Page 129 of Falling Back to You

MACY:

OH MY GOSH!!!!! A murder board!

Your dad is the cutest. It’s official. I’m coming out.

To see you of course. And that board.

Can I invite myself for Thanksgiving?

ME:

Mi casa es su casa. Date not going well?

MACY:

Nope. Will debrief later. I can’t hide in the bathroom forever.

And I need your expertise on how to get fermented fish sauce out of silk.

ME:

You got it.

Look out Serenity Springs, Macy Davenport was coming to town.

The thought should excite me—and it did—but a different longing spread through my chest. Peeking out the window, I noticed Cal’s truck in Mama D and Pops’s driveway next door. Warmth flooded me. There was only one person I wanted to see right now.

And I desperately needed one of his hugs.

Chapter forty-five

Cal

Mama finally called in her favour, which meant I was perched on a ladder in their kitchen, nailing crown molding to the ceiling. I’d been paid well in fried chicken, so I couldn’t complain much. Pops stood below the stepladder, handing me things while Mama entertained Khia in the living room. Doing what, I wasn’t sure, but based on the amount of talking and laughter, they were doing famously.

“You and Noelle, huh?” Pops commented, handing me the nail gun. It was a smart move, I’d give my dad that. It was easier to talk when my hands were busy.

I shifted the air hose, gripping the handle tightly. The shooting click of the nails filled the kitchen. Was I handy? Not especially. But I knew my way around a nail gun; though, I hadn’t actually touched one since I accidentally shot a nail through Greyson’s foot back when we were thirteen. He never let me forget it. Not that I could blame him.

“We’re taking it slow, Pops.”

He arched a bushy eyebrow. “The papers say otherwise.”

And there it was.

As I’d feared, the paparazzi had a heyday with my taco date with Noelle. And now the news cycles were republishing old articles. They all started to read the same way after a while.

Cal Satterfield Lands a New Lady—What We Know About Her

Mystery Woman on Satterfield’s Arm

Could This New Woman Be the Wholesome Image Hockey Badboy Cal Satterfield Needs?

I hadn’t been that version of myself for a long time, but the gossip columns had a long memory.

My teammates started getting hammered with questions about Noelle during interviews, and they had my undying gratitude for being close-mouthed about it. But it was getting out of hand. Bells, our PR girl, cornered me the other day, trying to figure out a spin.

I mentally scoffed. As if I’d reduce Noelle to a publicity prop. I didn’t blame Bells; she was doing her job, and she was good at it. Running interference like a mom between a passel of brothers was no easy task—ask me how I knew—but she wanted me to lean into appearing in public with Noelle and Khia.