Excerpt from Esme’s Novel #2
I inhale the salty air, contemplating my answer.
Fate can mean a myriad of things to different people.
It’s serendipitous. Ordained. Constructed.
Mystical. Untouchable. Maybe fate is made up of minuscule pieces of everything, the mundane merging with majesty.
But ultimately, it’s out of our control.
Which has been the source of my beef with God lately.
I exhale slowly, then respond. “God. His will. Whatever He has predestined to happen.” Such as being predestined to marry a man who doesn’t believe in top-tier romance, I think to myself bitterly.
But if I spend time ruminating, which I have done on occasion, maybe the almost-marriage wasn’t God’s doing at all.
Maybe it was all me, though it stings to admit.
Ultimately, Ryan leaving me at the altar just might be the mercy of God in action.
Soul-mauling mercy, but mercy nonetheless.
Noah hums as if my answer satisfies him. “It really frees you up, you know? Living like you believe God’s plan will unfurl exactly as it should and when it should. That’s the hope I cling to even when life doesn’t go the way I planned it.”
“I—” The words fall off my tongue. It should free me up.
Right? Living life as if I have no control and being completely okay with it.
I’ve always prided myself on my adaptability and easygoingness (though those two qualities most likely stem from my people-pleasing tendencies).
Yet—I look down at my hands as Noah takes them in his—I often live life clenching my fists and refusing to free my plans.
As if I’m terrified whatever I currently have is the best it can ever get. Just like with Ryan.
“Esme.” I meet Noah’s soft gaze. “Your pretty brown eyes are dark. Dump those tumultuous thoughts on me, please.”
I laugh breathlessly, amazed he can even tell I’m deep in thought.
Ryan would have never noticed. He never picked up on my subtle mood shifts.
“I know I believe God is in control, so I wonder why I struggle to open my fists and surrender my plans. It’s like He has to pry my fingers off the agenda I’ve carefully crafted for myself.
” I pause, briefly wondering if I should tell him about Ryan and why I’m here.
I’ve always valued honesty, so I take a fortifying breath before spilling the reason.
“There was a man named Ryan. And he cheated before standing me up at the altar. This is supposed to be my honeymoon.”
I brace myself for Noah’s repulsion, but it never comes.
Instead, he squeezes my hands as if telling me to continue.
“Though it hurts because, despite everything, I did love him, I’m glad, ultimately.
He was never the man I was supposed to marry.
He was the safe choice for me. A man who had a stable, well-paying job, wasn't from my hometown, and had the same values and goals as me.”
Noah nods, and I let everything out, knowing deep down this moment would eventually come for us.
“He wasn’t, though. And I knew that at least six months into our relationship.
He never understood me. He was bland and vanilla and boring.
Was always too focused on work and his friends.
We had a standing date night for crying out loud!
” I laugh at the ridiculousness, putting my hands over my face to hide my embarrassment that I let a man like that hurt me.
Some girls may want that, but I’m not one of them, and I should have never compromised.
I drop them back to my lap to speak again.
“I can’t believe I didn’t have the willpower to end it sooner.
Before I was the one getting cheated on and left.
I didn’t want to disappoint my parents or hurt him or disrupt our lives in such a grand way. ”
“But maybe if you would have, you wouldn’t be sitting on a jet ski in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a spicy, citrusy, and thrilling man such as myself.
” He winks, and I shake my head, laughing.
I tend to do that a lot with this man, laugh.
Noah once more takes my hands and places them around his waist, drawing us closer.
“In all seriousness, I’m sorry that happened to you, but I will never apologize for the situation bringing you to me.
In fact, I have to give credit to the sleazeball who attempted to run off with you, as much as that grinds my bones to do. ”
His lips are inches from mine, but neither of us moves in.
We stay like that, searching each other’s souls and burying ourselves in the comfort of home .
“It truly does feel like fate—God’s plan—meeting you,” I whisper, lifting one hand to play with his wet curls.
“Even if it took an almost-wedding and an almost-kidnapping.”
“I was on my way to talk to you when that sorry man tried to make off with you,” Noah reveals.
