Chapter Fifteen
You All Night ~ late July
T he plane is dimly lit and quiet as the world sleeps around us, but Noah and I are head to head, scrolling through my manuscript on my phone.
I’m against the window while Noah occupies the middle seat.
Ashton sits in the aisle seat, begrudgingly.
We weren’t able to secure first class seats for this unplanned flight back to Jackson, Mississippi, after hanging out for another day in Alaska.
We went on a small hike yesterday, and the entire time, Noah and I swapped life stories.
We held hands a few times, and he was flirty, which I’ve come to realize I captured perfectly in my novel.
But he was respectful and not once did he try to kiss me again or take conversation too deep.
It was like three days worth of dates rolled into one, and if I’m being honest, I couldn’t get enough time with him.
He’s funny. Charming. Obviously hot.
He’s also considerate. Kind. Thoughtful.
A venus fly trap. Already sucking me in.
“This absolutely did not happen.” Noah snorts as we read a scene in my book where fictional Esme and Noah make out on a jet ski.
I eye him suspiciously because he seems like the type to, well, make out on a jet ski with a woman.
“I’m serious, Meme. I tried to make out with you, but you shoved me off and drove the jet ski away.
Left me bobbing in the water with sharks until you circled back around two minutes later. ”
I stifle my laugh. “There it is.”
He bumps against my shoulder, and our eyes meet under the dim blue light of the plane.
It isn’t the first time electricity has shot from our eyes and into each other’s souls throughout this close quarters flight, and it won’t be the last. Memory retention or not, Noah has already proved exactly why I was attracted to him.
He has an easygoing laugh, beautiful smile, and a body hotter than a desert.
But outside the obvious physical intrigue, Noah is also kind, respectful, and funny.
He hasn’t tried to initiate contact with me outside little brushes and bumps, and he’s letting me set the pace when we talk about the past.
Like right now. I thought a plane ride where we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder was the perfect time to read the book I unknowingly wrote based on me and him. Not my best idea.
I clear my throat and release a cooling breath before I look back at the document on my phone as he continues to read. After a few minutes, he stops and swallows. “That happened.”
I scan the scene I wrote from Noah’s point of view where he’s lying next to Esme as she’s falling asleep post-amnesia. Fictional Noah plays with fictional Esme’s hair and whispers, “I’m going to marry you one day.”
“How? You were—” The words in the ICU fall off my tongue.
Noah shakes his head. “It didn’t happen at the moment you wrote in your book. It happened the night before everything happened.” He gives me a soft, sad smile. “You mumbled ‘yes’ before you drifted off to sleep. It gave me the courage to text my brother that I’d found my future wife.”
My breath catches as a memory of Noah and me snuggling in a hammock flashes through my mind. “Did we have a hammock?”
“Oh, we did,” Noah says, waggling his brows, his flirty nature overtaking his soft seriousness. “It didn’t like us very much as it dumped us on our butts nine times out of ten.”
“I remember it,” I state plainly. I coax the memory to take a fuller frame, but it runs and hides instead. I sigh with building frustration, looking back down at the story. “I wish it’d just all come back at once instead of in these little snippets.”
Noah clicks my phone dark. “I think that’s enough for now. You should probably get some rest.”
Ignoring him, I continue blabbing in a hushed tone. “I mean, why did God allow this to happen to us, Noah? What’s the point? What’s the purpose in this?”
Silence envelops us, the hum of the engines taking up space.
I take deep breaths, trying to tame the anxiety rising.
The full weight of reality crashes down on me.
All the emotions I’ve stuffed down since the moment I laid my eyes on Noah are bubbling to the surface in the quiet, small space, and I have a litany of questions for God that He seemingly doesn't want to answer for me.
Hot tears burn down my cheeks as I stifle my short, breathless sobs.
Noah slips his arm awkwardly around me and pulls me into his side.
The armrest between us jabs into my side, and I squeak in pain.
Noah mutters a curse before lifting the armrest and pulling me once again into his side.
He whispers against my ear as his fingers trail up and down my arm.
“Tell me three things you see, sweetheart.”
I force my bleary eyes open. It’s dark, but I can make out a few things in my area. “A screen. The chair.” I look out of the window into the clear night sky. “Stars.”
