Page 93 of Falling Back to You

“Sounds good.” She fiddled with her sunny yellow apron string. “Can I get you anything?”

“Do you still want hot chocolate?” I asked Khia, and her curly head bobbed. “Manners,” I prompted gently.

Khia turned to Noelle. “Can I please have a hot chocolate?”

“Sure thing.” Noelle’s eyes flicked to me. “And you?”

“What do you think?” I asked, cocking my head.

A deeper pink splashed across her cheeks, highlighting her freckles. “Well, you used to have flat whites sometimes, but I wasn’t sure . . . That’s why I brought hot chocolate yesterday.”

Elation flooded my veins, like I’d won the Calder Cup. Which was ridiculous. It was just a coffee order—but she remembered. I couldn’t hold back my grin. “Yes, ma’am. On both accounts—the coffee and the chocolate. But I’ll take the flat white today, thanks.”

“Coming right up.”

When Noelle slid the to-go cups across the counter, I had to remind my heart that feelings were irrelevant. So what that she remembered my coffee preferences? Or that she made my daughter glow like a firefly? We were friends. Friends could do those things. It didn’t mean anything.

But that smile . . . It was like a sunrise. Something beautiful I never got tired of seeing. Yeah, I was cooked.

I threw a volley of punches in rapid succession. My skin was tight with tension, but the endorphins gave me a release that didn’t end in my punching my annoying twin’s face. Noelle had hedged when I asked her about her conversation with Greyson—the bribery mission and at the coffee shop—which meant I was about to make his life miserable.

If he hurt my girl, I was going to hurt him. Sorry, Paisley, but my blockheaded brother needed to be taught a lesson.

“Cal.”

Told you twin telepathy was a thing. Because there was Greyson, standing in the open garage door, holding a pair of boxing gloves.

“You come to apologize?” I grunted, lobbing another punch at the bag hanging from the ceiling.

His jaw twitched. “You up for a match?”

“So I can beat you, pretty boy? Bring it on.”

Greyson slipped his gloves on in silence, and I grabbed a water, squirting a stream into my mouth.

Once he stood opposite me, I stretched my neck and lifted my hands. “Hope Paisley isn’t too attached to your face.”

Greyson threw the first punch, and, yeah, I was a little cocky because he got me. So that’s how it was gonna be.

I threw the next one. He dodged and returned the gesture. I feigned left, and his swing went wide. It was a dance between us. Hazards of sparring too often. I knew his moves, and he knew mine.

Soon we were both sweating, silent tension simmering between us.

“You come to get beat up, or did you plan on saying something?” I spat out, dodging another punch. “I told you not to get all protective on me.”

Greyson grunted when I lobbed my fist into his gut, but he countered with a blow to the kidney. He only fought dirty when he was upset. Guess we were in good company.

“Gonna use your words, Grey?” I goaded him.

Which was absolutely the wrong thing to do because he nailed me with a headlock.

Dang it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, chest heaving.

I huffed and shoved against him until he released me. “I’d be more inclined to forgive you if you let me win.”

Despite my attempt at humour, Greyson’s eyes stayed serious. “I was out of line. I can see that.”