Chapter One

*Candace*

They said you can't go home again.

Well, Thomas Wolfe said it.

Which was kind of funny because the early twentieth-century novelist was born about twenty miles up the road from Kirby Falls.

But I completely understood the sentiment.

Perhaps better phrasing would be . . . you can't go home again and expect everything to be the same. Or maybe, you can't go home again and expect everyone to welcome you with open arms. And the lesser known proverb: you can't go home again because you'll fuck everything up, and why couldn't you just stay in New York City, Candace?

But the fact remained. I did go home again.

I flew into Asheville the second week of August when the humidity was thick enough to slather on my momma's award-winning buttermilk biscuits. I watched as hazy blue mountains grew bigger and sharper in my rounded airplane window until they parted on either side for the lone runway that would drop me within fifteen miles of my hometown.

Kirby Falls had been in my rearview for just over seven years.

I'd lit out of town on graduation day, my maroon cap and gown balled up in the back seat of my best friend's 1996 Toyota Camry. We'd had a plan and a little bit of money, and we'd decided to leave our hometown behind while we could.

I'd never had to explain it to Lo. She just got it. The overwhelming desire to break free, to do something completely different from the rest of my family. Lo knew what it was like to have an itch beneath your skin and a fire in your belly, driving you to grow up faster and prove yourself. She knew because she felt it too.

We'd bonded over being the youngest children among overachieving siblings. My big brother, Brady, had three years on me, but his personality beat me by miles. He was warm and funny and everyone's favorite Judd. And that wasn't just my warped perception. You could ask anyone in our hometown of Kirby Falls.

Then, there was my big sister, Joan, who was nine years my senior and basically my parents' dream child. She was responsible and dedicated and had known from a young age that she wanted to help run our family's apple orchard.

Lo had three older sisters, and they'd each been valedictorian on their respective graduation days. My friend figured why bother ? She'd never loved school the way her sisters had, and her solid C-average throughout her high school career reflected that.

Community college the next town over had been Lo's destination at the end of that magical summer, but before that, we'd been determined to spend three whole months getting as far away from Kirby Falls and our responsibilities as possible.

I wondered what Lauren "Lo" Walker, my former best friend, would say when she heard I was back in town. Swallowing around the sudden golf ball that had formed in my throat, I lowered the shade on my window as the plane taxied briefly before depositing me—and the forty-eight other passengers—at our gate.

I watched as everyone hurried to grab their bags from the overhead compartments while a whole lot of nothing happened. The flight attendants hadn't even opened the cabin doors yet. Rolling my eyes at my overeager fellow passengers, I pulled out my cell phone and turned Airplane Mode off. My finger hovered over the text thread with my brother before tapping.

Brady: Text me when you land.

Me: Will do. Thanks for volunteering to pick me up.

Brady: Oh, I didn't volunteer. Mom's paying me.

Me: Shut up.

Brady: You shut up.

Brady: Have a safe flight. Can't wait to see your stupid face.

I rolled my eyes again—this time at my doofus brother as I reread our exchange from before I'd boarded at LaGuardia.

Now, I peeked toward the front of the plane to see the line's progress. Still not moving.

I typed: Just landed. I'll let you know when I'm at baggage claim.

Staring at the screen, I waited a few moments, but no dots appeared to indicate my brother was typing. I slid the phone back into my pocket and gathered my laptop bag and purse from beneath the seat in front of me.

The flight had been a short one, just a couple of hours. Long enough to get in the air, request my standard in-flight ginger ale, and then land between the rolling hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

When I finally made it off the plane, it was clear the airport was under construction. Equipment and employees were everywhere, and the plane wasn't connected to a covered walkway leading into the building. We deplaned directly outside into the humid August heat and onto a ramp that zigzagged a few times until we reached solid ground.

Stopping behind the elderly man in front of me as he readjusted his carry-on, I breathed in the late afternoon air. It felt like inhaling through a sweaty gym sock, but I couldn't help but smile.

My eyes landed on the tree-covered hills in the distance and the bright sunshine. My everyday landscape of glass-and-metal skyscrapers had been replaced by mountains and so much blue sky, I could hardly take it all in. The pace was slower here. I could feel it in the way the breeze picked up and my heartbeat evened out. The wind cut through the oppressive moisture for just a moment and then helpfully whipped some brown hair out of my ponytail. I grinned, tucking the strands behind my ear and scanning my surroundings once more. Some strange emotion worked its way up my tight throat, causing my nose to sting and pressure to build behind my eyes.

I was home.

Well, about twenty minutes from home, but I'd done the hard part. I'd gotten here. Even if I was dragging more heartache and baggage than the two checked bags I'd been allowed. That luggage was well over capacity as it held nearly everything I owned, plus a good helping of failure and regret.

I'd put my furniture and anything too big to pack in storage back in the city. It cost an arm and a leg for the unit for six months, but the idea of selling all my things felt like admitting I was never coming back.

This trip down south was just temporary. It had to be, or what was the point? Coming home for good would make everything I'd done in the past seven years—everything I'd worked for and achieved and sacrificed—utterly pointless. I couldn't give it all up. Retreating to Kirby Falls was the best short-term solution to my problems, but if I stayed . . . I'd be doing more harm than good and undoing every bit of progress I'd made. I didn't want to let my parents down. They'd sacrificed so much for my education. And they'd be disappointed if they knew the truth. That was why they could never find out about the mess I'd left behind in Manhattan.

Leaf It to Me is coming December 17th!