Excerpt from Esme’s Novel #3
That statement earns a chuckle, but Noah still looks downtrodden with his slouching frame and long face.
“You’re right. I’m great at flirting. I’m great at romance.
But love? The kind built between a woman and a man that’s meant to last a lifetime?
I fear I’ve never experienced it. At least the real kind.
The kind that doesn’t leave or fade away even after death.
The kind my grandparents and my parents have—even when the other half of them is gone to be with the Lord.
I want the kind of love I want to choose. A person I want to choose.”
I gently caress his arm before moving to place my palm on his face, forcing him to look me in the eyes.
“Noah Ashley Ashton, you might not have experienced that type of love before, but I have no doubt you are a capable and worthy man. You deserve a love that stays. One that doesn’t fade away into the recesses of memory. ”
Water drips from Noah’s chin, and I can’t tell if it’s sweat or a tear.
“Thank you, Esme. You deserve that, too,” Noah whispers, his fingers brushing across my cheek.
We stand there as moments—maybe eternities—pass, touching each other’s face and staring into one another’s soul.
But then a gust of wind sweeps through, rustling branches and ushering dust particles into our eyes.
We break apart, finishing the rest of the hike in a comfortable silence.
As we reach the peak of the mountain, I know there’s no universe or dimension in existence where I go back to Juniper Grove, Mississippi, and pretend that Noah Ashley Ashton—contemporary romance author Noah Ashton—doesn’t exist.
“How have I never read your books?” I muse as we overlook the island, boasting a vibrant floor of green with dazzling specks of color throughout.
The sun is high above us, casting diamonds into the ocean out below.
We sit on a huge, jagged rock, his arm around my waist and my head leaning against his broad shoulder.
“Probably because the second novel has a sucky love interest.” Noah kisses my forehead, and I’m glad to see he’s joking about it now instead of letting it weigh him down.
“But the one I’m writing now? Based here in Bora Bora?
” Noah pulls me closer. “I think I might get it right.” He pauses, asking me if I catch the meaning behind his words, and my chest aches from the beat of my heart as frissons rack through my body.
Yes, I want to say. I hear you loud and clear.
But I can’t bring myself to admit it aloud.
It’s not possible to fall for a vacation fling.
Noah and I are reveling in the reverie of it all. It’s a fever dream.
But it feels a whole lot like forever…
Letting me off the hook from responding, Noah asks, “You’ll read them now, won’t you? When you get back to wherever you’re from?”
His tone rises at the end, hinting for me to tell him. When I pull away to look into his eyes, my heart thumps wildly while every other part of me feels absurdly safe. And just like that, the doubt-switch flips.
This safety is different .
It’s not a cautious, this-is-the-best-I’ll-get-so-I-should-settle type of safe.
It’s a soul-securing type of safe. The type of safe where you know he would save you before saving himself.
The type of safe where you can trust him enough to fall asleep in his arms. The type of safe one only finds in their metaphorical soulmate.
It’s a thing of romance books. And he’s the leading male in my world.
They do exist. Men like that. Ryan was wrong.
And I was a fool to believe it all this time.
“Yes.” I breathe the word. “I’m going to read every single book you’ve written when I get back home to Juniper Grove, Mississippi.” He’s earned yet another personal fact about me. This one could lead him straight to my doorstep when this vacation fling is over.
I’m starting to hope it does.
He grins wickedly. “Goodness gracious, girl. This just gets better and better,” he says in an exaggerated Southern accent. I playfully elbow him, but he continues. “Fate, indeed. I’m from Hartfield, Mississippi.”
“Thirty freaking minutes from me!” Astonished, I rocket to my feet. He moves with me, a grin the size of Alaska painting his face. Excitement and terror collide together, thundering in my ears as my heart pounds.
“Esme, I hope you don’t mind this”—he gently tucks fly away strands behind my ear—“but I have every intention of never going another day without talking to you.”
I swallow, shivering pleasantly under the intensity of his stare. I don’t know this man, not truly. He’s measuring up to be better than all the book boyfriends I could ever imagine. Have I gone clinically insane?
Could this transpose to real life back in Juniper Grove? Or Hartfield?
This whole time, we’ve lived thirty minutes from one another.
I’ve lived thirty minutes from my dream guy.
And so far, he is everything I want.
Any time we are around others on the island, or we are interacting with the staff, he is immensely respectful and considerate. He saves women from potential kidnappers. He is funny, kind, flirty, and just so lively. He speaks of his family as if they are his lifeline. He writes romance stories.
He drags me out of my comfort zone and pushes me to live without even having to try.
He’s infectious. But not like a disease.
No, he’s infected me with realness. He’s showing me passion is a real thing, not just something found between the pages of a novel.
He doesn’t even know that minute by minute, he’s encouraging me to let loose and open my fists.
And I kind of like who I am with him. Could I spend the rest of forever with a man who is so seemingly perfect? Who healthily pushes my boundaries?
Wait. Why am I thinking forever after two days? Is it because of what he said about talking to me every day? That’s just talking. That doesn’t mean it leads to forever.
Right?
Right?
“Esme.” The sound of my name snaps me out of the spiral, and I meet his golden eyes, so bright they rival the sun. “What’s your middle name?”
The innocence in his soft gaze, the curious tone of his voice, and the feel of his calloused palm cupping my cheek crack open the gates to my heart. Just a fissure, but the pressure is building with every receipt of authenticity Noah delivers to my hardened unconsciousness.
“Samantha. My name is Esme Samantha Prewitt. I’m a high school English teacher, but lately, I’ve had thoughts of quitting to write down the stories constantly swirling in my head.”
The most lovely, authentic smile I’ve ever seen on a human stretches across his face. “Esme Samantha Prewitt,” he muses. Then he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “How did the Lord see fit for me to meet a woman like you?”
But all of this could fade when I start demanding too much, I want to say, but I stuff it down and enjoy the time I have with him.
Because regardless of these feelings, when we go back home, we won’t be the same people.
Island Esme is meant for the island, and if we start dating, our passion would sizzle quickly like mine and Ryan’s did.