Page 156 of Falling Back to You

“Callan,” she scolded, but interest lit her eyes. “I have a job to do. And I’m worried Nate might have ruined the atmosphere with”—she flapped a hand—“all that.”

“Noelle.” I lightly pinched her chin, tilting her face up. “Don’t you see it? This town loves you. You don’t have to earn their love. You’ve got it. You belong.” Leaning down, I kissed her gently.

Her arms slid around my waist, and she leaned against me. “Thank you.”

“For punching that bag of candy corn? It was my sincere pleasure.”

She snorted. “Candy corn?”

“It’s the nastiest thing I could think of right now.”

“Don’t hate on fall tradition.”

“Sweetheart, if that’s a tradition, you need better ones.”

She shook her head, lips curved in a smile. “I meant thank you for not giving up on me.”

I kissed the tip of her nose. “I never will.”

Chapter fifty-six

Noelle

“And the Fabulous Four are back, baby!” Cal lifted his enamel coffee mug in a salute as the four of us sat around the fire in the Satterfield backyard after Thanksgiving dinner.

I half expected Greyson to say something about not being mushy, but his expression softened as his gaze lingered on the back porch where Paisley and Juliet were on the porch swing talking to Macy.

“Yeah, we’re back,” he said, a half smile quirking his lips.

“Took us long enough.” Myles held his hands out to the fire with a groan. “And I’m feeling the effects of that turkey more at thirty-two than I ever did at eighteen.”

“Gonna start your discourse on why the Canadians are better at Thanksgiving with it being in October?” I teased.

Myles rolled his eyes. “I’ve made my case in defense of my countrymen. Y’all can choose not to see the light, but I’m right.”

“You want to back that claim up with some action?” Cal taunted.

“I can whip you in Mario Kart any day, brother.”

“Not if I sic Jules on you.”

“Too bad she’s on my side now.” Myles smiled as he, too, glanced at the porch when Juliet’s laugh echoed through the night.

A gaggle of kids, including Khia, bounced on the trampoline, and Rosie Cotton barked at them like a worrying mother hen until Greyson gave a low whistle. She trotted over to him, parking herself beside his chair and laying her head on his knee.

The fire crackled with warmth, spitting a burst of sparks up into the night. I shivered and leaned back in my chair to study the faint stars splattered across the indigo canvas of sky overhead.

“Do we have eyes on the guys?” Myles did a quick scan of the yard, clearly looking for the handful of players that had joined us for dinner. Including Aaron, the Chargers’ former backup goalie who’d been traded to Boston last year, but was still close with the team.

“As in the guys who routinely refer to you as Dad?” Cal teased.

Myles sighed like a man who’d argued this point before but never won before muttering, “Someone has to be the responsible one.”

“Relax, Canada, they’re deep in conversation over a pie they pilfered from the kitchen. And so far they’ve added the verb grand gestured to good ol’ Merriam-Webster and turned Matthew McConaughey into an adjective.” Cal paused, frowning. “How do you even turn a person into an adjective?”

Myles scrubbed a hand over his face with a groan. “I have no idea, and I don’t want to know. They can handle themselves like adults.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Greyson said, eyes twinkling in the firelight. “And for the record, I believe they’re encouraging Max to ask Arabella out.”