Page 87 of Falling Back to You

He crossed the kitchen and bent to kiss her cheek. “You okay?”

“Of course.” She beamed up at him so sweetly my heart somersaulted. I had to look away. It was a tender moment that left me an intruder. You used to look at Cal that way.

Greyson softened visibly in her presence, but his stoic armour was firmly intact again when he glanced at me. “I didn’t know we had company.”

I stood quickly. “I was just leaving. Thanks for the tea, Paisley.”

“Anytime.” To Greyson, she added, “Noelle brought us dessert.”

Greyson eyed the plate of squares on the counter and simply grunted.

My shoulders sagged, then I berated myself for feeling disappointment. Millionaire shortbread for all its deliciousness did not an apology make. So here went nothing. “I’m sorry, Grey. I’ve said that a lot lately. And I’ll probably keep saying it.” I paused, pulse thrumming in my ears. “If I could go back, I’d do things the right way. I never meant to hurt anyone, but I did. And I . . . I’m sorry.”

Greyson remained statue still, hard eyes locked on me, holding me captive.

Paisley sidled up to him, slipping an arm around his waist. He instantly draped an arm around her, his rigid stance easing slightly at the connection.

“Thanks, Elle” was all he said.

Elle. I bobbed a nod, accepting the olive branch. Murmuring my thanks to Paisley, I fled and didn’t stop until I collapsed on the couch in my cottage.

I pressed a hand over my chest, trying to soothe the ache. You did it. Being brave wasn’t as glamorous as it was chalked up to be.

Chapter twenty-eight

Noelle

I stared at the hand-lettered chalkboard on the wall of Bean There, Done That Café. How hard was it to pick a coffee?

For myself? Easy. Caramel macchiato. Decaf (ugh).

But my bright idea to bring Cal and Khia a treat this morning as a surprise had backfired. And now I was overthinking everything. Khia was simple—hot chocolate all the way. But Cal? He hadn’t been a huge coffee drinker while we were together. Unlike me who’d been drinking pots of the stuff since I was sixteen. He’d been more of a hot chocolate fan back then.

But sometimes he got flat whites. What if he hates chocolate now?

“If you stare at the board any harder, mein lieber, it’ll break.” Mrs. Klein shot me an amused smile as she slid a cinnamon roll into a brown bag for the customer ahead of me.

I laughed weakly. This is a horrible idea.

Mrs. Klein’s coffee eyes softened. “Welcome back.” Even after thirty years in America, her German accent was still strong. “You still take your caramel macchiatos extra hot, ja?”

I nodded. “And, uh, decaf please.”

She gaped in horror. “Noelle Shepherd, you drink”—her voice dropped to a hiss— “decaf?”

I laughed for real this time. My coffee obsession was well established, even back then. “The price we pay for getting old.”

“If you’re old, I’m a relic, and I’m not ready for that.” She tsked and started making my drink.

The cozy shop hadn’t changed with its timeless pinewood and cream accents. Brass fixtures and Edison bulbs lent an air of sophistication and magic. The wall of adventures—littered with dozens of travel photos patrons brought in—held memories from all four corners of the world. The broad front windows and comfortable seating encouraged gathering with friends, while the soft lull of customer conversations and calming lo-fi music threaded through the inviting space. Everything about the Bean made you slow down and appreciate the moment.

“Lee’s happy to have you back,” Mrs. Klein said, adding a sprinkle of cinnamon to my milk foam, exactly how I liked it. “I haven’t seen the man so excited since he was chosen for jury duty.”

I chuckled. Given Dad’s crime obsession, I could easily picture his thrilled reaction at being handed fifteen bucks with a “help us solve the crime, bestie.”

“It’s good to be back.” The words were getting easier to say—and mean.

She slid my drink across the counter. “How would you feel about working part-time?”