Chapter Five
Nothing Lasts Forever ~ early July
W ith every ding of my phone, I experience whiplash from the force of my head snapping to see if it’s Ashton messaging me back. I texted him to confirm our meeting tomorrow, but honestly, I wanted a reason to talk to him as I sit at my desk in my camper and contemplate the ending of this novel.
Bryan: Would we be able to go out for dinner tonight? Just the two of us? I’d like to fill you in on my side of things from our wedding day. - Bryan
My stomach knots.
That is the last thing I want to do today.
But the person deep inside of me who longs for peace and placidity—and who has never had a long enough conversation with Bryan to find out his side of the broken engagement—whispers to give him a chance to explain.
Especially since I have no strong, hurt emotions over the scenario like he might have.
Me: Yeah, sure. Where should I meet you and at what time?
He doesn’t hesitate to respond.
Bryan: How about Gunnar’s. It’s where we used to always eat when we were dating. 7pm. - Bryan
Me: Sounds like a plan. See you there.
No, my little author. Stay here with me. Make some more coffee and slip into the ratty pajamas you like so much. Let’s write the end of the story. I’ll guide your hands, sweetheart, Noah says, his deep voice a seductive coo.
I snort. As if. I’ve been begging you for a week to tell me the happy ending.
My fictional boyfriend goes silent.
Bryan doesn’t respond, either, and I put my phone back down as I stare at my manuscript, pushing thoughts over how tonight will go far out of my head. The cursor blinks, blinks, blinks as I contemplate three different endings I’ve drafted for my book.
In draft one, Esme gets amnesia on the last day in Bora Bora via a jet ski accident, just like my real experience. Noah stays by her side and helps nurse her back to health as she falls in love with him again.
In draft two, Esme gets amnesia after returning back to Juniper Grove when she’s in a car accident driving to Hartfield to visit Noah. Noah finds her on the side of the road, brings her to his house, and nurses her back to health and she falls in love with him again.
In draft three, I lean into the suspense side of things a little more.
The guy who tried to kidnap Esme returns, and while in an altercation with him, Esme is knocked down and hits her head on a rock.
Noah knocks the guy out and rescues Esme again, staying with her in the hospital, but when she wakes up, she’s forgotten him.
In this version, I think I’d have the two of them stay in Bora Bora to retrace their steps to try and help her get her memory back.
I do wonder if this version is a little too dark for a romantic comedy?
I guess it’s all in how I choose to write it.
Each results in a happily ever after because readers will riot if my main characters don’t end up together, but something still isn’t sitting right, and I can’t pinpoint the problem.
Noah hasn’t been any help at all.
Hopefully, Ashton can help you when you see him tomorrow, my mind helpfully reminds me, and I swear Noah growls in the recesses of my brain.
I grin and get a little heated thinking about a Noah versus Ashton showdown, and that’s when my phone buzzes once more.
I’m not as quick to grab it because it could be Bryan, but when I pick it up, Ashton’s name lights up my screen.
Ashton Prewitt: Main Street Coffee again? 10am?
Dinosaurs stomp around in my stomach as I bite my bottom lip.
Me: Unless I’m sick, captured, or dead, I’ll be there!
After I hit send, I reread the text, grimacing. Why did I say such morbid things? This man knocks me all off my game.
Not that I had any to begin with if I’m being truthful.
Ashton Prewitt: Block out a lot of time. We’ve got much to discuss.
My heart thumps in my chest.
Me: Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
Ashton Prewitt: Great things about the book. You’re a phenomenal author. See you tomorrow.
A thrill runs down my spine, and I allow myself to bask in the warm glow of the feeling for all of one minute before I tamper it down, locking it up inside a vault labeled LITERARY AGENT AND NOTHING MORE.
I wanted to throw caution to the wind on my birthday, but afterward, I thought about it. I need to focus on my career, and trying to date my literary agent would be a huge mistake. Ashton Prewitt is off-limits.
And his slightly flirty personality is just that. A personality. He’s also stood on business in our conversations. I’m mistaking kindness for flirtiness, a mistake many women have made. I can’t fall prey to that, so I will toss away my romantic notions.
Though it’s safe to admit I’ve developed a teeny tiny crush on this man.
Okay. Fine . A little more than teeny tiny.
Gosh, I’m feeling the whole early-twenties thing at this moment.
