Chapter Twenty
As It Begins ~ mid-September
O ne month of dating.
One entire month of officially being with the man who stepped out of my novel, and I still can’t comprehend how I wrote a perfect relationship into existence.
Except it’s not perfect, which makes it all the more real and wonderful.
We had our first scuffle a week ago; I grin as I recall it.
“I won’t make it to Gloria’s cooking class tonight, Esme.
We have a deadline to meet at work, and I’m not going to be able to get away in time.
I’m sorry.” Noah sounded stressed on the phone, but I couldn’t stop my initial reaction.
My heartbeat picked up, and all I could think about were the hundreds of times Lane bailed on our plans to hang out with his friends instead of spending time with me.
“But you promised me, Noah. You said we’d attend her first class together to support her.”
Noah sighed over the phone. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m truly sorry. I wish I could get out of this project, but I have to finish these edits or Ashton will have to take on extra work. He needs my help.”
My heart sank as I tasted bile in my throat. I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t an excuse. That Noah wouldn’t do something like that to me. That it was my relationship trauma speaking. But in my anxiety, I blurted anyway, “Oh? So you’ll be there for Ashton and not me?”
Silence stretched between us, and I begged God to open the earth and swallow me whole. I shouldn’t have said that. What was wrong with me? Noah was a good man, and I was punishing him for the color of pain a past lover had painted me in. “Noah, I—”
My words were cut off as he started talking at the same time as me. “Esme, I don’t appreciate being talked to that way. What can I do to help you trust that my words are true?”
Tears beat against the back of my lids. “Noah, I’m so sorry.
I do trust you. I know you wouldn’t make up an excuse to bail on me.
” Liquid fell from my eyes as my chest was set aflame from shame and embarrassment.
“You’re a good man, Noah. I spoke out of fear.
Please forgive me.” I could barely manage to get that last phrase out around my sniffles.
More moments of stillness passed between us before my phone buzzed. Noah was video calling me. Wiping my eyes, I accepted the call. “I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Love? Look at me.” His voice was calm and gentle, and so I reluctantly turned my face from my lap and toward the phone screen in front of me.
And Noah was… Smiling? “Hey, beautiful. It’s okay.
All is forgiven. I have a few moments. Do you want to tell me what lies your fear was whispering into your ear? ”
The burning in my chest eased at his steady show of love as he sought to understand.
God, I love this man, I thought to myself.
Still grinning over the memory, I sneak a look at my handsome guy sitting next to me in my brother’s truck.
Every single day, he makes me feel safer, more secure, and stable, which is crazy for me to think about because the man is the extrovert to my introvert, routinely secondhand embarrasses me in public, and is always trying to do spontaneous things with and without me.
But tonight isn’t spontaneous, and it’s something I’ve written about in my novel. In fact, it’s the last scene I wrote. And while I know tonight won’t go exactly how I wrote it, I’m excited to see what happens. In the realm of reality.
“You ready?” Noah asks as we pull into the crowded parking lot of The Wild Whitney.
“You know it, babe.” I wink and take him in. Noah Prewitt should always wear old Wrangler jeans, cowboy boots, and a tight white T-shirt.
I match him in my short cut-off jeans, white tank top, and bedazzled boots.
“I love the way you look in those jeans,” I comment as Noah gets out of the truck.
I’ve gotten better at openly complimenting him because he is always saying how beautiful, hot, smart, kind, and talented I am.
Noah receives love through affirmations and words whereas I am more action-oriented, and we are learning to speak each other’s language.
“Gross, Esme,” Ethan retorts as he climbs out of the backseat with Sam. I ignore him because it’s not like he didn’t just comment on Sam’s—and I quote—“fine-as-white-wine legs.”
A familiar truck pulls in as we’re all piling out of the truck.
“Ashton!” I shout with giddy excitement when he rolls up to The Wild Whitney. “And Branda!”
I run to hug the two of them, and then I make quick introductions. “This is my best friend, Sam, and my brother, Ethan.”
Ethan adds, “And I’m married to this beautiful woman.
” He wraps his arm around Sam, tugging her close and kissing her.
The two of them already had a drink back at the house, which is why Noah—probably a little offended by Crazy Colt’s earlier comment about not driving me—drove us four over here tonight.
