Chapter Fourteen
Getting Good Now ~ late july
T wo days later, Ashton and I find ourselves once again on a plane, but this time, our destination is the wild expanse of Alaska.
I had an epiphany in the bathroom of Books and Beans.
Noah and I were planning to honeymoon in Crescent Cove, Alaska, a part I completely skimmed over when reviewing my book with Ashton before we left for Bora Bora. We had only talked about it, never made official plans. But something in my gut tells me that’s where we will find him.
The character inside my head tends to agree.
How we will hunt him down in the quaint small town, I have no idea. But we’ve got to try.
The lights flicker on, and the pilot announces we’ve begun our descent into Ted Stevens International Airport. I raise my right shoulder up and down, causing Ashton’s head to bounce. “Wake up, sleepy head. We’re landing soon.”
“Mm.” Ashton groans and stretches as much as the room on this plane will allow him and his long limbs. We are flying first class again, but first class on Alaska Airlines is much different than on our previous flight to Bora Bora. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough to drool on me.” I point to a wet spot on the shoulder of my sweatshirt.
A sheepish look passes across Ashton’s face. “Sorry, Meme.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Meme? Who told you my nickname?”
“You use it for your Esme character in the book. Figured you went by it.”
“Do you have a nickname?” I ask as we give our trash to a flight attendant.
Ashton shakes his head, but he’s hiding a smile.
“Yes, you do,” I excuse. “Tell me or I text Branda to find out.”
He groans, rubbing a hand down his tired-looking face. “Ashy. It’s stupid. Don’t ever call me that.”
“Does Noah have a Branda-given nickname?”
Ashton smirks. “She just likes to call him by his middle name, Ashley, because she thinks it’s strictly a female name. It’s why he chose to use it for publishing. Just to stick it to her.”
We continue chatting about family nicknames and things we did with our siblings when we were younger as the plane bounces onto the runway. Once we come to a stop, we grab our bags and once more, set out into another airport in order to track down Noah Prewitt.
“Oh my,” I say just as Ashton states in astonishment, “Wow.”
We are staring at taxidermied polar bears inside of a glass display.
“I think I might like it here,” Ashton hums as we continue to find our way around the airport. We pass by more animals in display cages—moose, brown bears, and a musk ox.
We pick up our rental vehicle, and then we’re heading to find food before starting the three-hour drive down the peninsula to Crescent Cove, Alaska.
“Anchorage was more crowded than I expected,” I note as we merge south onto the Seward highway.
Ashton agrees, and then we fall into mesmerized silence.
I stare in awe out of the window at the mountain ranges around us and the high noon sun shining through an overcast sky.
The air is crisp but warm as we ride with the sunroof open and windows cracked, and I already know I want to come back to this place after I leave.
The roads wind, a cliff on Ashton’s side with the Turnagain Arm on my side.
When the sun breaks through the clouds, it causes the water to sparkle like deep, solid, blue diamonds.
Where the water in Bora Bora was see-through, this water is a block of sea blue.
I can taste magic in the air, if such a thing exists.
After we’ve been driving for about an hour and a half and my bladder is on the verge of exploding, I ask, “Where is the nearest bathroom? There’s like nowhere to stop.”
“How should I know?” Ashton retorts. I look at my phone for the millionth time, checking for signal, and squeal when I see two bars and LTE. I quickly search for restrooms along Seward highway and find a place called Caveman’s coming up soon in Cooper Landing.
I set the GPS to take us there and memorize the photo of the wooden building with eclectic-looking signs out in the front of it in case my phone loses signal again.
Once we’re heading out from the convenience store that also happened to have delicious ice cream, Ashton comments, “We’ll be there in a little over an hour. Are you ready?”
The ice cream sitting heavy in my stomach churns.
“I guess I have to be.” I pause, then add, “Will you see him first? Whenever we find him? If we find him?” Though my gut tells me he’s here, there are still seeds of doubt.
My soul knows the Noah of my book. I’ve written him in perfect detail.
He yaps in my head all the time, and I wonder if my memory of him merged with fiction to create the character who talks too much.
Rude, he says, interrupting my thoughts. You like my yapping.
Proving my point, I smart back.
Ultimately, Noah still feels like a fantasy of sorts. He’s real, no doubt. But I want to set my eyes on him, to see the truth of him. To see if I got him right.
But I want Ashton to take the lead because I’m terrified and nervous.
