Love?I don’t let the word root in my mind. And Noah tenses, which leads me to believe he didn’t mean to say it.
We stand there in silence as he slowly relaxes, melting into me as that four-letter word evaporates into the salty air.
Noah is some earthly version of heaven, sent for reasons unbeknownst to me. I don’t know what it is about this handsome, funny, coy, and kind stranger, but he makes me feel like we’ve known each other for eternity, though I hardly know anything about him at all outside of our likes, dislikes, and random stories from our childhood that we exchanged last night.
Once more, a burning smell wafts from the kitchen. I turn in his arms. “Noah, I think you're burning our breakfast.” He sniffs the air and bolts inside.
He returns minutes later with two plates of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. “I don’t know how to use a gas stove. Never had to use one growing up. We always had an electric.”
I shrug as he sets the food on the table. “Can’t be too difficult. We didn’t use one, either.” I run inside to grab orange juice from the fridge. Something I had on hand for mimosas even before our grocery run yesterday. But this morning, I don’t feel like drinking the day away. I want to indulge in every moment I have with this man and this newfound free feeling. I plant myself back down at the table with Noah and examine my plate. “Want me to whip up more Orange Julius, or do you want to just drink the juice?”
He grins. “Regular OJ is fine, sweetheart. Just sit down and eat with me.” Noah shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “You’re right. This pancake is delicious. I’d take it over me any day.”
***
“Noah! You’re going to get us killed!” I scream against the sounds of the jet ski crashing against the ocean surface. My body vibrates and bounces as he conquers wave after wave, the salt water misting my skin just so the sun’s rays can lick it dry. I cling like a starfish to Noah, and I briefly wonder if he can breathe with how tightly I’m squeezing his torso.
Bare torso.
With sun-kissed skin and meticulously defined muscles.
I’ve learned Noah Ashton enjoys being shirtless whenever he possibly can be.
And I’m not complaining one bit because I am Island Esme. And I quite enjoy admiring God’s handiwork on this human.
“What?” Noah shouts, turning his head to the side.
“Slow down!”
I can’t hear Noah’s deep laugh as much as I feel it rumble against my chest, but he obliges my wishes and the jet ski slows to a manageable pace before coming to a complete stop.
“Am I too much for you, sweetheart?” Noah stands, the jet ski rocking as he maneuvers to sit facing me. I scoot back to give his long legs room, but instead, he grabs under my knees and lifts my legs around his hips, tugging me closer.
His bold declaration of desire sends a tremble through me as I lose myself in his hazel eyes, admiring the flecks of gold shining through. “Admittedly, you might be.” I grin as he rolls his eyes. I continue my train of thought. “But, I think I can withstand the force of nature that is you.”
His fingers mindlessly massage my thighs while he contentedly looks out across the sprawling ocean. I follow his half-moon gaze, thinking about nature and God and purpose. Though God and I haven’t been on the same page lately, and I often wonder if He even hears or sees me, I’m mesmerized by His intricately created beauty around me. The ocean sparkles and dances as if it’s celebrating our arrival at its center. I can see the island off in the distance, but we’re so far out it feels as if the world belongs solely to us. As if God created this scenery—this moment—just for Noah and me.
“You mentioned fate before,” Noah says, turning his attention back to me. “What does that mean to you?”
I inhale the salty air, contemplating my answer. Fate can mean a myriad of things to different people. It’s serendipitous. Ordained. Constructed. Mystical. Untouchable. Maybe fate is made up of minuscule pieces of everything, the mundane merging with majesty. But ultimately, it’s out of our control. Which has been the source of my beef with God lately. I exhale slowly, then respond. “God. His will. Whatever He has predestined to happen.”Such as being predestined to marry aman who doesn’t believe in top-tier romance,I think to myself bitterly. But if I spend time ruminating, which I have done on occasion, maybe the almost-marriage wasn’t God’s doing at all. Maybe it was all me, though it stings to admit. Ultimately, Ryan leaving me at the altar just might be the mercy of God in action. Soul-mauling mercy, but mercy nonetheless.
Noah hums as if my answer satisfies him. “It really frees you up, you know? Living like you believe God’s plan will unfurl exactly as it should and when it should. That’s the hope I cling to even when life doesn’t go the way I planned it.”
“I—” The words fall off my tongue. It should free me up. Right? Living life as if I have no control and being completely okay with it. I’ve always prided myself on my adaptability and easygoingness (though those two qualities most likely stem from my people-pleasing tendencies). Yet—I look down at my hands as Noah takes them in his—I often live life clenching my fists and refusing to free my plans. As if I’m terrified whatever I currently have is the best it can ever get. Just like with Ryan.
“Esme.” I meet Noah’s soft gaze. “Your pretty brown eyes are dark. Dump those tumultuous thoughts on me, please.”
I laugh breathlessly, amazed he can even tell I’m deep in thought. Ryan would have never noticed. He never picked up on my subtle mood shifts. “I know I believe God is in control, so I wonder why I struggle to open my fists and surrender my plans. It’s like He has to pry my fingers off the agenda I’ve carefully crafted for myself.” I pause, briefly wondering if I should tell him about Ryan and why I’m here. I’ve always valued honesty, so I take a fortifying breath before spilling the reason.
“There was a man named Ryan. And he cheated before standing me up at the altar. This is supposed to be my honeymoon.”
I brace myself for Noah’s repulsion, but it never comes. Instead, he squeezes my hands as if telling me to continue.“Though it hurts because, despite everything, I did love him, I’m glad, ultimately. He was never the man I was supposed to marry. He was the safe choice for me. A man who had a stable, well-paying job, wasn't from my hometown, and had the same values and goals as me.”
Noah nods, and I let everything out, knowing deep down this moment would eventually come for us. “He wasn’t, though. And I knew that at least six months into our relationship. He never understood me. He was bland and vanilla and boring. Was always too focused on work and his friends. We had a standing date night for crying out loud!” I laugh at the ridiculousness, putting my hands over my face to hide my embarrassment that I let a man like that hurt me. Some girls may want that, but I’m not one of them, and I should have never compromised. I drop them back to my lap to speak again. “I can’t believe I didn’t have the willpower to end it sooner. Before I was the one getting cheated on and left. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents or hurt him or disrupt our lives in such a grand way.”
“But maybe if you would have, you wouldn’t be sitting on a jet ski in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a spicy, citrusy, and thrilling man such as myself.” He winks, and I shake my head, laughing. I tend to do that a lot with this man, laugh. Noah once more takes my hands and places them around his waist, drawing us closer. “In all seriousness, I’m sorry that happened to you, but I will never apologize for the situation bringing you to me. In fact, I have to give credit to the sleazeball who attempted to run off with you, as much as that grinds my bones to do.”
His lips are inches from mine, but neither of us moves in. We stay like that, searching each other’s souls and burying ourselves in the comfort ofhome. “It truly does feel like fate—God’s plan—meeting you,” I whisper, lifting one hand to play with his wet curls. “Even if it took an almost-wedding and an almost-kidnapping.”
