20. Noelle
Chapter twenty
Noelle
Banging on my front door jarred me from a restless doze. I groaned and draped an arm over my face. “Go away,” I moaned.
The knocking started up again.
“I’m coming!” I hollered, not that whoever was crazy enough to knock at seven in the morning could hear me. Oh. It was eight already. Oops.
My body screamed in protest as I limped towards the front door. My legs were lead weights, slogging through quicksand. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping. No, not today. You do not get to flare up on me. Pick a different time.
I swung the door open. “Ruby, what do you . . .?” The words died in my throat.
“I’m not Ruby!” Khia giggled, clutching a Frozen backpack to her chest.
She was not. And neither was the slack-jawed man at her side, gaze trailing over me in surprise. And maybe a hint of appreciation. That was probably my sleep deprivation talking.
Cal Satterfield, in all his backwards-hat glory, was on my doorstep.
I crossed my arms. Stand strong against the backwards hat, woman.
“That’s my hoodie,” Cal said, bewildered.
Shoot. Me. Now. Let this be a lesson to never open the door without looking in the mirror first. Exhaustion tugged at my soul, and I sagged against the doorframe, already wanting to collapse back into bed.
He cleared his throat. “Are those gumdrops wearing Santa hats?”
Embarrassment flooded my cheeks. “Are you seriously judging my wardrobe right now?” I’d been too tired to do laundry over the weekend, and now I was paying for it since I was wearing my emergency pair of pajama pants. And of course Cal would have to witness that.
“I love them!” Khia piped up. “Can I get a pair, Daddy?”
My heart stuttered at the word. He was a good dad. I’d known he’d be amazing all those years ago. And it hurt to see how right I’d been.
“They’re, uh, cute.” Cal choked on the word, red creeping up his neck. “Is cute okay to say? Juliet chewed me out last time I used it on her. You know what, forget I said that. I—”
“Cal, what’s wrong?” His rambling was utterly adorable, but I wasn’t going to last much longer standing here. Not without kissing the floor.
“I need a favour.”
“At eight in the morning?”
His jaw tightened.
Snarky-still-half-asleep Noelle was not helping things. So I pasted on my problem-solving smile. “What do you need?”
“Can you watch Khia today? Juliet was supposed to watch her, but she’s sick, and oh, are you sick? A bunch of the family is after Sunday. Do you need anything? I could—”
“I’m not sick,” I cut in quietly, and his shoulders relaxed.
“Please!” Khia begged, eyes shining. “I’ll be good!”
As if I could say no to that face. “I’d be honoured,” I said simply.
Relief flooded Cal’s face. “Thank you. I’ll owe you big time.”
“Friends help each other.”
“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.
Have you ever seen a cat beg? Cutest thing ever. I might be more of a cat person than a dog person. Unless that cat was Jerry the menace. Not a fan. I had yet to come face-to-face with him, but I knew it was only a matter of time. Lucky me.
Just before five, heavy steps tramped up the porch and loud knocking echoed through the cottage.
“How was she?” Cal asked the minute I opened the door.
“Hello to you too,” I teased, wiping my damp hands on the towel draped over my shoulder, and he grinned sheepishly. “She’s great. Come on in.”
“Daddy!” Khia squealed but didn’t leave her perch on the couch as she paged through a book, having abandoned the puzzle.
“You have a good day, Lovebug?”
“Yup! We made cookies! And Miss Noelle let me help with dinner.”
When Cal glanced at me, my cheeks flushed. “I thought it was one less thing for you to have to worry about.”
“Thanks.” And the grateful look he gave me set my pulse racing.
I gestured to the kitchen. “Do you want to join me?”
He hesitated.
Why did I offer? That’s just awkward. “Or you know what, you probably have things to do. You can take it to go and return my pots later,” I babbled, reaching for the kitchen towel to wrap the dishes up in.
Cal touched my arm, stilling my words. “We’ll stay,” he said roughly. “I’d like to stay.”
Do not read into that. I smiled tentatively. “Okay. Wash up.”
Wow, that came out way too easily. It was so . . . domestic. Like the thirteen years of hurt and misunderstandings didn’t stand in our way. But they did and I needed to remember that.
I’d always been a good cook—one thing my mom had insisted on—and the roasted garlic-parmesan potatoes with jerk chicken and salad were good if I said so myself, and Cal seemed to approve, groaning after one bite.
“I’ve missed your cooking,” he said. “I’ve got nothing on you.”
My face heated with pleasure. The words shouldn’t mean so much, but they did.
Cal listened patiently to Khia prattle like a magpie. He was so good with her, and she clearly adored him. That little girl was his world, and very, very loved.
And while he was wholly absorbed in the conversation, he kept watching me out of the corner of his eye.
Do I have food on my face? I discreetly dabbed my chin with a napkin, and Cal’s dimple popped with a smirk.
When Khia reached down to pet Mrs. Pickles, Cal leaned over, shoulder brushing mine. “You don’t have food on your face,” he said in a low undertone. “But are you okay? You look exhausted.” Gently, he brushed a thumb under my eye.