Noah adjusts us so that my back is leaning against his chest. His arms wrap around me, and I know he can’t be comfortable in this tight space. But he whispers again. “Two things you smell.”
I inhale, though it’s hard to smell anything with how stuffy my nose is. But I’m able to make out Noah’s scent. “Citrus.” My chest aches as choppy breaths fight for release. I inhale again. “That’s it.” Hitch . “All I can smell,” hitch , “is you.”
“One thing you feel.”
The answer comes immediately as I press against him. “You.”
“I’m right here, Esme. Right here. Breathe with me.”
His chest rises.
I inhale.
His chest falls.
I exhale.
Keeping the pace with the rhythm of his breaths, my breathing begins to mellow out as my tears slow.
“I had them, too, you know. Panic attacks,” Noah whispers against my ear, his voice gravelly and deep.
His breath is warm and inviting, and despite how we’re mashed up like sardines, I lean further into him.
“Every time I thought about how the only woman I’d ever loved forgot me, I could have just died right then and there. ”
“Ashton helped you through them?” I ask, though really, it’s a statement. Noah nods.
“Do they still happen?” I press on.
“Not often,” Noah says. “But sometimes, yeah.”
I take stock of that. I want to help him if I’m ever around and it happens. But then something else he said catches my attention. “The only woman?” I ask breathlessly. “Really?”
Noah’s voice softens. “Yes, Esme. Sure, I’ve dated a lot of women.” I bristle, and he chuckles. “Let me finish.”
“Fine,” I respond, unsure why I’m bothered by the fact he’s dated a lot of women. He’s not mine. Not really. Even though his fingers rub slow circles on my stomach. He’s not mine. He belongs to an Esme who doesn’t exist.
He thinks he knows me; he doesn’t. Not really.
Though this panic attack is a great way for him to start.
“I’ve dated a lot of women, yes, but I never loved any of them.
You got that angle right in your novel, though my novels have sold very well, thank you very much.
” Noah smirks, a bit of Ashton’s headiness coming through.
“But unlike the playboy vibe you give me—thanks, by the way—I didn’t lead them on.
Once I realized it wasn’t going to work with a woman, I’d kindly tell her and we’d go our separate ways.
But with you, it was different. From the moment I saw you sulking on that beach, drowning your sorrows in mimosas and kicking sand as if it personally offended you, I thought to myself, ‘I’ve got to know her,’ and I started formulating a plan to talk to you.
I watched as you removed the pink umbrella from your empty drink and accidentally poked yourself in the cheek when you attempted to put it behind your ear.
I was smitten, and I had my move ready. I was going to pluck that umbrella from your fingers and smoothly tuck it behind your ear.
But that’s when that bald guy stepped in. ”
Unbidden laughter leaks out of me. “Really? You saw a broken woman on her honeymoon alone and thought ‘yep. I’ve gotta talk to her’?”
I feel Noah’s shrug from behind me and laughter vibrating in his chest. “Then I saw you deck a man in the nose.”
I laugh aloud now. Drying my face, I sit up and face him as we both stretch out. “Every man’s dream,” I mock.
“You know, I actually spent that first night outside your bedroom door, keeping watch for you. I didn’t tell you that earlier, but I think you should know just how much I care about you—and have from the start.
You were shaken over the attempted kidnapping, and I couldn’t bear to let you sleep alone in that bungalow knowing the criminal was still out there.
We didn’t kiss that night, didn’t spend the night talking or laughing.
I didn’t want to be too forward after what you went through, even though that’s how you wrote me.
” Noah side-eyes me, and I look away, a smidge guilty.
What can I say? Readers like a romantic rogue.
If we didn’t spend that first night how I wrote it, then I wonder… “When did we kiss? Did that scene ever happen?”
Noah gets a reminiscent look on his face.
“The next morning. You came out of your room wearing an oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, and you found me a bit delusional due to sleep deprivation. I said, ‘I’m glad you made it to tomorrow,’ and you said, ‘No more wasted chances.’ I couldn’t blink before you were grabbing my face and kissing me senseless before making more mango fish tacos for breakfast. I didn’t even care that neither of us had brushed our teeth. ”
My stomach swoops and soars. I’m definitely adding that into the final draft. “You truly are a superhero.”