Ashton responds anyway. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Meme, but my brother is far from perfect. But—” Ashton throws me a small smile. “—I think he might be perfectforyou.” It sounds like Ashton mutters something about shock over Noah and drinking, but I’m too on edge to listen coherently.
We ride in silence until we exit the highway onto a dirt road. Fireweed blooms high in the ditches, a perfectly pink pop of color against the evergreens. “I’ll go first, Ashton!” I blurt as we pull into a short driveway where a wooden cabin with a green tin roof sits at the end.
“Why the change of heart?” He shuts off the car after we park.
I have no earthly idea.I shrug.
Because you’re on pins and needles to see me,the flirty man in my head says.
“Are you sure? Based on what that bartender said, I’m worried about what we might find.” Ashton opens his door, but I stay inside the car, staring at the house. Noah’s in there. Right there. Steps away.
“No. I’ve got this.” I steel myself.
Ashton knocks on my window and motions for me to unlock my door. It snaps me from my haze and I do as he says. He opens the door and I slip out, once more locking my eyes onto the light brown door of the cabin. As if in another trance, I take step after step until I’m standing on the front porch by a stack of firewood. I stare at the door as if it might bite me if I touch it, but at the same time, I’m drawn to it. I raise my fist and knock. Three nervous raps that sync to the beat of my heart.
I can’t wait to lay eyes on you again, my little author.My stomach clenches at the thought of fiction and reality heading for a crash course collision.
All is quiet around me except for the soft sounds of Ashton’s breathing next to me, and then, shuffling feet coming closer and closer to the door. My heart rate rockets as the door knob turns,and I’m eternally thankful for the overcast sky, light breeze, and moderate temperature so I don’t turn into a sweating pig. My blood continues to rush in my ears as I fight off dizziness.
The door gets stuck on something, then it’s yanked open and a tall man who is certainly not Noah, though he looks to be around our age, steps out. “Sorry about that,” he says with a slight Midwestern accent. “It gets stuck every now an—” The man stops talking as soon as he looks up. But he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Ashton.
“Ashton Prewitt?” the man asks, eyes wide and a muddied brown. He runs a hand through honey-blond waves, disbelief crossing his sharp features. “Are you Noah’s brother? Man, the two of you look just alike.”
Beside me, Ashton swallows. “Yeah, that’s me. You must be Nick Lancaster. We ran into a man calling himself Big Bear who said Noah might be with you.”
Nick grins, and if I’m being honest, it’s charming. He has a boy-next-door vibe. “He’s here. Inside reading.” Finally, Nick shifts his focus to me. “You must be the woman who drove him here. The one who forgot him.”
I laugh nervously, fiddling with my oversized sweatshirt. Now that I know Noah Prewitt is on the other side of that door, I’m regretting my choice of leggings and a Whitney High School sweater. “That’s what they tell me.”
“Come on in,” he says, gesturing to the door. “I was heading out anyway. My house is yours.”
Ashton and Nick shake hands, talking about Noah in some capacity, but I find myself moving toward the door as if some invisible string is pulling without my consent. I push the door; it’s cold against my sweaty palm. After it doesn’t budge, I lean into it, and it creaks open.
Hi, sweetheart.
“Who is it, Nick?” Noah says in a deep, resounding voice that makes my nerves quiver, and my feet glue themselves to the old wooden floor of the cabin-style home. How could I have ever thought Ashton’s voice was the same asthis?
Noah is lounging on what looks to be a worn plaid couch with quilted blankets thrown across it. He looks oversized in such a small space, but his tanned skin and dark, mussed, curly hair nearly blend into the ambient low light of the lamp on the opposite end of the couch. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and an orange hoodie. The thin-framed reading glasses resting on his face have my bookish soul kicking itself for ever forgetting a beautiful man such as the one who has yet to look up from the Bible resting in his lap.
Using an orange pen, he underlines something.
When I don’t answer his question, opting to stand plastered to the floor with my lips parted in a silent gasp while my nerves hum in tune with the electricity sizzling and popping within the crisp air, Noah finally looks up.
The world ceases to spin…
Gravity loses all sense of existence…
Oxygen is sucked from the atmosphere…
When his eyes meet mine.
“Esme.” Hearing my name on his lips is vastly different than what goes on inside my head.
A poetic dance of heartbreaks and happily-ever-afters twists and twirls at the breathless tremble in his voice. In the slow blink of an eye, Noah is towering over my frozen frame, his large hands cupping my cheeks as wonder lights the gold flecks in his hazel eyes.Just as I’d imagined them to look.“Esme, sweetheart. Are you real? Am I lost in reverie again?” His thumbs brush featherlight across my cheekbones, and I find myself raising my hands to cover his.
Sweetheart.
“Noah.”
