Page 28 of Falling Back to You

“Hey, Dad,” I whispered. “It’s Monday.”

Chapter nine

Noelle

There was a first time for everything. And today, it was the first time I’d seen Lee Shepherd cry.

His haggard face crumpled as he reached out, tugging me into a hug. The aroma of fresh paint and Old Spice tickled my nose. Some things never changed.

“You’re back?” Dad asked with a shuddering breath. “For good?”

I nodded against his worn flannel shirt, barely able to breathe with how tightly he was squeezing me. Not that I could blame him.

“I’ve got coffee on.” He pulled back, scrubbing a hand over his wet eyes and grey beard.

“I’d love a cup.”

Walking through the family house brought me back to my growing up years. The arguing and heartache but also the happier moments when the seven of us used to get along for more than three seconds.

Despite a few cosmetic updates, the house felt the same. The walls were yellow now instead of beige, and the white shag carpet in the living room had been replaced by laminate flooring and a wavy-patterned navy rug.

Pictures of me and my sisters filled the wall down the hallway leading to the kitchen. I paused to study them for a moment. They were a scrapbook of life. Memories my dad had deemed important—worth hanging on to.

Mom was noticeably absent.

The kitchen was a time capsule of unrenovated ’90s glory with oak wood cabinets, peach Formica countertops, and white tiled backsplash with the occasional accent tile—a cluster of cherries. A small breakfast table with three wooden slated-back chairs was tucked into the bay window on the other side of the peninsula counter.

I sat down at the table, thankful for the cushioned pillow on the seat, and eyed the backyard. Wind rustled the orange birch leaves, and the raised garden beds were already empty of summer produce.

Dad set a yellow polka-dot mug in front of me. “Still take cream and sugar?” he asked nervously, like he was afraid of not knowing me anymore.

I smiled. “Of course. Can’t mess with perfection. Isn’t that what you always said?”

He chuckled, pulling the cream from the fridge. I popped up and grabbed a spoon from the utensil drawer. Funny how some things never left you.

When we settled back at the table—him in the chair opposite mine—he added cream and sugar to his cup. The slow clink of stirring spoons filled the quiet. Finally, he leaned back. “Let me look at you. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” I fiddled with the cup handle. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“I always hoped you’d find your way back to us.” Dad glanced around the house. “Guess that’s why I tried to keep things the same. Always wanted you to be able to recognize the place.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long.” I sipped my coffee and used every tool in my arsenal to not gag. For better or worse, some things never changed—my dad still making terrible coffee was one of those things. And I would absolutely pay for drinking caffeine later, but for now, this moment was worth it. “How are you?”

“I’m an old man.” He chuckled. “But I’m all right. Business always slows down in the cold weather months, but I’m keeping busy enough.”

“And out of trouble?” I teased lightly.

“Always.”

“And . . . Mom?” I hesitated to bring her up because Ruby had already warned me she’d left them years ago.

Dad sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Before we get to that, care to tell me your side of the story? I’ve been waiting a long time to hear it.”

My side? He wanted to hear me out? “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be, Elle.”

Who was this man? The dad I remembered, while not unkind, wasn’t exactly involved or present. He was always working. Late hours, early mornings, and the only time I really saw him was meal times. He didn’t rock the boat, letting Mom call the shots.