Chapter Ten
A Nice Dress ~ mid-July
A djusting the high-waisted, floral-patterned flared skirt and making sure my light orange collared button-up halter top, which compliments my tanned skin nicely, is tucked in tightly, I release a breath.
Ashton said his family is chill and low-maintenance, but judging by his put-together style, I have difficulty believing that statement.
Maybe it’s just an Ashton thing. Then again, I perused pictures of Noah that suggest he was fashioned the same way.
Though Noah seems to come with a little wildness painting his spirit.
In every single picture, he wears a knowing smirk.
Even pictures from his childhood. He’s like an imp or a pixie, always up to something mischievous.
After cooking omelets for breakfast, I snuck away into the room to do a little more snooping.
I browsed through two of Noah’s journals last night before feeling too icky and invasive to continue.
I snuck glances at the dates and tried not to read anything that wasn’t relevant to me, but I have to admit, I got caught up in his prose over his life.
Noah is not one to journal about events; he speaks to thoughts, feelings, and abstract ideas.
The way he wrote sentences, even within the privacy of his pen and leather-bound paper, stirred a sense of longing within me.
It was reflective of his voice in the novels he writes with his brother, and I wonder if Noah is in charge of the prose while Ashton is in charge of the plot.
Or maybe they each contribute to both. Though, admittedly, Ashton seems like the more sensible twin from what I’ve gleaned.
He would be the one to focus on structure while Noah went off script, describing the way golden sunlight caresses his cheek with a gentle hello as it dances through the leaves of a tree.
My heart soars, and I talk it down from the clouds. Noah’s becoming so much more than a book character in my head. I have to tread carefully; I can’t blend fiction and reality. I can’t assume the Noah from my book is the same one I will find.
But we are one and the same, my little author. I shudder as Noah’s voice across my senses. Why do you think you can hear me so clearly? It’s because you know me, sweetheart.
A gentle knock sounds at my—Noah’s—door. “Esme? You ready?”
The present voice sounds eerily like the one in my dream last night, but there’s a slight difference in inflection than the one in my dream and in my head.
I think it was another memory. In the dream, I had woken up in Noah’s arms as he whispered my name against my ear.
The whispers became a symphony of laughs, kisses, and carefree entanglements.
While it’s safe to say I woke up this morning hot and bothered and desiring something that I shouldn’t with a man I don’t actually remember, I’m simultaneously concerned that I may have lost my virginity to my dream man in real life.
Though I didn’t write that into my story because it’s a Christian closed-door novel, I now can’t help but wonder.
And if I did, it signifies I truly was off my rocker that week in Bora Bora, because I planned to wait for marriage.
I haven’t had a lady exam since the accident, and I am due for one, but I’m terrified to find out the truth.
It’s one thing to forget a guy I met on my un-honeymoon.
It’s another thing to forget about having sex with said man.
Glancing at myself one more time in the mirror, I note the few flyaways around my face and neck.
I quickly smooth and tuck them into my bun, fiddle with the orange, pink, and white skirt once more, and then move to the door.
I slowly open it to find Ashton standing out in the hall wearing mid-thigh khaki shorts and an orange linen button-up shirt that matches mine.
“Hey, we match,” Ashton says with a twinge of suppressed happiness in his voice. Gone is the man who looked tortured and hurt while talking about wild loves last night. In his place is the guy who seemingly wants to crawl out of his shell but has a hard time doing so.
His hazel eyes flecked with green snap to mine, and we laugh at the coincidence of our outfit choices.
I give him a playful nudge as I pass through the door.
A couple of meetings and a night spent at his place, and I already feel like he’s my best friend.
Especially because he’s the only human on this earth that I trust at the moment.
My thoughts slip to my parents, Ethan, and Sam, and I have to fight the fury stirring in my heart and mind.
As if he can read my thoughts, Ashton questions me as we leave the house. “Have you contacted your parents to let them know you’re still alive?”
I shake my head, my face hardening as I grind my teeth.
Have they contacted me?
Absolutely.
I turned my phone off last night because Sam wouldn’t stop messaging me. Ethan wouldn’t stop sending me Snapchats. Mom and Dad took turns ringing my phone.
