Excerpt from Esme’s Novel
I ’m bringing myself a husband home from Bora Bora.
And not just any husband—THE husband. Because for all of Noah’s flirty, mischievous, and playful antics that simultaneously put me on edge and awaken my soul, he’s the one I want. The one I need. The one I choose .
My bookish boyfriend—future husband—come true.
Whatever awaits us back in Mississippi, we will tackle it head first. As a team. Nothing will come between us. Not if we choose each other every day as we grow in love and trust.
“What do you think about this plot point?” Noah asks.
He’s sitting lazily on the deck, his feet splashing in the water while he types on his computer.
I’ve warned him a million times that he’s going to lose his laptop in the ocean, but he only smirks and says, “I’m good with my hands. You’ll find that out soon enough.”
Naturally, I look to the sun and blame it for the red blistering my face. “You can’t say stuff like that until we’re married, Noah.”
He chuckles. “So I am too much for you?”
“I just don’t need thoughts occupying my head.”
Surprisingly, Noah sobers us. “Of course. I’m sorry, Esme. I sometimes think before speaking and let the flirt get the best of me. Forgive me?”
“Already forgiven, thank you.” My heart swells with respect for this man as I watch him resume his typing.
I’m sitting at the table on the deck, far from where the water could consume my notebook. I’ve started writing story ideas down at Noah’s prompting. He says I need a place to put them to sleep until they’re rested enough to wake up and develop.
He’s the cutest soul underneath all of his hot man energy.
I set my notebook down on the table and pad across the wooden deck until I’m sitting next to him, fingers trailing up and down his spine. I love that he loves being shirtless. And that he’s going to be my husband soon. “I’m listening,” I prompt.
Noah launches into his idea, and I lose myself in his animated speech.
He is enamored with storytelling and the art of crafting a novel.
And he’s brilliant at it. I haven’t told him this, but ever since he told me he had books published, I immediately downloaded every one to my e-reader.
I couldn’t wait until I got back to Juniper Grove.
I’ve started reading in the wee hours of the morning while he sleeps soundlessly on the floor beside me, still too much of a gentleman to give in to my desperate pleas for him to fall asleep beside me just so we can cuddle.
He says if he wakes up in the middle of the night holding me, he might not be able to control himself.
And while I love his intentions, it’s driving me mad knowing he’s right there next to me but so far away.
But I respect his boundaries just as he respects mine with the double entendre jokes.
Ultimately, I don’t know what I would do if he wasn’t the one holding back.
People widely talk about how a man struggles with this stuff, but I’m here to say women do, too. Self-control is a fragile thing.
But back to his stories. He writes with heart, telling love stories with depth and truth.
If he hasn’t been touted as the next Nicholas Sparks—better than Nicholas Sparks—he should be.
He might not have ever experienced real love, and I can see where readers found flaws in his male main character of the second book, but overall?
Noah, whether he believes it or not, knows how to transpose the idea of love to the written word.
I guess some people didn’t have enough depth to them to realize it, and I hate that those critiques have impacted him and made him believe for even one second he didn’t understand love.
“Noah, you should consider taking your books to a publishing house. You deserve all the recognition for your talent.”
He sets his laptop down and scoots it away from the edge before patting his lap, indicating for me to take a seat on the throne that will be permanently mine as soon as we get back to the States and announce our engagement.
After we meet each other’s families, we plan to have a small ceremony before moving me to his house in Hartfield.
We talked about every detail last night between spicy kisses, fiery touches, and heated stares.
An outdoor ceremony in my parent’s yard.
My pastor will perform it after we go through a little counseling.
And we will have orange poppies as our flower.
Because it’s become my favorite color as I’ve watched sunset after sunset while in the arms of Noah Ashton.
“You just want to be able to boast about how amazing your husband is, huh?” He nuzzles my neck. “You can do that anyway, sweetheart. I don’t need a publishing house for my books. They’re gaining traction, and I make more money publishing independently anyway.”
“But your family is in the business,” I state.
He shrugs against me. “Maybe I’m a little like you. Want to pave my own path.”
I laugh as he starts tickling me, causing me to squirm before jumping into the ocean. The cool, salty water caresses me, but I still prefer Noah’s arms.
