Page 61 of Falling Back to You

“Friends,” he mused, eyes locked on mine.

I swallowed hard, his frank assessment warming my veins. “Anything I need to know? Allergies?”

Cal shook his head. “No allergies, and there’s a list of numbers on the fridge. Feel free to hang out there. I just . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I really appreciate this.”

“No problem.” I shuffled awkwardly. “Have a good day.”

He nodded and, after hugging Khia, jogged away towards his truck. We waved until he was out of sight.

“Have you had breakfast, Little Miss?” I asked.

“Uh-huh, but I’m still hungry.” She grinned up at me, dimple winking.

“How do you feel about toast and eggs?”

“With chocolate chips?”

“Blueberries.”

“They’re my favourite.” She set her backpack down. “Do you have orange juice?”

“I’m fresh out.”

Khia followed me into the kitchen, chattering a mile a minute. She’d certainly inherited Cal’s “never met a stranger” mentality.

I smiled to myself while I started the toast and eggs. I’d managed to whip up a loaf of gluten-free bread, and since Cal said there were no allergies, we were both eating that.

“Can we go to the park?” Khia asked. She sipped her milk, and it left a white mustache on her upper lip.

I handed her a napkin. Taking Cal’s daughter out in public for all the town to discuss? That was like bleeding in the ocean and daring a shark not to attack you.

Part of me recoiled at the idea, but at the same time, I was tired of hiding out in the cottage. Just because I’d come back to town under less-than-ideal circumstances didn’t mean I didn’t belong here anymore. If I wanted to be accepted, I’d have to put in some effort.

But the park? In the very center of town?

That called for more bravery than I possessed. And given how my feet were dragging, traipsing around outside wouldn’t be the smartest decision. But I did need groceries. Time to improvise.

“Do you want to go to the store and get ingredients for cookies instead?” I asked, sipping my decaf coffee. Goodbye, caffeine—you were nice while it lasted.

She grinned. “Sugar cookies?”

“You got it.”

Khia insisted she was big enough to load the dishwasher while I quickly changed. I threw on jeans and a T-shirt with an oversized flannel before brushing my teeth and swishing a bit of mouthwash around. When I hurried back to the kitchen, she’d neatly loaded the plates and was carefully placing the cups on the top rack.

“Good job! Thank you,” I praised.

“Daddy says I’m a good helper.”

“You sure are.” I grabbed my keys. “Let’s go.”

As I pushed a cart up the aisle of Anderson’s Grocer, I had a greater appreciation for moms everywhere when it came to taking kids grocery shopping. Khia was remarkably well behaved and thankfully not a breakaway colt I had to chase down the aisles. Shopping with a little person with little legs slowed the process, but since I was already a snail, it somehow made us the perfect pair.

And the way her hand held mine so sweetly while she chattered away? Well, that more than made up for the aching pain I tried to ignore.

We spent the morning baking and decorating cookies, and after lunch, I pulled out my puzzles. A Barbie princess movie played softly on my laptop in the background while Khia carefully sorted the puzzle pieces between edges and middles on the coffee table. It gave me an excuse to lie on the couch and rest for a bit.

Mrs. Pickles had come down from the main house to join us and cuddled with me. By the time I started on dinner, she’d appointed herself as my sidekick and begged for a taste of the chicken I was preparing.