“He is smitten with her,” I comment. “I know you said Branda was single, but is something going on?”
Ashton sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Branda is set on being single, and Vance knowsthat. They’ve known each other for a lifetime because Vance was always over at the house hanging out with me and Noah.”
“Hm.”
“I just don’t want to see Branda crush his heart beneath her colored heels. He’s even softer than he looks.”
I laugh despite the seriousness in Ashton’s tone. I’ve known Branda for one day. We hung out all day yesterday, playing games, touring Tuscaloosa, and helping make and eat homemade pizza for dinner at the Prewitt’s place. I ended the day teetering on a dangerous highline of hope and sorrow. Hope that maybe something will click, I’ll regain my memories, and I’ll fully understand what happened with me and Noah. Then, I could become a part of this family that makes me feel right at home. The sorrow… Well, that originates from the anger and sense of betrayal I feel over my family. I’ve always been close with my parents and Ethan, and now, the rift dividing us is dark and deep. Logically, I know we will come to an understanding, and all of this will one day be water under the bridge. But right now, it hurts. Like water filling my lungs.
Changing the topic, I peruse the front room once more.
“It’s decorated like your chosen rooms at your house,” I note. “This whole building is saturated with your earthy style.”
“Noah didn’t get his hands on this place.” Ashton opened his arms wide. “He only wants to be one of the authors. He was never interested in the business side of authoring. Just the creative process.”
I snort. “After all the research I’ve done to publish independently, I can wholeheartedly say it’ll be much easier on me to have an agent. When you reached out, I nearly had a heart attack of relief.”
“Speaking of agenting and stuff, do you want to go see the back?”
Nodding, I follow him through the door Vance and Branda disappeared through moments earlier. It’s a long hallway with photos of books they’ve published and authors they represent lining the light brown walls. Several doors are on either side, and Ashton leads to the very last one on the left. The golden plate on the white door reads:Nikhil A. Prewitt, CEO.
“Fancy,” I comment, touching the sign.
He grins and winks. “Yep. And because I’m an important and busy CEO,” his voice laced with self-deprecation before his features shift into seriousness, “I only personally take on authors I genuinely believe in.”
My heart leaps. Not a romantic thump, but one of happiness. But I have to ask. “Or is it a repayment of sorts for helping you locate Noah?”
Ashton shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hope you start believing in your talents soon, Esme. I like my clients confident in their work.”
“Fine,” I feign annoyance and sigh dramatically. “I guess I’ll start believing you.”
He laughs, then messes with my hair as ifI’mhis younger sister. “There you go.”
If I’m being honest with myself, these past two days with Ashton have been healing in many ways. He’s told me the truth, has been a shoulder to cry on and an ear to confide in, and lastly, has been patient with me as I process. I’m nowhere near done processing everything, but this is a start. And going over a book contract with him is making younger Esme shout for joy.
If only for this moment, I’m just Esme. No amnesia. No teaching gig to go back home to. No family drama. No lost and forgotten potential fiancé.
Just Esme.
Better yet, just Lorraine E. Jenkins.
Romance writer.
Too open and honest for her own good.
Finally basking in her hidden, lifelong dream.
Tomorrow, I’ll search the depths of the blank space in my brain for answers as Ashton and I travel to Bora Bora.
Chapter Twelve
I Thought Heaven ~ mid-July
Istare at Sam’s text message, trying to decide if I want to respond.
Per Mom’s request, I’ve updated her and sent her my trip itinerary. Ashton and I just landed in Bora Bora, and the first message that came through was from my best friend.
Sam-I-Am:I love you. I love you. I love you. And I’m sorry, Meme. Please talk to me. This is selfish, but I need you. I really need you.