His truck is as lifted and decked out as Ashton’s, except Noah’s is a deep blue color to Ashton’s brown.
“What are you two doing here?” I ask, grabbing Branda for another hug.
“Noah said something about going to the town’s raucous nightlife, and we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to join.”
“Two hours for The Wild Whitney,” I hum.
“It’ll be a letdown for sure. I’m sure y’all’ve got fancier clubs in Tuscaloosa.
In fact, Noah took me out to one last weekend.
” And yeah, the anxiety was real, but I powered through.
We take turns tagging along with what the other wants to do whether we necessarily like it or not.
It’s getting me out of my comfort zone, which I think is what he’s trying to do.
Ashton shrugs. “But the people we care about are here.” And in a mock whisper, pretending that he’s not letting Branda hear, he says, “Branda and Vance got into a huge fight, and the girl needs to blow off some steam. I came to pawn her off on you two.”
Branda elbows her brother, smiling sweetly. She’s a scary one sometimes, that’s for sure. Poor Vance.
“Well,” Sam slaps her arm, “let’s get inside. It’s hot as hell’s kitchen out here and the mosquitos are getting me.”
“They like sweet things,” Ethan coos, and I groan. These two will be relentless tonight.
Noah throws his arm over my shoulders as we walk into The Wild Whitney.
It’s a ratchety old place that has been, and will always be, a town staple.
The lights are dim, and there’s a trace of cigar smoke wafting in from the smoking quarters off to the side of the building.
Mikey, the aging bartender who’s been working here for as long as I can remember, waves us over.
Ethan and Sam are first in line for drinks, Ashton and Branda behind them, and finally, me and Noah. Country music pours from the speakers.
“I don’t want to drink,” I tell him as I rub my hand up and down his arm. Noah doesn’t drink, so I rarely do unless I’m having a girls’ night with Sam or an occasional weekend brunch with Isla. “I want to remember every moment of dancing with you tonight. You do dance, right?”
Noah smiles brighter than the neon signs, adjusting his grip to take my hand and lead me out to the small dance area. At that moment, the music shifts, and “Head Over Boots” begins to play. “What kind of Southern man would I be if I couldn’t spin my old lady around a dance floor to Jon Pardi?”
A lightness lifts me and carries me around the dance floor as Noah guides me in a swing dance.
Just like in the last chapter I wrote . The couples on the floor part the way for us, but I’m so lost in Noah’s eyes and his smile that everything and everyone else begins to fade away.
He spins and dips me all around this joint, pushing out then pulling me in.
Kissing me, pressing against me, and swaying to the music with me.
The bridge slows us down, and Noah pulls me close, our foreheads touching as he mouths the words of the bridge and then into the chorus that follows.
In this little bubble of ours, I kiss him.
Applause erupts around us, hoots and hollers and whistles interspersed throughout.
Noah and I break the kiss, but we cling to one another as if there’s never a possibility of letting go.
I touch his face, his hair. I can’t stop myself, and I realize Grannie was right: I pet Noah.
For a girl who doesn’t necessarily enjoy physical touch, I need it like I need air when it comes to this man.
My will to hold out breaks, crumbling like an eroded statue. “Ask me, Noah.”
He processes for a second, a loading wheel spinning above his head.
Then, when it dawns on him, his entire body lights up.
It’s as if joy are beams of light shining from within him.
“Ashton!” he hollers over the music, never taking his eyes off me.
I wrinkle my brows in confusion, but Ashton stumbles over to us with the help of Isla.
“Yes, my dear brother?” Ashton slurs a little, but it’s the smile on his face as he looks at Isla that takes me by surprise. Noah whispers something in Ashton’s ear while I compute the age difference between Isla and Ashton. Eight years? She’s eight years older than him, I believe. Interesting.
I wonder if he knows.
Isla throws me a pleading look that makes me think he doesn’t.
I wink at the slender, redheaded curly-haired woman who’s got her arm wrapped around Ashton’s waist. If anyone deserves a night clinging to a Prewitt brother, it’s her.
She’s the sweetest, most gentle soul I know.
Though I always thought her and her best friend, the sheriff, would end up together.
The music cuts off, and Noah loudly clears his throat as people start to gather around us. He gives me a nervous smile before sliding down onto one knee and opening a black ring box. My heart beats wildly in my chest as my breaths stop.