Excerpt from Esme’s Novel
I wake up to the smell of something burning.
Snapping my eyes open and thrusting myself out of bed, I race out of my room and into the—
There’s a shirtless, oversized bronze man with mussed dark curls and a tattoo sleeve on his left arm flipping a pancake in my bungalow kitchen. Wildest dreams do come true.
Memories from last night crash into me like the ocean waves against the edge of this hut at high tide.
Noah Ashley Ashton, who gave me his middle name right before kissing me senseless out on the deck.
Noah Ashley Ashton, who swept me off my sandaled feet and into those capable, muscled arms God blessed him with.
Noah Ashley Ashton, who I did not ask to rewire my heart in the course of a night, laying me down on the hammock attached to the roof before he attempted to climb in after me and got us all twisted up in fabric, rope, and each other.
Somehow, the contraption ejected me first, and I hit the rug underneath it with a thud. Noah followed soon after, but thankfully, I’d crawled out of the way in time.
We lay on our backs, roaring with laughter. Every time I thought I might be done because my abs ached, we’d turn our heads toward one another and the fit would start all over.
That lasted well into the night, broken only by kisses, conversation about anything and everything except our personal lives, and the occasional light snacking while sitting on the deck watching the stars shine for the two of us.
At some point, we fell asleep, and I think Noah might have tucked me into bed.
But that memory is a little hazy, and I’m also not entirely sure I didn’t dream that part.
All in all, last night, I promptly forgot about being a rejected bride because of this wonder of a man. At least in comparison to the ones I’ve experienced.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Noah’s deep voice snaps me out of my midnight-memories stupor.
I realize I’ve been staring at him this entire time. He waggles his brows before tossing the pancake into the air with the frying pan. It flips effortlessly and lands right back in the pan before he places it back on the gas stove. I’m glad he knows how to use that thing. “Like what you see?”
“Very much so,” I hum as I wrap my arms around my chest, clinging to the oversized T-shirt I put on sometime after the hammock incident last night.
(And yes, I’m wearing cotton sleep shorts underneath.
We kissed and cuddled last night, nothing else.
I woke up alone, though I was surprisingly sad about that.
All of this is new to me.) Once I’m right beside Noah in front of the stove, I add, “That pancake looks delicious.”
“You mean I look delicious,” Noah retorts, flipping the pancake once more. “Take a bite out of me.”
A thrill runs down my spine, and I learn that innuendos—at least the way Noah says them—take my mind spiraling to places it probably shouldn’t go.
When I kiss him, it’s different. I’m in the moment, enjoying the innocent bliss of the magical sensations, and could kiss him until I die.
But when he says remarks like that , my mind conjures other ways to find new sensations.
Ones I won’t allow myself to explore because of my beliefs.
I redirect. “Nah, the hammock did that well enough last night.”
Noah’s laugh is rich and hearty, and I want to bottle it up and take it back to Mississippi with me. Pull it out when I need a boost of serotonin or simply want to remember .
“Did you sleep on the sofa last night?” I ask.
“I, uh, slept on your floor.” His voice lowers and he catches my gaze.
“It took all my willpower not to crawl into bed with you.” My eyes must betray my concern because he quickly adds, “Just to cuddle. You looked unbelievably soft and warm, and I wanted to hold you all night. But I know that could have led to more.”
My heart hammers in my chest, but not from fear.
From wondrous desire. A concept I didn’t know I could actually experience with a man.
And thankfulness.
Because had he not had the discipline, I know good and well I would have thrown those Christian morals of mine right out the window.
Island Esme needs a tighter leash. Or maybe it’s just Noah.
I’ve never battled want like I did last night with him.
Like I am right now. It’s new. It’s glorious. And I know I can’t give in to it.
But I can kiss my vacation fling. As long as I remember my boundaries and trust that he has his. Once more, I eye his necklace. He’s a flirt, but I think we are on the same page. But it’s best to make sure.
I rise onto my tiptoes, place my hands on his shoulders for stability, and kiss his flirty mouth long and slow, savoring the minty taste from his toothpaste.
“For the record,” I whisper against his hypnotic lips, “I wanted that, too. But thank you for choosing the floor instead of ravaging me. Is this us setting that boundary right here and now for the rest of the week?”