“I’m glad I got to play hero. Saved me from coming up with a non-creepy hello to say to the woman who had suddenly captured my entire existence with just one sassy toss of her brown hair.
” He tucks a strand behind my ear, lingering.
“Thank you for trusting me with your story.”
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.
The phrase appears in capitalized, italicized, bold letters inside my head. But no. That doesn’t happen, right? Attraction at first sight. Lust at first sight, which admittedly, I’m doing too much of and should reel in now that I know what it feels like at my ripe age of twenty-six.
But love at first sight? Surely not. Love has to be built. Trust has to grow alongside it. It takes time.
Can two people truly know they’re meant for one another with one look? One night spent talking? One morning spent jet skiing together?
Is it just the damsel-in-distress rescue weighing on my heart? The drugged effect I feel by being here on this island, miles and miles away from Mississippi and my responsibilities and my demons?
I jerk back, realizing I’d been petting Noah. Both of my hands had found his hair. His cheeks. His shoulders.
What has gotten into me? I don’t do physical touch.
“Come back here.” Noah’s voice is a notch above a breathless whisper as he wraps one hand around my head and tugs me toward him.
His lips press against mine, and clarity seeps in through the soft contact.
No. If I hadn’t been confronted by that other man, and Noah had approached me anyway, I know my soul wouldn’t have let me rest until I knew everything there was to know about him.
His voice, his smile, his eyes, and even his smell… They call me like a siren’s song.
Deepening the kiss, I pour every emotion I’m experiencing into his lips. I think when most people kiss, they lose their minds. But when I kiss Noah, the world finally makes sense, and I want to live in this placid lucidity forever.
The Jet Ski continues to bob up and down, and Noah and I pull apart. “I like your necklace.”
Noah’s hand instinctively rises to the silver cross, his eyes traveling back to Mississippi as he looks off in the distance. “Thank you. It was a gift from Grandpa before he passed away. Said it would always guide me to love just like it did for him and Grandma.”
“That’s beautiful.” I place my hand over his. Noah’s gaze shifts back to me as he dons a soft, heartachingly beautiful smile.
Noah kisses my forehead. “I come from a family of romantics. What can I say?”
***
“So, I told you why I’m here alone. What are you doing in one of the most romantic places on earth by yourself?”
Hiking was not on my to-do list today after a morning of chaotic jet skiing, but Noah insisted that we see the view of the island from the top of an extinct volcano. I’m sweaty and a bit breathless, but Noah is graciously letting me keep the pace.
Plus, being away from the resort settles me. It’s a moment of knowing without a doubt I’m safe since the police still haven’t caught the guy.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
I scoff. “Try me.”
“All right,” he says before grabbing my hand and stopping us. He tosses my water bottle from the back of my bag to me as he grabs his own. “I’m here because I’m doing book research.”
“Like, you’re writing a book?”
He grins, amused, before lifting his shirt and wiping a sheen of sweat off his face. “Hot guys can write books just as well as they read them, sweetheart.”
Excitement takes over. “Tell me everything! I’ve always wanted to write a book.”
As we continue to climb, Noah tells me all about his career as a contemporary romance author. He says his whole family is in the publishing business in one form or another, but he’s the only one who has written books.
Three books, to be precise.
Two are published with one in the editing stages. And he’s currently drafting another that takes place in Bora Bora, which is why he is here.
“You take your career seriously, huh?” I ask, stepping over a pointed rock. Noah is right beside me, helping me trek as I need it. However, he doesn’t answer immediately, so I stop.
Noah walks a few paces ahead of me before turning around, beads of sweat rolling down his face. “Are you coming?”
“Are you going to answer my question?”
Noah’s shoulders slump, a flash of uncertainty flickering across his expression.
“It’s okay, Noah,” I begin, already walking toward him. “You don’t have to—”
“I’ve never been in love before.”
His abrupt confession glues my feet to the terrain. “What?”
“My last book was criticized rather harshly. Reviewers said they had a hard time connecting with my male character because he felt distant and aloof, even as he confessed his love for the heroine.”
“You? You’re the king of romance. You could give lessons on the art of flirting. Trust me, I’ve been on the receiving end of it lately. Ten out of ten. Five stars. Would recommend.”