3. Noelle
Chapter three
Noelle
Bracing my hands on the rental car rooftop, I forced myself to inhale slowly, letting my lungs burn while I held my breath.
The tension in my chest was suffocating me.
I wasn’t the same kid I used to be. I’d messed up then and spent years trying to atone for those mistakes.
Grace. I didn’t deserve it, but I was trying to hold on to it.
Grabbing my cane from the back seat, I steadied myself on the packed dirt of the driveway and tested my left leg for weight-bearing. It wasn’t too bad today. Sure, it hurt, but it always did, thanks to the chronic pain that settled in after the car accident.
It hadn’t even been a doozy. I’d broken no bones and walked away stiff but alive. Then the pain came. Pain without a cause and without any real purpose beyond telling me life was over as I knew it.
Then there were all the specialists and the testing.
The suspicious looks. The “are you making it up?” accusations.
Yeah, as if I’d make up debilitating pain I couldn’t outrun, limbs that randomly swelled and changed colour, digestive upset, and insomnia among a slew of other symptoms for the fun of it.
But I’d finally gotten a diagnosis. Fibromyalgia.
A stress-overloaded nervous system and a car accident were the perfect cocktail to put my body into a tailspin. I should have walked away from that accident with nothing more than a headache. Instead, my whole life upended.
I shuddered at the reminder and shifted, stretching my hip and lower back. After a long flight and an hour of driving, the gentle movement eased the sharp tension in my body and helped my circulation. No more blood pooling in my feet thanks to being stuck in one position.
There was a consuming stillness to this place, compared to the noise of New York. The honking cars and constant stream of pedestrians was the soundtrack of life unlike the twitter of birds and low rumble of a distant lawn mower.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply of the crisp air and the faint aroma of burning leaves. The tightness in my shoulders eased. I’d missed this. So much.
Time moved more slowly here. Too bad it didn’t go backwards, too.
A screen door slammed, echoing in the silence, and I jerked my head towards the house. A blonde tornado flew down the driveway towards me.
“Noelle!” Ruby screamed, and flung herself into my arms, sobbing. “You’re here!”
Tears spilled over my own cheeks as I clung to her, cane clattering to the ground. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered over and over, holding her close. The six-year-old sister I’d left behind had grown into a young woman my own height.
She was the only one I’d kept any real semblance of communication with. But a lifetime of sorries wouldn’t be enough to get back the time I’d missed with her because I was nursing my own broken heart and insecurities.
It could have been minutes or even an hour before Ruby pulled back, swiping her eyes—the same chocolate brown as mine—and smiled widely. “You really came.”
“I promised. It’s Dad’s sixtieth after all.” In December, which was six weeks from now. But I didn’t explain the other reasons why I’d decided to come early or that I planned on staying long term.
Another sob choked her, and she hugged me again. Like she was afraid I would vanish. “Gosh, I’ve missed you.” She sniffed. Somehow, she could even make crying adorable. “Home wasn’t the same without you.”
Despite our thirteen-year age gap, Ruby and I had always had the closest bond.
Leaving her had been one of my biggest regrets.
I’d missed all these years of watching her turn into this beautiful young woman, one with whom I shared a last name but didn’t really know.
Social media posts and the occasional FaceTime chat didn’t replace in-person connection.
Yet another reason I needed to knock some sense into past Noelle.
Where was a time machine when you needed one?
Ruby smacked my shoulder lightly. “Don’t you dare do that to me again. I’ve got you back, and I intend to keep you!”
I laughed. “Consider me kept.” I took in her windblown curls and freckled nose. She reminded me of . . . me. The resemblance was uncanny. “I’m proud of you, Rubes. I saw that photo contest you won. You’re amazing.” I touched her cheek. “And you’re beautiful.”
Tears shone in Ruby’s eyes, and she hugged me again, like a baby koala.
“Miss Ruby!” a girlish voice hollered from the front porch. “I finished my nuggets!”
Ruby wiggled away with a laugh, dabbing her cheeks. “Look at me being a baby and forgetting I was babysitting.” Her eyes snagged on the cane at my feet. “What happened?”
I shrugged and carefully bent to retrieve the implement. No need to throw my back out. “Long story.”
“Is that why you came home?” Ruby asked softly, concern etched her youthful face. She was the same age I was when I left.
And I used to think nineteen was so grown up.
I pasted on a smile. “Something like that.”