Breaking the surface, I realize he’s jumped in after me, and I swim to him, basking in the light of this untethered joy. “I love you, Noah. And I can’t wait to continue to fall in love with more of you with every day that passes. Until death do us part.”
Noah’s responding expression—the softness of his hazel irises, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes, and the one dimple on the left side of his untamed smile—tell me that I’ll never know another love like this.
It took all of five days, and I’m jumping off a metaphorical cliff with him.
Five days, and he’s so effectively rewired me to believe passionate love is not only real but that I’m also worthy of it. That instant love isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes, souls find solace in one another. And that is something beautiful and worth celebrating.
A simple work week, and I’m already thanking God for Ryan leaving me at that altar. His plans truly are higher; I will never understand how this came to be.
But understanding it doesn’t matter.
Because I will never go back to the woman I was before.
And it’s as clear as day that this teaching gig is over.
It’s time to tell my story.
One of an almost-kidnapping and a spirited awakening.
Speaking of, “Do you think they’ll finally catch the guy who tried to take me after we leave?” Though I do think about the creep occasionally, Noah has distracted me so well that I’ve hardly had time to be fearful. With him by my side, nothing or no one can touch me.
Noah’s face hardens. “I hope so. But I’ll be glad to have you back safe and sound.” He kisses my temple, black curls flopping against my eye as he presses his forehead against mine. “In my arms. Where you’ll forever stay.”
“Where do we want to honeymoon?” I trace the creases in the corner of his eye before dragging my finger down his cheek. “I’ve always wanted to travel to Alaska. One of my favorite singers, Fable Fox, is from Crescent Cove. She speaks highly of the place in her interviews. And I hear it’s magical.”
Noah hums against my lips. “Crescent Cove, Alaska, it is then. I’ve seen you in the sun. I’d like to see you in the snow.”
“I don’t do cold well,” I warn as I kiss the tip of his nose.
I hear the deep hum in his throat. “I’m banking on that, sweetheart.”
***
N oah and I spend the rest of the day leisurely packing, swapping story ideas, taking pictures, and participating in the occasional tickle sessions that turn into makeout sessions. Noah is always the one stopping us before things get out of hand, and I respect him all the more for it.
By the time the sun begins to lower, creating a golden path along the ocean, we’re packed and ready for our last sleep in Bora Bora.
But I’m not ready to sleep just yet.
“I’ve got a surprise for you. Bring your notebook.” After he picks up the black notebook from the table, I grab Noah’s hand and lead him out to the boardwalk connecting the bungalows over the water, including the one across from me that belongs to him. One he’s hardly set foot in since we’ve met.
Noah’s rich laugh sings to me from behind as I drag him until his long legs fall into pace with me. “Where are we going?”
I side-eye him. “Mr. Author. Do you not know the meaning of the word ‘surprise’?” He chuckles, shaking his head lightly and causing those silky black curls to bounce. Oh, we are going to have beautiful babies.
“Do you want kids?” I ask, realizing I haven’t talked about that with him. There’s a lot we haven’t talked about, but that’s what counseling with a pastor is for. Though I know in my soul there’s nothing Noah and I can’t work through. We choose each other.
“Lots of them. A baseball team.”
My heart leaps. “Good.”
We exit the boardwalk and start shuffling through the sand.
Pausing, I slip my sandals off, and Noah does the same.
Like the perfect gentleman he is, he holds my shoes for me as we walk hand-in-hand down the white beach, deep in conversation about how we want to raise our future children until we reach the docks.
A guide awaits us there, just as I’d asked.
“Esme Prewitt and Noah Ashton?” he asks through a thick accent.
“That’s us,” I say, smiling up at Noah. “Ready for our last adventure out on the seas?”
Noah wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my forehead. “We have so many adventures ahead of us, sweetheart.”
Giddy, I gesture for him to hop into the small boat before following after him. Our guide, an elderly man whose name is Fetu, tells us all about the local culture of the area. He is native to the island, and he comes from a long lineage of explorers.
Noah is entranced, his tongue touching his top lip as he viciously scribbles in his notebook while listening to Fetu’s stories.