Two days later, Ashton and I find ourselves once again on a plane, but this time, our destination is the wild expanse of Alaska.
I had an epiphany in the bathroom of Books and Beans.
Noah and I were planning to honeymoon in Crescent Cove, Alaska, a part I completely skimmed over when reviewing my book with Ashton before we left for Bora Bora. We had only talked about it, never made official plans. But something in my gut tells me that’s where we will find him.
The character inside my head tends to agree.
How we will hunt him down in the quaint small town, I have no idea. But we’ve got to try.
The lights flicker on, and the pilot announces we’ve begun our descent into Ted Stevens International Airport. I raise my right shoulder up and down, causing Ashton’s head to bounce. “Wake up, sleepy head. We’re landing soon.”
“Mm.” Ashton groans and stretches as much as the room on this plane will allow him and his long limbs. We are flying firstclass again, but first class on Alaska Airlines is much different than on our previous flight to Bora Bora. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough to drool on me.” I point to a wet spot on the shoulder of my sweatshirt.
A sheepish look passes across Ashton’s face. “Sorry, Meme.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Meme? Who told you my nickname?”
“You use it for your Esme character in the book. Figured you went by it.”
“Do you have a nickname?” I ask as we give our trash to a flight attendant.
Ashton shakes his head, but he’s hiding a smile.
“Yes, you do,” I excuse. “Tell me or I text Branda to find out.”
He groans, rubbing a hand down his tired-looking face. “Ashy. It’s stupid. Don’t ever call me that.”
“Does Noah have a Branda-given nickname?”
Ashton smirks. “She just likes to call him by his middle name, Ashley, because she thinks it’s strictly a female name. It’s why he chose to use it for publishing. Just to stick it to her.”
We continue chatting about family nicknames and things we did with our siblings when we were younger as the plane bounces onto the runway. Once we come to a stop, we grab our bags and once more, set out into another airport in order to track down Noah Prewitt.
“Oh my,” I say just as Ashton states in astonishment, “Wow.”
We are staring at taxidermied polar bears inside of a glass display.
“I think I might like it here,” Ashton hums as we continue to find our way around the airport. We pass by more animals in display cages—moose, brown bears, and a musk ox.
We pick up our rental vehicle, and then we’re heading to find food before starting the three-hour drive down the peninsula to Crescent Cove, Alaska.
“Anchorage was more crowded than I expected,” I note as we merge south onto the Seward highway. Ashton agrees, and then we fall into mesmerized silence. I stare in awe out of the window at the mountain ranges around us and the high noon sun shining through an overcast sky. The air is crisp but warm as we ride with the sunroof open and windows cracked, and I already know I want to come back to this place after I leave. The roads wind, a cliff on Ashton’s side with the Turnagain Arm on my side. When the sun breaks through the clouds, it causes the water to sparkle like deep, solid, blue diamonds. Where the water in Bora Bora was see-through, this water is a block of sea blue. I can taste magic in the air, if such a thing exists.
After we’ve been driving for about an hour and a half and my bladder is on the verge of exploding, I ask, “Where is the nearest bathroom? There’s like nowhere to stop.”
“How should I know?” Ashton retorts. I look at my phone for the millionth time, checking for signal, and squeal when I see two bars and LTE. I quickly search for restrooms along Seward highway and find a place called Caveman’s coming up soon in Cooper Landing.
I set the GPS to take us there and memorize the photo of the wooden building with eclectic-looking signs out in the front of it in case my phone loses signal again.
Once we’re heading out from the convenience store that also happened to have delicious ice cream, Ashton comments, “We’ll be there in a little over an hour. Are you ready?”
The ice cream sitting heavy in my stomach churns. “I guess I have to be.” I pause, then add, “Will you see him first? Whenever we find him? If we find him?” Though my gut tells me he’s here, there are still seeds of doubt. My soul knows the Noah of my book. I’ve written him in perfect detail. He yaps in my head all the time, and I wonder if my memory of him merged with fiction to create the character who talks too much.
Rude,he says, interrupting my thoughts.You like my yapping.
Proving my point,I smart back.
