Page 149 of Falling Back to You

“Y’all worry too much,” she groused, but returned the embrace.

“Elle?” Myles added as I stepped out into the hall. When I turned back, his eyes glowed with seriousness. “There were pink carnations on Mum’s grave all the time. It was you, wasn’t it?”

I nodded slowly. There was a floral service in Caldwell that delivered flowers to cemeteries. I couldn’t be there in person, but it was a small gesture to honour Aunt Sandy. “I loved her, too.”

“Thank you.” He tugged me into a hug. “I always hoped it was you. That you didn’t forget us.”

“Never,” I whispered fiercely.

And just like that, the last bridge mended.

Chapter fifty-four

Noelle

The Harvest Potluck was almost here. Tomorrow, my party planning efforts would be judged by the entire town, for better or worse, and I was about to throw up. Last-minute details whipped through my brain as I tried to dredge up the energy to drag myself the twenty feet from the couch to my bedroom.

Did Mrs. Gulliver remember she was NOT allowed to bring the green bean casserole? (I’d reminded her three times but caught her stocking up on green beans at the grocery store last week.)

Did we have enough pies? Six dozen had been promised, but would that feed everyone? Math was never my strong suit.

What if—?

I flopped a hand to the coffee table, feeling for my phone and typed out a quick text to Cal.

ME:

Are you still awake?

My phone rang instantly, cutting through the mental clutter, and I smiled.

“You’re overthinking this, Holiday,” Cal said in lieu of a greeting.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you.” Something shifted on the other end, like he was getting comfortable. “Unload it on me, Elle. Let me carry it for a bit.”

And I did. By the time I finished, it was midnight, and I stifled a yawn. “Thank you,” I said simply.

“I’ll always be here to listen, okay? And I know it’s pointless to say don’t worry, so I won’t. But I will say this: I’m proud of you, Elle. You’re amazing. You’ve done big, scary things the last six weeks, and you’ve got this potluck, too. I believe in you, and I’m with you all the way. If Mrs. Gulliver shows up with a casserole, I’ll take responsibility and give it a secret burial in the cemetery, then blame it on Satchmo. And if there’s not enough pie, I’ll forgo my share, okay? We got this.”

His words made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Like my favourite blanket wrapping me in a cocoon of safety. He believed in me. We were a team.

We. It was a beautiful word.

“You’re too good to me,” I whispered. “I love you.”

“Love you more.”

“Not possible.”

He chuckled. “See you in the morning. Sweet dreams.”

The worries didn’t disappear, but I slept better than I expected. Getting my concerns out helped my mind quiet down, but it didn’t remove my exhaustion.

My alarm jarred me awake, and I pried my eyes open. Soft morning light filtered through the half-open blinds I’d been too tired to close last night. Silencing the alarm, I stared at the slatted wood ceiling in my bedroom, willing my limbs to cooperate and move. It was a nice ceiling as far as ceilings went.

Sit up. Swing your legs over the edge. Walk to the dresser.