A pint-sized girl, no more than four or five years old, in a Belle dress and pink polka-dot rain boots marched up to us, her dark chestnut curls bouncing with each step. She clutched an orange tabby cat to her chest. Stopping in front of us, she tilted her head. “Who are you?”
“I’m Noelle. What’s your name?”
“Khia,” she announced. A constellation of freckles splattered across the canvas of her nose. Her ocean eyes were dazzling and infinitely familiar.
My breath caught in my ribs, squeezing tightly. I knew those eyes—oh, how I knew those eyes. They’d looked at me like I was the whole world, once upon a time.
“I’m a princess,” Khia added.
Ruby studied me, her smile giving the Cheshire cat a run for his money.
She’d been young when Cal Satterfield and I broke up, but she’d known about us.
We were probably town legends by this point.
It was too much to hope that our chapter had been forgotten in the annals of Serenity Springs’ history.
I swallowed the Alaska-sized lump in my throat. “You sure are, sweetie. Is Belle your favourite?”
She held up three fingers. “Third favourite. Mulan is first, then Cinderella.”
“Very good choices.” Cinderella and I had a less-than-amicable history—I related a little too hard, without the happily ever after to soften the ache—but I could see this little firecracker as a mini Mulan.
“This is Mrs. Pickles.” She held the feline up for my inspection.
I stroked the cat’s head, and she purred approvingly without a care that her life was dangling in the hands of a child.
Khia eyed me thoughtfully, then grinned, her chubby cheeks dimpled. Be still, my heart— she has his dimples. “You’re pretty!”
I was a firm believer the best compliments came from kids.
If you were ugly, they told you so without any sugarcoating.
If they told you you were pretty, you better believe it because they didn’t have a filter.
So standing in my mustard-stained oversized tee and yoga pants while a little girl called me pretty had me feeling as stylish as Kate Middleton. “Thanks, so are you.”
“Do you like hot chocolate?” Khia demanded, rocking back and forth on her heels.
“It’s my favourite.”
Her face lit up. “Mine, too! And I like marshmallows. Small ones. Not big ones. And sprinkles. Do you want to have a tea party with me and have some?”
My heart melted into a puddle, but before I could answer, Ruby swept in. “Miss Noelle needs to unpack, and I need to get you back to Mama D’s for dinner before the game tonight.”
Dinner seemed to be the magic word because Khia cheered and started bouncing up and down. “Fried chicken! Fried chicken!”
Just thinking about Delilah Satterfield’s fried chicken had my mouth watering. Too bad my newly acquired gluten allergy would prevent me from tasting it. I still dreamed about that heavenly deep-fried poultry; it was that good.
Ruby shot me a wink, like she could read my thoughts. “I’ll save you a plate. Let’s get your things inside, then we’ll get out of your hair.”
I nodded weakly, deciding not to confess that I couldn’t eat it, and popped the trunk.
“I can help!” Khia declared, setting the cat down.
“Thanks, sweetie.”
Cal Satterfield’s daughter hugged my pillow to her chest and marched across the lawn, her tabby cat loping at her heels towards the cottage.
I knew he’d married, and it wasn’t like I had a claim on him still. Returning his ring and hightailing it across the country negated that. But I still loved him.
The day I left.
Three years later when I thought about coming home.
Five years after that when I found out he was getting married.
But life wasn’t a fairy tale. Wendy Darling grew up. You did, too.
Then why did my soul ache for a bit of second-star-to-the-right magic? For a second chance?
The small cottage from Ruby’s photos was nestled away from the main house, and secluded enough to be private.
I breathed a sigh of relief. It gave me the idea of independence while knowing help was within reach.
The problem was the owner of that house.
It had to be Cal, which made us neighbours and him my landlord.
Did Ruby tell him I was coming? Doubtful. He’d probably have thrown me out on my ear, and I couldn’t blame him.
Maybe if I kept vampire hours, I could avoid him and he’d never know I was there. Broken sink? I could be a plumber. Mice infestation? I knew how to buy mousetraps and rat poison. Just call me MacGyver.
What I didn’t know, Google did.
There was that unfortunate matter that my name would show up on the bill payments when I transferred the rent money. Unless Ruby would be willing to let me pay her so she could pay him?
Real mature, Noelle.
Renting a house from the ex-fiancé you ran away from was no big deal . . . right? Sounded like the start of a horror movie. Not that I’d know since I was a chicken about scary things—give me ’90s rom-coms and happily ever afters.