“Of course,” Ashton responds as we take tight curves slowly, evergreens all around us with the Kenai River flowing quickly off to the side.
“So,” I take a deep breath, “we are going to visit different stores and restaurants in Crescent Cove and ask if anyone has seen another you.” The plan is weak, just like Bora Bora, but it’s all we can do when there is no way to digitally track Noah.
I fight the anxiety rising as we eventually pass a sign that reads “Welcome to Crescent Cove” with mermaids hugging either side of the distressed, gray, wooden sign. A faint longing for magic and folklore glitters around me. And as we enter the town, I gasp.
“This is much more crowded than I expected.” People walk down the sidewalks in packs wearing waders and carrying poles, ice chests, and large nets.
“Fishing and dip netting season.” Ashton grimaces. “It’s the height of tourism here.”
Just great.
“Should we park somewhere and walk around? This traffic is atrocious.”
Ashton nods, and we make our way into the parking lot of Crescent Cove Park, which sits on the edge of the Kenai River.
Bad choice. This is where all the fishermen are parked.
We find a spot after ten minutes of looking, lock up the vehicle, and begin walking underneath the cloudy, evening sky.
Though you wouldn’t be able to tell it’s approaching five in the evening, the sun is still high in the sky, hiding behind light gray clouds.
The light wind coming off the river is cool and invigorating, kissing my face.
We walk around the small town for an hour, asking cashiers at stores, waiters at restaurants, and random people on the street until we meander into a dive bar called The Siren’s Call.
It’s a small place with only a few other people frequenting it right now.
A couple plays pool while a group of elderly gentlemen sit at a table, shooting the wind and drinking beer.
The whole vibe of this place is centered around the ocean, sirens, pirates, and sailing, and I’m starting to think much of this town is steeped in mermaid-esque mythology.
Collapsing on rickety barstools, we both release exhausted sighs.
My feet ache from walking, my skin is drying out quicker than a drop of water on hot Mississippi asphalt, and I’m feeling a headache coming on.
“What will it—” The bartender, a tall native man, stops in his tracks as he enters from the back of the bar room. “Noah? Back already? And with a friend and a haircut?” The bartender smiles warmly at me, his white teeth standing out against his tawny skin.
The aches are long forgotten.
Ashton looks at me before snapping his attention back to the man and stretching out his hand. “Hi, I’m Ashton Prewitt. Noah’s my twin. He’s been here?”
“Big Bear,” the man says, clasping Ashton’s hand and shaking it heartedly. “Yeah, your brother’s been here. Nearly every day with Nick, though thankfully, Noah’s stopped drinking so much. It was rough when he first got here.”
My heart races in my chest as my palms begin to sweat. Noah is here. In this town. Has been in this very place. Has had it rough. Because of me. “Where is he now?” I butt in. Then remembering my manners, I introduce myself. “I’m Esme Jenkins.”
Big Bear’s smile falls. “Do you remember him? He told me everything.”
I knit my brows together. “No. Yes? I don’t know. I wrote a book about us and apparently it’s real, though I don’t necessarily remember it not being fiction and—”
“She’s on her way.” Ashton interrupts my rambling to this perfect stranger. I’m too out of my mind for this. “Do you know where my brother might be?”
Big Bear nods, wiping a glass dry with a towel. “Probably at Nick’s. He’s been staying there for the past month after they met here and became friends bonding over their,” he smirks, “romantic woes, despite what Nick likes to tell himself.”
Ashton and I exchange glances, then he asks, “Where can we find this Nick guy?”
“Nick Lancaster lives down Holiday Avenue.”
“Is there an address I can plug into my GPS?” I ask.
“Outsiders.” Big Bear shakes his head, but then he gives us the address of Nick Lancaster. We thank him, then make the five minute straight-line walk to our rental car.
Once buckled up and pulling out of the Crescent Cove Park parking lot, Ashton gives me a tight smile. “Ready?”
I press the route button on the GPS, and the woman’s voice announces our destination. Ten minutes away. My head is spinning once again; blood swooshes in my ears.
“I think my blood pressure’s rising,” I state, twirling my thumbs in my lap. “Sky high, Ashton. Sky high. I’m about to meet the real version of the man I wrote about.”
He chuckles humorlessly, and I press my lips together. He’s just as nervous as I am.
I ramble on, more to myself than to Ashton. “I wrote him so perfectly in my book. Is he truly the perfect man?”