Page 111 of Falling Back to You

“What is with you and sequins?”

He shuddered. “I’ll tell you one day, but not tonight. Your mental picture of me will never be the same, and selfishly, I don’t want that. So, apart from sparkly torture devices, whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“Apparently, it’s tradition for some of the Chargers to host a community game in Serenity Springs for the Fall Festival.”

“Yup.”

“So . . . would you mind helping me coordinate that?”

He smiled at me in the twilight dimness of the cab. “Holiday, I’ll take care of it all if you want.”

“Really?”

“Leave it to me. I’ll handle it.”

“Now you’re sweet-talking me,” I tried to joke, but it came out breathless. After years of being the go-to fix-it girl, it was a luxury having someone else take control. Not my mental load. Not my worry. Leave it to me. I’ll handle it.

They might be the most beautiful words in the English language.

Cal squeezed my hand, still interlaced with his on the console. “I’ve got you.”

And I believed him.

The ice cream place we used to frequent with Greyson and Myles back in our teen years as the Fabulous Four was no longer open, so we improvised with a different creamery in Caldwell.

“Let me guess,” Cal said, standing in front of the large glass display of ice cream. “You still get a scoop of caramel pecan and mint chocolate chip in a cup because you can’t decide?”

“I hate that I’m so boringly predictable.”

Cal’s eyebrows flew up. “Why?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never been the fun friend.” Or girlfriend. Something my few exes often brought up when we broke up. Just because I had a comfort zone, rewatched the same shows, lived by a carefully planned schedule, and routinely ordered the same thing at restaurants.

“I like you just the way you are,” he said quietly. “And if you know what you like, don’t let anyone try and make you feel bad about it.”

I nodded. “Then caramel pecan and mint chip sound good to me.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Cal ordered the ice cream, getting a scoop of strawberry and coffee for himself, and we walked back to the car. But instead of getting in, he tugged me next door.

“The botanical gardens?” I asked in surprise. “We talked about coming here years ago.”

His lips curved up in a smile. “I’m finally making good on my promise.”

I swallowed hard and slipped my arm through his. “Then let’s go.”

The gardens were quiet, but it created a bubble of privacy. Cal had called in a favour with a friend to get us in after hours. We trailed through the English Garden area, admiring plants and enjoying our ice cream. Not much was blooming this late in the season, but the greenery, ivy, and heather lined the cobbled paths as we passed through another wrought-iron gate. It was a garden scene right out of a Jane Austen novel. There was even a fountain involved.

“You should see this place at Christmas,” Cal said when I paused to examine a patch of heather. “I brought Khia here last year, and she loved it. Maybe we . . .” He trailed off, and I held my breath. “I’d like to bring you back to see the lights,” he said quietly.

“I’d like that,” I whispered, and slipped my hand around his bicep, letting him lead me further down the path.

“Why nursing?” Cal asked when we walked under the twinkle lights hanging low over the walkway. “You never mentioned being interested in medicine. Unless”—he rubbed the back of his neck—“that was something else I wasn’t listening to.”

I smiled weakly. “No, it wasn’t. I just . . . taking care of people was all I was good at. And even now, that’s gone, too.”

“What do you mean the only thing you’re good at?” His voice sharpened.