My heart leaps. “Good.”
We exit the boardwalk and start shuffling through the sand. Pausing, I slip my sandals off, and Noah does the same. Like the perfect gentleman he is, he holds my shoes for me as we walk hand-in-hand down the white beach, deep in conversation about how we want to raise our future children until we reach the docks.
A guide awaits us there, just as I’d asked.
“Esme Prewitt and Noah Ashton?” he asks through a thick accent.
“That’s us,” I say, smiling up at Noah. “Ready for our last adventure out on the seas?”
Noah wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my forehead. “We have so many adventures ahead of us, sweetheart.”
Giddy, I gesture for him to hop into the small boat before following after him. Our guide, an elderly man whose name is Fetu, tells us all about the local culture of the area. He is native to the island, and he comes from a long lineage of explorers.
Noah is entranced, his tongue touching his top lip as he viciously scribbles in his notebook while listening to Fetu’s stories.
Our painting instructor was Indigenous, and as we chatted while Noah continued to model, she connected me with Fetu so that we could get off the resort and experience real island life.I knew Noah would love the chance to experience something richer than a resort for his book research.
Through our communications, Fetu told me there would be a cultural celebration tonight filled with their traditional dancing, tattooing, and giving thanks to their ancestors. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to show Noah how much I’ve come to care about him and love him.
The stars glisten overhead, casting diamonds into the ocean around us. I listen half-heartedly to the conversation happening, taking a moment to silently thank God for His blessings. If someone had told me I’d fallen in love with a man I’d only known for five days, I would have laughed in their face and told them they didn’t know me at all. But it turns out I didn’t know myself well enough. Didn’t know what I was capable of. I told Ryan as much when I finally responded to the text message he sent me on our wedding day. I told him I was thankful he left me at the altar because I met the love of my life. So, while the pain of what he did still lingers like a week-old wound, I recognize it’s more because my pride was hurt.
I should have left first.
But I believed I wasn’t worthy of a bookish love.
That’s over now.
We arrive at another part of the island—one that tourists are not typically welcome to. Smoke rises into the dark, navy blue sky, and the sound of beating drums and chants in a language I don’t know how to speak float to meet us at the edge of the shore. An excited energy hums in the air as Noah hops out of the boat and takes my hand, our bare feet splashing in the warm water. We follow Fetu through a clearing in the trees, and I’m awestruck at the ceremony underway.
The locals are dressed in what Fetu calls their traditional attire. He says it’s made of natural fibers, and I stand amazed at how they’ve crafted beautiful skirts and tops out of material likebeaten mulberry tree bark. They welcome us into their space, celebrating us, our engagement, and our love. Many couples tell us how they were arranged in marriage, but that didn’t stop them from choosing one another. “No matter how two people come together,” Fetu says at one point during the night, “it’s the choice to remain that’s important.”
We spend the rest of our time learning traditional dances, learning local lingo, and celebrating our engagement. It’s a night I swear to never forget, and well, Noah’s going to have one heck of a story to write after this.
We wave as Fetu departs, leaving us back on the beach of Forever Summer Resort. The smell of mango and coconut still sits in the air as smoke clings to our clothes; the high of the midnight hour lifts us and carries us back to my bungalow in a whirlwind of laughs, recounting Tahitian words, and starry-eyed gazes.
“This is going to be our lives, you know?” he asks, though it sounds more like a wonder-filled statement. “Traveling for first-hand experiences so that we can write the best novels that we can.”
My stomach leaps and flips at the thought of exploring the world with Noah by my side. “You forget I’m a teacher.”
He kisses my forehead. “We will work around your schedule until you no longer have to teach. I believe in you, Esme. If you want to make authoring your full-time career, I know you will achieve it.”
With my heart swelling in size, I stop him right outside of the bungalow, giving him a slow, deep kiss. “Noah, thank you.”
“For what, sweetheart?” His hands run through my windblown hair before caressing the bare skin of my shoulders, sliding underneath my spaghetti straps. His touch sets me aflame, but I need to tell him.
“For bringing me back from the dead. My whole existence feels like a black-and-white film. But you”—I cup his cheek with my hand, enjoying the feel of his scruff—“You are in screaming technicolor. You show me what it means to be cherished and loved and desired. Noah, you’ve taught me what it means to dream and live passionately. You’ve changed me, and I thank God He brought me to you and has used you to wake me up.”
“Esme.” My name is a sacred oath on his lips before those beautiful, love-filled hazel eyes triple in size as he looks behind me. “Esme!”
Suddenly, Noah shoves me, and I find myself rolling on the wooden boardwalk, splinters lodging into my arms and thighs, as he lunges at a dark figure.
My blood runs cold.
As he falls to his knees, Noah screams a guttural sound that will haunt me for the rest of my days. I scramble to my feet and dash to help Noah, but the dark figure steps into the stream of moonlight, and my blood ices over.
It’shim.
The man who tried to kidnap me.
