16. Noelle
Chapter sixteen
Noelle
I gripped the tureen of butternut squash soup to my chest and stared at the Satterfields’ cheery red door. The last time I’d stood here, I’d knocked and left my ring on Cal’s bed.
Shame mixed with a heady cocktail of sweeter memories flashed through my mind. The countless hours I’d spent here around the table for dinner, getting help with my homework, Friday night Andy Griffith marathons, and Mario Kart competitions in the basement.
The Satterfield house was the official hangout place. You were always welcome, no matter what.
“Knock,” I hyped myself up. Melissa and Shawna, Dallas’s and Shane’s wives, had cornered me at church this morning and roped me into attending family dinner.
Knocking was so simple. Raise your hand—although why did we raise our hand when you could technically knock from lower down?
Rap on wood. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. KNOCK!
A sharp staccato of barks interrupted my mental pep talk. Startled, I backed away from the door as a chocolate lab bolted around the wraparound porch, heading straight for me.
I yelped and scurried backwards with enough presence of mind to cling to the soup container. I might trip and break my leg, but at least I saved the soup. “Hey, buddy,” I said consolingly, trying to de-escalate the threat.
He huffed softly and stared me down. Vicious he was not, but he clearly had big opinions about my presence.
Welcome to the club.
Heavy steps approached me from behind, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the canine. The minute I let my defenses down, I’d become a doggy chew toy. Complete with slobber. No thank you.
A warm arm slid around my waist, tugging me out of potential-harm’s way. Cal. “Satch, she’s a friend,” my hero scolded the tail-wagging canine.
Friend. It was a wonderful word, although wholly inadequate.
“Satch?” I asked, confused.
Cal glanced down at me, close. Too close. His arm lingering around my waist. But he didn’t move. Neither did I. “Satchmo. Mom’s obsessed with the oldies.”
“I remember.” This close, I could see the ring of grey around his irises that turned stormy when his emotions were high.
Like they were right now. Covertly, I sniffed him.
Was I being weird? Probably, but I hadn’t seen him since the photo shoot on Monday, and he, Myles, and Juliet had flown in from Nashville this morning.
Plus, now I could confirm for science that he still smelled amazing.
Cal cleared his throat and released me, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, come on in. He won’t hurt you.”
I held a hand out to Satchmo, and he sniffed it before allowing me to pet him. “I didn’t think Mama D wanted a dog.”
Cal chuckled. “Oh, she didn’t, but he was a stray, and you know Mama never turns anyone away.” His eyes flicked to mine, trying to tell me something.
Was he saying I wouldn’t be turned away? Or that I was a stray in need of adopting?
The door swung open, giving me no time to further contemplate his words, and we jumped apart.
Pops Satterfield smiled, his blue eyes crinkled in welcome. “Hey, hon. I see you’ve found us.”
Exactly how he used to greet me.
Melissa popped up at his side and grabbed the soup dish from me. “Hey, you!” She glanced between Cal and me, and her eyes lit up.
Oh no.
“Hey, Liss. Pops.”
Pops tugged me into a hug, and I barely kept from crying as I squeezed him back. He’d always been like a dad to me. More than my own dad used to be.
“Is that my Noelle?” a motherly voice hollered from further inside.
“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.”
And with a ray of sunshine like Khia, I didn’t doubt it.
“No, I’m her helper!” another little girl argued with a pout.
“You’re both excellent helpers,” Mama D said firmly. “Now wash up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girls scurried away.
Mama D’s arm hadn’t left its spot around my waist, and she was leaning on me more heavily. I doubted she even realized it.
“What happened to your foot?” I asked in a lowered tone, scanning her.
She waved off my concern. “A fractured ankle. It’s been three weeks already, and I’m feeling marvelous.”
When I scoffed, she chuckled, adding in a conspiratorial whisper, “All right, between you and me, marvelous might be a stretch.”
“No weight-bearing for six weeks at least,” I scolded, though it was pointless. Mama D never could be tied down, but I had to try. “Or you might make it worse. C’mon. Let’s get it propped up.”
She sighed. “All y’all conspire against me.”
Pops chuckled, overhearing our exchange, and he gave his wife a quick kiss. “Because we care, my love.”
My heart puddled on the floor. I loved how much they loved each other.
Mama D hobbled over to the table using Pops and me for balance, and I plumped up the pillows on the spare chair for her to prop her leg off to the side.
“Thanks, honey.” Mama D patted her husband’s whiskered cheek and beamed at me.
I smiled back. A real smile. It was nice, feeling needed again.
Through some random chance, I was seated next to Cal at the table. Random chance, my foot. This reeked of scheming.
Once we were all gathered around the table with steaming plates of divinely smelling food, Pops asked the blessing—which involved holding hands.
Paisley, Greyson’s wife, sat to my left, and then there was Cal. His hand was warm in mine, the calluses rough against my skin. I tried to focus, but his thumb brushed over my knuckles. One time I could ignore, but three times? Get a grip, girl. Hand-holding wasn’t scandalous.
After the resounding “amen,” Cal gave my hand a squeeze, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Do. Not. Melt. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—look at him. One peek at those baby blues and I’d be softer than the pooling butter on my mashed potatoes. We were friends.