Epilogue
Noah
As Noah packed the rest of his truck, his eyes wandered past the row of lilac bushes in bloom and out to the bay.
There was a good amount of foot action on the beach for a Friday.
The sun was bright and warm on his skin, and the quiet hum of a boat’s motor faded into the background.
He stared out at Shelter Island in the distance.
Was he making the right decision? Only time would tell, but he had to follow his gut on this.
It had been nine months since he’d moved in with Dahlia, and although the winter was long and quiet, it was precisely what they’d needed.
They had been snowed in, isolated, and left with only each other and their imaginations for a good portion of that time.
They’d cooked, danced, played lots of strip poker, finished the house, and christened every nook and cranny and surface.
The days were short and the nights long, and they made the most out of every minute they had together.
If they hadn’t been inseparable before, they certainly were now.
That’s why this decision was so hard. But deep down, he knew the choice that had to be made. It was the only choice.
The fresh, heady rose-like smell drifted with the breeze, anchoring him. He pulled his phone from his back pocket, checking it for the tenth time this morning. Still no text back from his agent. For all the pieces to line up today, he needed to hear back. With a pinched expression, he texted Baz.
Tell me you have good news.
To Noah’s surprise, the three bubbles were oscillating.
Not yet.
Make it happen, Baz, and today. Please. Text me as soon as you hear.
I’ll do my best.
Noah knew Baz was good at playing hardball.
But he also knew what he was asking was not only out of the ordinary but improbable.
In late February, he had been offered the job of a lifetime—the lead in his own renovation series.
Apparently, the two things people love most are hating on a cheater and a good love story.
The only catch was that it would be filmed every summer in Nantucket.
They’d pitched it as a modern This Old House meets Fixer to Fabulous, minus the female sidekick.
The only partner in crime he was interested in was the woman walking toward him with a bounce in her step and a smile that could brighten a room full of serial killers.
Oh, and they watched a lot of Dateline too.
Noah had no interest in spending his summers in Nantucket.
He’d told his agent: North Fork or no show.
He wanted it to emulate Home Town—with his own twist, of course.
His insistence on staying local wasn’t because he didn’t have faith in his and Dahlia’s relationship; it was that this was his home now too, and after the childhood he’d had and the upheaval of the show, he needed to finally plant roots.
“Hey, loverboy,” Dahlia said, casually hanging her arms around his neck and planting a tender but firm kiss on his mouth. It was yet another nickname that stuck. Only Kara was sworn off from using it. It was now for Dahlia’s lips only. And he didn’t mind a bit.
Noah slipped his warm tongue inside her mouth, giving her a teasing taste of what was to come—then tapped her on the butt. “Get in before I take you back inside and have my way with you again.”
“Is that a threat?” She laughed.
“Yup,” he said with a pop of his lips. His eyes roamed over her like a predator about to pounce on his prey.
She had on a short army green romper with thick straps, a red handkerchief tied like a headband in her sun-kissed blonde hair, and large gold hoops that, for some reason, strained his zipper. “Now get in.”
They both climbed in, and the doors closed with a clunky metal thud.
Her smile never wavered, not once, and that tickled something deep inside him.
To know he brought that smile to her face and that she was all his still felt like a dream.
It was his time to smile, and his was bigger and brighter with a side of mischief.
All she knew was that they were headed to the island for a weekend getaway before the crazy season began.
One last hurrah before the summer people arrived and the mayhem ensued.
Noah turned the key in the ignition, only to be met with a whining sound and a burning smell coming from the hood. Usually, an incident like this wouldn’t rattle Noah—he could fix anything—but this wasn’t a typical day or normal circumstances. He was also in a bit of a rush.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, hearing the seagulls’ untimely cries overhead. It sounded like a warning, yet he was determined to ignore it. Nothing was going to get in the way of his plans today. Not even a broken truck.
“We can take my car.” She reached for his arm. “Noah, it’s fine.”
“No,” he said, opening his door and lifting the hood, banging his head in the process.
There was an anxious cloud following him.
