Page 9 of Falling Back to You

Noelle Shepherd is sorry.

And was I ever.

I was the official queen of hot messes and regrets.

Dallas crouched down so we were eye level. All the Satterfields were ridiculously tall, over six feet, and it always made my five-eleven self feel less awkward. His blue eyes—another Satterfield trait—brimmed with kind intensity. “Let me be the first to say it: welcome home, Elle.”

I blinked back a torrent of tears I refused to let fall. Home. Was it, though? I’d been gone so long, leaving everything and everyone behind. Now . . . it was all I had left.

He lightly squeezed my shoulder before straightening back to his full height. “I’ll follow you in. There’s an apple fritter at Bean There, Done That calling my name.”

“So predictable.” I tried to tease, but it sounded wobbly even to my ears. Memories of working shifts at the best—and only—coffee shop in town flooded my memory. I’d worked there all through high school and right up until I left. The Kleins were good people, and my mouth started watering for a bite of their honey crullers. New York got a lot of things right, but there was nothing like a pastry from Bean There, Done That Café.

Maybe they’d let me come back to work part-time? I needed to figure some sort of job out since my meager savings weren’t going to last forever. And I think my body could handle a few hours here and there. Chronic illness sucked.

I cleared my throat. “How are Melissa and the kids?”

Dallas’s expression softened at the mention of his family. “Good. We’ve got six of them running around now.”

The last time I’d seen him, they’d only had the two. Dallas and Melissa had been high school sweethearts and an item for most of my growing up years. “You’re lucky.”

He hummed. “More like blessed.”

Couldn’t argue with him there.

“See you ’round, Elle.” With a parting nod, he strolled back towards the cruiser.

No jail time today. Macy would be so proud. Or disappointed. I think she wanted to be someone’s one phone call. The girl needed a break from watching crime shows. She’d roped me into watching every one in existence at least three times.

“Hey, Dally?” The childhood nickname slipped out, surprising us both, and he glanced back at me. Juliet had been the one to christen him with it, given their ten-year age gap, and it had stuck. “I’m sorry. For back then and for now.”

He dipped his chin. “We’ve all run from something, Elle. Just make sure you’re running back to a good thing.”

Wise but oddly cryptic. Exactly like Dallas.

“It’s good to have you back, kid. I mean it.”

That makes one of us. I didn’t hate coming back. I missed Serenity Springs more than I’d admitted to myself. But redemption had a high price, and I was paying for it dearly.

Easing back onto the road, I crossed the boundary line into Serenity Springs. I’d flown into Boise with a few bags and rented a RAV4. The rest of my worldly goods that didn’t fit in my checked baggage were being shipped out by a professional moving company. Ridiculously expensive, but this girl wasn’t driving a huge truck from NYC to southern Idaho on a solo adventure.

Travel was a funny thing. I’d kissed New York City’s grey sky goodbye this morning in a flurry of yellow taxicabs and brownstone buildings. No one in the metropolis would know I was missing. The great workings of a city would go on without me.

This afternoon, Serenity Springs welcomed me with dusty roads and a single stoplight, where the minute I stepped out of my car, everyone would know I was here before you could say “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

I sighed heavily as Billy Joel’s “And So It Goes” kicked in from my old burned CD. How fitting. But nostalgic, too. It was Myles Delavan’s favourite song—the other part of my childhood quartet of friends. For years, it had been Cal, Greyson, Myles, and me—the Fabulous Four, as we called ourselves. Cal and I had turned into something more . . . until I messed that up and lost Greyson and Myles in the process.

I hit the mute button, but the silence was hardly better than the unwelcome barrage of memories. My phone rang and Macy’s picture flashed across the screen.

“Well, you’re moving!” she exclaimed when I accepted the video call. “And you aren’t in the back of a cruiser, so no jail time?”

I rolled my eyes. “You sound disappointed.”

“You mock me.”

“I absolutely do.”

She laughed, her jet-black messy topknot flopping. “So, what, he just wanted to chat?”