What am I thinking? I just met this guy!
You’ve known me for a while, my little author,fictional Noah states.
Real Noah flinches at my sudden movement, but to his credit, he doesn’t show his disappointment or sadness.
“Noah, I—”
He holds up his hand. “You don’t have to say anything, Esme. Let’s just focus on being in Alaska right now, and we can figure things out later.”
I swallow the anxiety in my throat and nod.
We stand, and Noah takes my hand. “You don’t have to date me right now, Esme. Or ever, for that matter.” He says the last phrase with a tinge of sourness in his tone. “But, if you’re willing, I’d like for you to give me a chance. Don’t answer me now. Think about it. We can make decisions back home.”
Home. The word feels so close yet so far away.
“Thank you, Noah. I know this isn’t easy for you, but I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you are willing to put yourself through—” I search for what I’m looking for, but I let it fall because I don’t actually know what I want to say. I squeeze his hand before dropping it. “Anyway, thank you.”
“I’m just glad God saw fit to bring you back into my life, even if it’s just in this small manner. Him and I went rounds over you.” Pain flashes through his eyes, and I know he’s trying hard to believe that.
Nick hollers again, and we start making our way to the cabin.
I scrunch my nose. “Lasagna is my favorite dish, but I don’t know about this moose business.”
“When in Crescent Cove, Alaska…”
Chapter Fifteen
You All Night ~ late July
The plane is dimly lit and quiet as the world sleeps around us, but Noah and I are head to head, scrolling through my manuscript on my phone. I’m against the window while Noah occupies the middle seat. Ashton sits in the aisle seat, begrudgingly. We weren’t able to secure first class seats for this unplanned flight back to Jackson, Mississippi, after hanging out for another day in Alaska. We went on a small hike yesterday, and the entire time, Noah and I swapped life stories. We held hands a few times, and he was flirty, which I’ve come to realize I captured perfectly in my novel. But he was respectful and not once did he try to kiss me again or take conversation too deep. It was like three days worth of dates rolled into one, and if I’m being honest, I couldn’t get enough time with him.
He’s funny. Charming. Obviously hot.
He’s also considerate. Kind. Thoughtful.
A venus fly trap. Already sucking me in.
“This absolutely did not happen.” Noah snorts as we read a scene in my book where fictional Esme and Noah make out on ajet ski. I eye him suspiciously because he seems like the type to, well, make out on a jet ski with a woman. “I’m serious, Meme. I tried to make out with you, but you shoved me off and drove the jet ski away. Left me bobbing in the water with sharks until you circled back around two minutes later.”
I stifle my laugh. “There it is.”
He bumps against my shoulder, and our eyes meet under the dim blue light of the plane. It isn’t the first time electricity has shot from our eyes and into each other’s souls throughout this close quarters flight, and it won’t be the last. Memory retention or not, Noah has already proved exactly why I was attracted to him. He has an easygoing laugh, beautiful smile, and a body hotter than a desert. But outside the obvious physical intrigue, Noah is also kind, respectful, and funny. He hasn’t tried to initiate contact with me outside little brushes and bumps, and he’s letting me set the pace when we talk about the past.
Like right now. I thought a plane ride where we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder was the perfect time to read the book I unknowingly wrote based on me and him. Not my best idea.
I clear my throat and release a cooling breath before I look back at the document on my phone as he continues to read. After a few minutes, he stops and swallows. “That happened.”
I scan the scene I wrote from Noah’s point of view where he’s lying next to Esme as she’s falling asleep post-amnesia. Fictional Noah plays with fictional Esme’s hair and whispers, “I’m going to marry you one day.”
“How? You were—” The wordsin the ICUfall off my tongue.
Noah shakes his head. “It didn’t happen at the moment you wrote in your book. It happened the night before everything happened.” He gives me a soft, sad smile. “You mumbled ‘yes’ before you drifted off to sleep. It gave me the courage to text my brother that I’d found my future wife.”
My breath catches as a memory of Noah and me snuggling in a hammock flashes through my mind. “Did we have a hammock?”
“Oh, we did,” Noah says, waggling his brows, his flirty nature overtaking his soft seriousness. “It didn’t like us very much as it dumped us on our butts nine times out of ten.”
“I remember it,” I state plainly. I coax the memory to take a fuller frame, but it runs and hides instead. I sigh with building frustration, looking back down at the story. “I wish it’d just all come back at once instead of in these little snippets.”
