flaws and all.
One …
Fireworks launch into the air, popping and crackling as Cliff's mouth meets mine.
It's officially 1998—a new year—and I plan to spend every day of it as happy as possible in the arms of a person who loves me. I think we both deserve that.