Ultimately, Noah still feels like a fantasy of sorts. He’s real, no doubt. But I want to set my eyes on him, to see the truth of him. To see if I got him right.
But I want Ashton to take the lead because I’m terrified and nervous.
“Of course,” Ashton responds as we take tight curves slowly, evergreens all around us with the Kenai River flowing quickly off to the side.
“So,” I take a deep breath, “we are going to visit different stores and restaurants in Crescent Cove and ask if anyone has seen another you.” The plan is weak, just like Bora Bora, but it’s all we can do when there is no way to digitally track Noah.
I fight the anxiety rising as we eventually pass a sign that reads “Welcome to Crescent Cove” with mermaids hugging either side of the distressed, gray, wooden sign. A faint longing for magic and folklore glitters around me. And as we enter the town, I gasp.
“This is much more crowded than I expected.” People walk down the sidewalks in packs wearing waders and carrying poles, ice chests, and large nets.
“Fishing and dip netting season.” Ashton grimaces. “It’s the height of tourism here.”
Just great.
“Should we park somewhere and walk around? This traffic is atrocious.”
Ashton nods, and we make our way into the parking lot of Crescent Cove Park, which sits on the edge of the Kenai River.
Bad choice. This is where all the fishermen are parked.
We find a spot after ten minutes of looking, lock up the vehicle, and begin walking underneath the cloudy, evening sky. Thoughyou wouldn’t be able to tell it’s approaching five in the evening, the sun is still high in the sky, hiding behind light gray clouds. The light wind coming off the river is cool and invigorating, kissing my face. We walk around the small town for an hour, asking cashiers at stores, waiters at restaurants, and random people on the street until we meander into a dive bar called The Siren’s Call. It’s a small place with only a few other people frequenting it right now. A couple plays pool while a group of elderly gentlemen sit at a table, shooting the wind and drinking beer. The whole vibe of this place is centered around the ocean, sirens, pirates, and sailing, and I’m starting to think much of this town is steeped in mermaid-esque mythology. Collapsing on rickety barstools, we both release exhausted sighs. My feet ache from walking, my skin is drying out quicker than a drop of water on hot Mississippi asphalt, and I’m feeling a headache coming on.
“What will it—” The bartender, a tall native man, stops in his tracks as he enters from the back of the bar room. “Noah? Back already? And with a friend and a haircut?” The bartender smiles warmly at me, his white teeth standing out against his tawny skin.
The aches are long forgotten.
Ashton looks at me before snapping his attention back to the man and stretching out his hand. “Hi, I’m Ashton Prewitt. Noah’s my twin. He’s been here?”
“Big Bear,” the man says, clasping Ashton’s hand and shaking it heartedly. “Yeah, your brother’s been here. Nearly every day with Nick, though thankfully, Noah’s stopped drinking so much. It was rough when he first got here.”
My heart races in my chest as my palms begin to sweat. Noah is here. In this town. Has been in this very place.Has had it rough. Because of me.“Where is he now?” I butt in.Then remembering my manners, I introduce myself. “I’m Esme Jenkins.”
Big Bear’s smile falls. “Do you remember him? He told me everything.”
I knit my brows together. “No. Yes? I don’t know. I wrote a book about us and apparently it’s real, though I don’t necessarily remember it not being fiction and—”
“She’s on her way.” Ashton interrupts my rambling to this perfect stranger. I’m too out of my mind for this. “Do you know where my brother might be?”
Big Bear nods, wiping a glass dry with a towel. “Probably at Nick’s. He’s been staying there for the past month after they met here and became friends bonding over their,” he smirks, “romantic woes, despite what Nick likes to tell himself.”
Ashton and I exchange glances, then he asks, “Where can we find this Nick guy?”
“Nick Lancaster lives down Holiday Avenue.”
“Is there an address I can plug into my GPS?” I ask.
“Outsiders.” Big Bear shakes his head, but then he gives us the address of Nick Lancaster. We thank him, then make the five minute straight-line walk to our rental car.
Once buckled up and pulling out of the Crescent Cove Park parking lot, Ashton gives me a tight smile. “Ready?”
I press the route button on the GPS, and the woman’s voice announces our destination. Ten minutes away. My head is spinning once again; blood swooshes in my ears.
“I think my blood pressure’s rising,” I state, twirling my thumbs in my lap. “Sky high, Ashton. Sky high. I’m about to meet the real version of the man I wrote about.”
He chuckles humorlessly, and I press my lips together. He’s just as nervous as I am.
I ramble on, more to myself than to Ashton. “I wrote him so perfectly in my book. Is he truly the perfect man?”