“Esme, you need to contact them. Just to let them know you’re alive.” Ashton’s voice is concerned with a touch of fatherly chastising.
“Okay, Dad,” I retort. He ignores my scowl as he opens the door of his truck for me. After I slide into the lifted monstrosity, I begrudgingly fish my phone from my little white purse.
Me : Ashton says I should let you all know I’m alive. I’m going to meet his and Noah’s family. Then we are going to Bora Bora to look for Noah. Please stop harassing me. I will talk to you when I’m ready.
Mom’s message is immediate.
Mom : I’m so sorry, sweetie. Thank you for the update. We love you. Please, even though you’re angry with me, send me your itinerary for Bora Bora.
I thumb up the message and lock the screen just as Ashton begins to pull out of the driveway.
“Happy?” I ask, reaching for the radio.
Ashton rolls his eyes. “You know? With that attitude, though I understand it to some extent, I think you and Branda will get along nicely. Though that might mean living hell for me and Noah.”
I toss him a cheeky grin as some Kenney Chesney song starts to play, though my smile is a front. My stomach is churning, my heart is beating a little too fast, and sweat is causing my tucked-in shirt to stick to my back.
Ashton assures me I’ll be well-received, but I wonder…
Do I deserve to be welcomed in?
Will they attempt to force me into something with Noah? Ashton says they are hopeful , whatever that entails.
Or were they lying to Ashton about wanting to meet me? Is it a bait-and-switch tactic, and they will rain fire and brimstone down upon me for forgetting Noah and causing him to dip out of town without a way to get in touch with him?
Before I’ve climbed my way out of my head, we are sitting in the truck on the paved driveway of their colossal pearly white home.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you lived close.
I’m surprised they weren’t at your doorstep last night.
Heck, even after our first meeting in Whitney, the rumor mill spread gossip like grass seeds.
Did you know we ran off and got married, Ashton? ”
He laughs, a twinkle in his eyes, before shaking his head. “I imagine Noah won’t take too kindly to that news.”
The mention of Noah once more reminds me of what I’m doing here, and my chest tightens. “Imagine not,” I mumble, staring at the house in front of me and half-expecting the Noah in my thoughts to speak. But he doesn’t.
“Hey,” Ashton says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right. They’re going to love you.”
“I think that’s what I’m afraid of,” I respond, slipping out of the truck and into the humid mid-July morning heat before Ashton has a chance to come around to get the door.
We meet in front of his truck and stand staring up at the white three-story house.
It has Roman-style columns out front, and though it's not an old antebellum house, it signifies this family comes from money.
No wonder Ashton can afford to fly me to Bora Bora on a whim.
The dark brown front door swings open, and a young female whose sharp facial features strongly resemble the aging man beside her steps out.
“You’re here!” the woman shouts, a broad smile spreading across her face, softening it up.
She bolts toward us in her high-waisted ripped jeans and white crop top.
Barefeet, chipped, painted toes, and all.
Casual, indeed. She juts out her hand to me, a throng of bracelets decorating her tanned wrist. “I’m Branda.
The coolest Prewitt sibling. Even Noah’s agreeing from wherever in the world he is, right, Ashton? ”
I cover my mouth, not knowing if it’s appropriate to laugh at that.
I look at Ashton, but he shakes his head at his sister while wearing a loving smile.
It’s as if he’s already tired of her antics but loves her and appreciates her too much to comment on it.
The older man approaches from behind, bumping his daughter out of the way before I even have a chance to shake her hand.
He’s tall and slim with—surprisingly not balding—short salt-and-pepper hair that matches his black T-shirt and white, pleated dress pants.
He rolls his sparkling hazel eyes as he reaches out his hand.
“Hi, Esme. I’m Lincoln, but you can call me Link.
I’m the coolest Prewitt overall.” We shake hands, and then he cuts his eyes to Branda and puts a hand to his ear.
“Hear that, Branda? That’s the sound of Noah agreeing with me from wherever he’s sullenly run off to. ”
They all laugh, and this time, I join in, already feeling more at ease as they jest over who is the coolest Prewitt according to the missing Noah.
Dark humor must run in the family, and somehow, I fit right in.
Which is a thought I should not be entertaining.
Finally, Ashton says, “I think we can all agree Noah would say Esme is the best out of all of us.”