Chapter Eighteen #2
I squeeze his hand before letting go, and his teary eyes meet mine. We smile with broken sadness at one another. “Noah,” I manage to say as I wipe at my wet cheeks, hoping my mascara didn’t run. “What really happened during those months?”
He releases a breath, leaning back in his seat.
“I felt like what I imagine it would feel like if I lost Ashton. Like half of me was missing. You bolted into my life like lightning, Esme, and I knew I’d never be the same again.
And then just as quickly as you struck, you were gone.
Worse, you weren’t dead. You were alive, but you didn’t remember me.
Us. And I couldn’t for the life of me reconcile that twist of fate.
” He laughs mirthlessly before continuing.
“I was so mad at God, Esme. But through it all, He was still good to me.”
My steak is probably too salty to eat with the amount of tears puddling on it, but I don’t care.
Noah laid himself open and showed me a non-perfect side to him.
A side that questions and gets mad at God.
And well, it makes him even more perfect in my eyes.
“I’ve been there,” I finally respond, drying my eyes with the back of my hand.
“When I woke from the coma, I was so mad at God for causing it to happen. Heck, I think I’ve been mad at God for a lot of things that I’ve done and placed the blame onto Him. ”
“What did you get mad at Him for outside of the coma?” Noah sniffles and blots at his cheeks. My heart breaks at the sight of his vulnerability.
Now it’s time for me to be honest.
With him, with God, and with myself.
“I was with a man for a while—Lane.”
Noah tenses. “Yeah, you told me about him back in Bora Bora.”
I laugh lightly. “Well, I know you told me that I said similar words to what I’m about to tell you now, but I don’t remember that moment.
I had to learn the lesson twice, I guess.
But I blamed God for Lane when in reality, I chose to stay in a situation I knew wasn’t right for me.
He made me believe I wasn’t deserving of romance and passion.
In fact, he led me to believe no real human man would measure up to the fictional ones.
I still don’t know the full picture of Bryan, my ex-fiancé, but I think it was a similar story.
” Maybe darker than I want to know, I think to myself, remembering the weird memory that surfaced when I was last with him . I shove it aside and focus on Noah.
“I thought Lane was right, you know?” I clear my throat and hold Noah’s gaze as I enunciate my next words. “Until you.”
If a man could melt into himself, Noah Prewitt did. And the sight of the affection and love in his softening eyes has me coming undone.
“I love you,” I blurt. I drag my hand to cover my mouth, staring at Noah with trepidation.
What if this is what he wanted? What if he was waiting to make sure I loved him, and now he’s going to switch up on me and stop being romantic and bringing me flowers, and then tell me I expect too much when I ask him just to text me at least once throughout the day to let me know he’s alive.
Noah stands, his face giving not one single thought away as he moves beside me and kneels down.
No, no, no. I’m not ready. “Esme, I’m not proposing to you.
I told you I’d date you until you’re ready, and I don’t think that you confessing you love me—which has sent me over the moon, by the way—” He can’t stop the smile that stretches across his face no matter how hard he tries to keep an enigmatic expression at the moment.
“But I want you to know that I value your love, your choice to love me. I will not take your love for granted. I promise to keep our love alive. Always.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as he caresses my face. “I love you, Esme Lorraine Jenkins. And my love for you will never falter or wane. Everyday, I will wake up and choose you.”
Fear is still present. I still have doubts. But one golden thread of hope is perfectly clear. “I choose you, too.” I smile through my tears. “I love you, too, Noah Ashley Prewitt. Superhero of naps.”
His curls bounce as he throws his head back with laughter. “I saw the painting in your camper.” A dark brown brow quirks up. “Right in front of your bed.”
“Where it shall live forever to fuel my fantasies.” I boop him on the nose as he once did to me after making a roguish comment, and satisfaction rolls over me in waves when I watch his eyes darken and his body shudder.
“Double standards,” he tsks, and guilt pools in my stomach. But then he adds, “The student has become the master.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. I guess when you really have it bad for someone, your tongue loosens.
I get how it can just slip out now.” I hang my head.
Experiencing desire for a man—this loud, screaming red—is something I’m still getting used to.
Learning the boundaries of us both in our dating relationship.
“Your picture is there to remind me that I once lost an epic love—a love I’ve always longed for. I’m determined not to lose it again.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Noah stands, then he pulls me to my feet and tugs me into him. “There is beauty in the bramble. Our mess is ours, and it’s my favorite.” My hands naturally float to his chest as his wrap around me and press me into him.
Noah’s forehead touches mine, his lips breaths away. “I have it bad for you, too, love.” Unhurried, he licks his top lip as his eyes bore into mine. I whimper, and his mouth twitches upward. Then without a warning cue, he traces the tip of his tongue along my lips.
I implode.
My hands fist his shirt as I drag his lips down to mine in a fiery kiss full of desire. But just as quickly as it started, it comes to an end, replaced with long, slow, sweet kisses as Noah tells me how much he loves me without a single word.
And I crumble into him, telling him right back.
“Our food’s gonna get cold,” I mention in a break from the kiss.
“There’s a microwave,” he mumbles incoherently.
I giggle and push him away, taking my seat and leaving him standing and flushed and thoroughly kissed.
What a beautiful sight.
“Come eat. You prepared all of this for us.”
He begrudgingly sits and huffs a laugh of disbelief. “Don’t ever tell me you can’t flirt again. You, sweetheart, are an enchantress.”
His words cause me to preen like Ares, Sheriff Hodges’ K9, when he’s done a good job. “Only because it’s you.”
And I’ll be danged.
Maybe I did have a playful and flirty side in me after all. I needed the right person to call it out of me. And now I need to discover where the new boundary line is for my flirty mouth.
“After we eat,” Noah says as we take our seat, “pick out as many books as you want. It’s on me.”