I was exhausted. But I forced a smile, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach at his touch. “You never tell a woman that.”
Cal’s expression remained serious, not taking the bait. “Elle, was today too much?”
“No!” I shot a glance at Khia. She was still preoccupied with her cat. “She was great. I’m just . . . having an off day.” Talk about an understatement.
He nodded slowly, skeptical, like he expected I wasn’t telling him the whole of it. “All right. But I’m on dish duty.”
“Cal—”
“Nope.” He held up a hand. “The cook never cleans.”
“My house, my rules.”
Cal smirked. “Technically it’s still my house . . .”
“Fine,” I grumbled. I expected him to laugh, but instead a wave of concern crossed his face.
“You must be tired if you didn’t put up more of a fight.”
I shrugged and poked my potatoes, fatigue rolling over me. The idea of lifting my fork to my mouth felt like too much work. If he wanted to wash the dishes, all the more power to him.
“Do you want dessert or are you on a diet?” I teased after we cleared the table. Or rather Cal and Khia cleared the table. Cal had very bossily instructed me not to move from my chair. Yes, sir. This take-charge nature was a new side of Cal, and I’d be lying to say I hated it.
Because I didn’t. Not. At. All.
“I’ll never say no to your cookies.” He winked, swishing water in the pot he was rinsing.
“Pick one of mine!” Khia begged as he perused the tray of decorated sugar cookies. “This one!” She pointed to a reindeer cookie with a bullseye drawn in icing on its side.
I loved her sense of humour.
Cal chuckled. “Looks great, sweetie. Let’s finish up and we can eat them.”
Once the dishes were stacked to dry in a neat pile and the hum of the dishwasher murmured through the house, we took our cookies and hot chocolate to the porch.
The night air was crisp but not uncomfortable, and the twilight darkness was magical beyond the reach of the porch lights.
Khia brought her colouring book, and Cal and I fell into easy conversation.
He talked about leaving for another away game at the end of the week.
I mentioned the boxes I was nearly finished with and the meeting with my dad.
We rehashed dinner with his family, laughing over our favourite anecdotes.
Then we sat in silence. The comfortable kind that didn’t demand to be filled.
A lone owl hooted, and the cool breeze danced through the quiet night.
“Thanks for today,” Cal said, sipping his drink.
“Not a problem. You’ve got a special girl.”
His eyes softened as he glanced at his daughter. Was he remembering the past like I was? How different things could have been if I hadn’t left?
He cleared his throat. “So . . . you lost your job?”
I stiffened at the abrupt change of topic. “That’s all you took away from that conversation at the photo shoot?”
“No, but forgive me for losing all reason for a minute when I was smacked in the face at seeing my former fiancée.” He considered me. “I need a full-time nanny for Khia. Would you be interested?”
“What are you doing?” I whispered, gripping my mug.
Cal sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly? Not a clue. Except I need a nanny because Mama can’t keep up with a precocious four-year-old with her ankle, and there’s no one I trust enough who’s applied.”
He trusts me? “I think we burned the bridge of trust between us years ago,” I pointed out.
“Perhaps.” He stared out into the darkness, jaw working thoughtfully.
“But against every shred of reason, I still trust you, Holiday.” He lifted the cup to his lips and took a long sip, his throat bobbing.
“I know you. You haven’t changed—not that much.
” He held my gaze in the dim porch light.
“When I look at you, I still see a friend, and I trust you with my little girl. For all your faults—and there are many—you won’t hurt a kid. ”
“It’s been over ten years, Cal. People do change.” I’d changed.
“You telling me I shouldn’t trust you? Last I heard you were a nurse.”
My teeth clicked with the force as I shut my mouth. Were. The word still hurt.
“If you aren’t up for it, I understand. Truly. I just . . .” He glanced at Khia, twirling a cat toy for Mrs. Pickles. “She likes you. Talks about you all the time.”
“I’ll do it.” The words flew out without giving me the chance to overthink my choice. And I would overthink it—later.
Cal’s lips curved in a half smile. “We have a deal then?”
Wordlessly, I offered my hand and our palms touched, tingles dancing up my arm. I had a job. Thank you, Lord.
Then why did I feel like I’d made a deal with the devil?
We discussed the boring things like payment—he would be my boss after all—and my availability.
“You’re welcome to the spare room on nights I’m out of town, or she can do a sleepover with you here,” Cal offered.
“Does she do okay away from home?” I asked.
He nodded. “She spends a lot of time with my parents or Grey and Paisley.”
This would be torture.
Spending one day with the girl was hard. But repeatedly getting hugs from a pint-sized darling with dark curls and exotic eyes? Her father’s eyes. Eyes that crinkled in laughter and swallowed me up. A girl could get lost in those eyes.
But Cal moved on. Loved someone else.
Watching Khia was seeing a future I’d dreamed of set in reality. I’d burned the bridges and lived to regret it ever since.
But maybe, just maybe I’d get a chance at forgiveness.