He hums yes against my mouth and then breaks the kiss, turns his attention back to the stove, and finishes cooking breakfast. I set to work preparing the table out on the deck.
I set the white plates out, procure the silverware, and light a candle.
Then, I take a moment to close my eyes as the morning sun caresses my skin and the salty ocean breeze wraps me in a hug.
I can’t believe I’m here right now, and I’m not mad or sad or angry. I’m…
Utterly happy. Content. At peace.
My responsibilities are at bay.
I’m free.
Authorities still haven’t caught the man who tried to take me yesterday, but with Noah here, it doesn’t matter. Creepy Guy was probably fibbing about having a knife anyway.
Footsteps echo from behind me, and then Noah’s arms loop around my waist, his chin resting against my shoulder as I lean back into him. “I think this is as close to heaven as I can get on earth, love.”
Love? I don’t let the word root in my mind. And Noah tenses, which leads me to believe he didn’t mean to say it.
We stand there in silence as he slowly relaxes, melting into me as that four-letter word evaporates into the salty air.
Noah is some earthly version of heaven, sent for reasons unbeknownst to me.
I don’t know what it is about this handsome, funny, coy, and kind stranger, but he makes me feel like we’ve known each other for eternity, though I hardly know anything about him at all outside of our likes, dislikes, and random stories from our childhood that we exchanged last night.
Once more, a burning smell wafts from the kitchen. I turn in his arms. “Noah, I think you're burning our breakfast.” He sniffs the air and bolts inside.
He returns minutes later with two plates of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. “I don’t know how to use a gas stove. Never had to use one growing up. We always had an electric.”
I shrug as he sets the food on the table.
“Can’t be too difficult. We didn’t use one, either.
” I run inside to grab orange juice from the fridge.
Something I had on hand for mimosas even before our grocery run yesterday.
But this morning, I don’t feel like drinking the day away.
I want to indulge in every moment I have with this man and this newfound free feeling.
I plant myself back down at the table with Noah and examine my plate.
“Want me to whip up more Orange Julius, or do you want to just drink the juice?”
He grins. “Regular OJ is fine, sweetheart. Just sit down and eat with me.” Noah shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “You’re right. This pancake is delicious. I’d take it over me any day.”
***
“ N oah! You’re going to get us killed!” I scream against the sounds of the jet ski crashing against the ocean surface.
My body vibrates and bounces as he conquers wave after wave, the salt water misting my skin just so the sun’s rays can lick it dry.
I cling like a starfish to Noah, and I briefly wonder if he can breathe with how tightly I’m squeezing his torso.
Bare torso.
With sun-kissed skin and meticulously defined muscles.
I’ve learned Noah Ashton enjoys being shirtless whenever he possibly can be.
And I’m not complaining one bit because I am Island Esme. And I quite enjoy admiring God’s handiwork on this human.
“What?” Noah shouts, turning his head to the side.
“Slow down!”
I can’t hear Noah’s deep laugh as much as I feel it rumble against my chest, but he obliges my wishes and the jet ski slows to a manageable pace before coming to a complete stop.
“Am I too much for you, sweetheart?” Noah stands, the jet ski rocking as he maneuvers to sit facing me. I scoot back to give his long legs room, but instead, he grabs under my knees and lifts my legs around his hips, tugging me closer.
His bold declaration of desire sends a tremble through me as I lose myself in his hazel eyes, admiring the flecks of gold shining through. “Admittedly, you might be.” I grin as he rolls his eyes. I continue my train of thought. “But, I think I can withstand the force of nature that is you.”
His fingers mindlessly massage my thighs while he contentedly looks out across the sprawling ocean.
I follow his half-moon gaze, thinking about nature and God and purpose.
Though God and I haven’t been on the same page lately, and I often wonder if He even hears or sees me, I’m mesmerized by His intricately created beauty around me.
The ocean sparkles and dances as if it’s celebrating our arrival at its center.
I can see the island off in the distance, but we’re so far out it feels as if the world belongs solely to us.
As if God created this scenery—this moment—just for Noah and me.
“You mentioned fate before,” Noah says, turning his attention back to me. “What does that mean to you?”