I’m now twenty-seven, but I feel like a teenager with a massive high school crush on the popular guy.
Or the way I felt when I pined after Lane.
He was one of the coolest guys on campus, and I dreamt of meet-cutes between us every time I’d see him out and about.
But then our meet-cute actually happened when we were placed in a partnership for our U.S. History class. And the rest, is, in fact, a scar-filled history as he made cut after cut to my core beliefs about love.
And that’s when it hits me, the reason I think I was going to marry Bryan. Lane made it clear to me that true, passionate romance doesn’t exist in real life. That real men don’t have the emotional capacity to meet a woman where she is, not like men written by women.
Lane led me to believe I’m meant for the Bryans of the world. The safe choices. The passive choices. And I guess I believed him because I was going to marry Bryan.
Do I still believe that? Is that why I’m hesitant to date anyone and end up talking myself out of any possibility of a romantic relationship?
A knock on my camper shakes me from my thoughts.
I open the door. “Hey, Mom. Want something to drink?”
Mom takes a few steps and plops down on my couch with an exhausted sigh. She runs her hands through her short and thin honey-color hair, the same color as mine. “Yes, please. Coffee would be appreciated.”
I set to work starting the old, gurgling pot. “Are you okay?’
“Your brother drives me mad sometimes.” I turn to look at Mom, and she’s laid up, massaging her temples. “I think he does things just to get a reaction from me.”
This is going to be interesting.
“Well, what’d he do?”
“Bought a new truck. Again. His third one this year!”
Yikes. Even I think that’s excessive. But my brother has always appreciated deals and new, shiny things. “Mom. We’ve talked about this. It’s his life. As long as he’s not asking you for money, there’s not much you can do.”
Mom groans, throwing her hands in the air before they slap down to her lap. “I know, Esme. But it still bothers me that he is so careless with his money at times. And Sam! I can’t imagine how she feels about it.”
She probably encouraged it, I think to myself, but I don’t share that with Mom. Not while she’s letting off steam.
Mom has always been my best friend despite our differences. She has given up her whole life to raise me and Ethan while being the best wife she could be to Dad. So, I’m her person. I don’t mind it at all; I love her and will always be a listening ear for her.
“He can afford it, so we might as well let him. I know Sam doesn’t mind.” “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Mom says, shaking her head and crossing one leg over the other. “Sam has always understood his mind in a way I can’t for some reason.”
“She’s good for him.” I pour two cups of coffee, handing one to Mom before sitting down beside her.
“Will you please tell me more about this book you’re writing, Esme? I didn’t want to pester you too much, but I want to know what kind of story has you so entirely captivated.”
Taking a sip of my black coffee, I ready myself.
I’m glad Mom is interested in my book, but I’m also anxious to share this story.
Every time someone else puts their eyes on it, I have to remind myself that feedback and critique are positive things.
I stand and move a few feet to sit at my computer where my manuscript is currently pulled up.
I start at the beginning.
“It’s a story about a vacation fling that turns into something rich and deep between a male character named Noah Ashton and a female character named Esme Prewitt.
I used my name since I’m publishing under Lorraine E.
Jenkins.” I laugh nervously, turning to my side to see my mom’s face since I’m about to mention Prewitt Publishing again and my family had such a strange reaction the first time.
But her face is already as white as a ghost. I continue anyway.
“I thought it was funny that Prewitt Publishing reached out because I used that name for the female character.”
“Can I read it, Esme?” Her words are choked, barely above a whisper, like she’s fighting for her life to hold back tears.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” I twist to my side to give her my full attention.
Her mouth opens and closes as she finds whatever words she wants to say. “I just…” She trails off before trying again, tucking her graying hair behind her ears. “I’m proud of you. For writing a story that you believe in and for already securing an agent.”
My chest warms though something still feels off. “Thanks, Mom.” I return her tight smile. “But it’s not a done deal yet.”
“It will be.” Mom’s voice is soft and sure, but her eyes are far away. “I need to go find your father, but send me a copy of what you have written when you get a moment.”
I nod, thankful she’s supporting me in this capacity. “I will. But, Mom,” she stands to leave, “is something else wrong?”
The sorrowful smile of someone who has just received the news that they have lost someone near and dear to their heart crosses her face as she gently shakes her head before exiting.