Page 48 of Falling Back to You

“Best go see her. She’s been rarin’ to get a glimpse at you since she heard you were back.” Pops winked. “I had to hide her keys to keep her from driving over there herself.”

“I’m sorry. Truly,” I whispered. “For everything.”

He patted my shoulder. “You’re here now. That’s what counts.” He gently nudged me inside.

A blonde hurricane hobbling on a walking boot swept through the front entrance, and I was caught up in a buxom woman’s hug.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but two tears leaked out. I hadn’t cried so much since Macy roped me into cutting red onions for an entire afternoon to make pickled onions. Just thinking about it made my nose run.

“Oh, honey, you’re home!” Mama D held onto me for dear life. Her hug was like coming home, the calming aroma of jasmine and fresh bread filling my senses.

When I pulled away—because she didn’t pull away first, ever—the entire Satterfield clan clustered around watching us.

I expected distrust. Censure. Instead there was warmth. Welcome. Curiosity. Everything I didn’t deserve.

Myles was the first to break the standoff, hugging me tightly. “Welcome home, Elle. You owe me a Mario Kart rematch.”

Code for: you owe me the truth later. I swallowed hard. Wow, he’d grown up with that dark beard and shoulder-length hair, half pulled back in a knot. But for all the external changes, he was the same kindhearted Myles. “You’re on.”

Moving to allow Shawna, Shane’s wife, to hug me, Myles draped his arm around Juliet, whose hand was resting on her baby bump. Seven months along, maybe? I guess things had worked out for them after all. A soft warmth radiated through my chest as I studied them over Shawna’s shoulder.

I’d heard about their marriage in passing the Christmas before last. But seeing it in person? A heavy weight settled in my stomach. Look at how much you missed.

The one person who wasn’t smiling was Greyson, which wasn’t totally unexpected since he’d never been smiley. But his stormy blue eyes swirled with a maelstrom of feelings. After a single nod, he glanced away. Like I wasn’t here at all.

The dark-haired woman at his side glanced between us curiously and adjusted her glasses. His wife, judging by the wedding rings they both wore and the soft look he gave her when she leaned into him, a hundred silent questions on her face.

“Thanks for inviting me,” I said quietly, shifting my weight. The overwhelming wave of missing people—my people—rolled over me. Two of my childhood best friends were married. Something I should have been around for, like we’d dreamed about.

“You’re always welcome,” Mama D insisted in her warm Southern accent. “There’s always room at the table for family.”

Family.

I was saved from another emotional breakdown by Khia bolting into the room. “Miss Noelle!” She flung her arms around my legs and grinned up at me. “We made you special chicken!”

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

The whole house smelled like Delilah Satterfield’s Southern fried chicken, and I’d resigned myself to never enjoying the legendary dish again.

“We used special flour!”

My gaze swiveled from the little girl hugging me to Mama D’s broad smile. “I’ve never cooked with gluten-free flour, but I read enough recipes last night to figure it out.”

Pops chuckled. “She was up half the night.”

“You . . . learned to make gluten-free fried chicken? For me?”

Mama D slid an arm around my waist, squeezing me close. “Of course, honey,” she said as if it was the most obvious course of action. Who wouldn’t spend half the night researching recipes? Nate hadn’t even bothered to check if a restaurant had a gluten-free menu after my allergy kicked in. “Now, come on, y’all, and load up your plates so we can bless the food and eat while it’s hot.”

Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry. Who cries over deep-fried poultry?

This girl apparently.

“I helped!” Khia said, tugging my hand and pointing to the table, decorated in a festive harvest-coloured plaid tablecloth with a cornucopia, mini pumpkins, and small candles weaving through the centerpiece.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully. “I’m sure you did a good job.”

“Meemaw said I’m the best helper.”