He just prayed she wouldn’t feel his heightened nerves, which felt like they were leading their own rebellion right about now.
Today needed to be perfect or as close as possible.
He was determined to give her the love story she deserved.
His body was hunched over the engine bay. “It’s the alternator, I’m sure of it.”
“Can we jump it?” she said with a gleam in her happy hazel eyes, now standing next to him.
It was one of hope and one of longing too.
If he had to guess, she couldn’t wait to feel his strong, capable hands on her as soon as they got to the hotel, and that made him want to solve this conundrum as quickly as possible.
“Nay. Stay here.” With that, he closed the hood, ran inside, and grabbed his motorcycle keys.
“Harry okay?” she asked.
“Yup, he’s just sitting on the couch waiting for my uncle to come by and get him.” Which reminded him he had to figure out how to get their bags for the weekend. He grabbed his phone from inside the truck and started typing to Bruce.
Hey, I have a huge favor to ask. After you get Harry, can you run our bags over to the Airbnb? My truck won’t start. Taking the motorcycle.
Bruce answered right away, most likely because he knew how important all of this was.
No problem. When?
Maybe two to three hours? Noah wasn’t sure what would happen after, or for how long, so he had to keep it flexible.
A thumbs-up followed. With that, he opened the truck’s cargo bed, felt for the small box inside his bag, and tucked it into his pants pocket. If Dahlia wondered, he’d hope she’d think he was just really eager to make good on his promise.
“We’re taking the bike,” he said, whooshing past her like a man on a mission. “Are you okay with that, baby?” He knew before she answered what her response would be.
“Yes, of course. You know I love koalaing you from behind. And feeling my hair blow in the breeze.” She wrapped her hands around his corded waist, emulating the action.
“Oh, but what about our bags?”
“Bruce. He’s going over to the Hive anyways.”
“Well, that’s convenient.”
Noah smiled weakly, hoping she didn’t know something she wasn’t supposed to.
She’d said being on the back of his bike made her feel exhilarated and terrified, yet safe all at the same time. Noah had opened her eyes to all sorts of things that contradicted her old and stale Greenwich life, and now she seemed to be addicted to the adventure, which was all fine by him.
He grabbed their helmets from the nearby storage box and helped her fasten the strap.
“You’re too cute, you know that?” His heart swelled like the ocean during a storm.
He couldn’t wait to get there. It felt like Christmas mornings after Don adopted him and Gretchen.
His insides buzzed with unbridled excitement.
Today was the day he’d ask her to be his forever.
But he still had one thing to tie up, and that was the show.
Dahlia had made it clear she didn’t want to hold him back.
But this wasn’t about her; it was about him.
He knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t going to settle for anything less.
Once they were on his bike, they cruised down the one-lane road that led to the ferry.
Her delicate arms wrapped around his waist, her core pressed against his ass.
It was the best feeling in the world. She trusted him, and in turn, he treasured it as the gift it was.
Her hair whipped against his bare cheek, smelling both sweet and savory, like mint and honey.
What could be better? he thought. With that, he drove just a little faster, hearing the gritty drum of the engine kick into gear.
The ferry was a midday medley of pedestrians, cars, and work trucks getting the houses and estates ready for the season. Noah and Dahlia didn’t get off the bike. They didn’t need to. It was a short ride, plus they had all the open air they could need.
She whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you” in his ear from behind, sending shivers down his spine.
He was convinced that she had no idea what was to come.
Not the house he’d rented, not the ring that now rested in the console, and not the fireworks—both literal and figurative—after.
But there was always a chance he could be wrong, especially after that comment she made back at the house.
They drove off, inhaling the promise of spring and notes of diesel fuel.
It was her understanding that they were staying at a fancy hotel called the Rosemont.
To confuse her a bit more, he took a few-minutes detour and finally pulled up to the house they’d be spending the weekend at.
It was the gingerbread house with a wrap-around front porch and ornately carved balusters that they’d pulled up to on their very first date.
Only “Je Cherche Un Homme” wasn’t playing; it was “Secret Garden” by Springsteen on a loop, courtesy of Gretchen’s handiwork.