Noah clicks my phone dark. “I think that’s enough for now. You should probably get some rest.”
Ignoring him, I continue blabbing in a hushed tone. “I mean, why did God allow this to happen to us, Noah? What’s the point? What’s the purpose in this?”
Silence envelops us, the hum of the engines taking up space. I take deep breaths, trying to tame the anxiety rising. The full weight of reality crashes down on me. All the emotions I’ve stuffed down since the moment I laid my eyes on Noah are bubbling to the surface in the quiet, small space, and I have a litany of questions for God that He seemingly doesn't want to answer for me. Hot tears burn down my cheeks as I stifle my short, breathless sobs.
Noah slips his arm awkwardly around me and pulls me into his side. The armrest between us jabs into my side, and I squeak in pain. Noah mutters a curse before lifting the armrest and pulling me once again into his side. He whispers against my ear as his fingers trail up and down my arm. “Tell me three things you see, sweetheart.”
I force my bleary eyes open. It’s dark, but I can make out a few things in my area. “A screen. The chair.” I look out of the window into the clear night sky. “Stars.”
Noah adjusts us so that my back is leaning against his chest. His arms wrap around me, and I know he can’t be comfortable in this tight space. But he whispers again. “Two things you smell.”
I inhale, though it’s hard to smell anything with how stuffy my nose is. But I’m able to make out Noah’s scent. “Citrus.” My chest aches as choppy breaths fight for release. I inhale again. “That’s it.”Hitch. “All I can smell,”hitch, “is you.”
“One thing you feel.”
The answer comes immediately as I press against him. “You.”
“I’m right here, Esme. Right here. Breathe with me.”
His chest rises.
I inhale.
His chest falls.
I exhale.
Keeping the pace with the rhythm of his breaths, my breathing begins to mellow out as my tears slow.
“I had them, too, you know. Panic attacks,” Noah whispers against my ear, his voice gravelly and deep. His breath is warm and inviting, and despite how we’re mashed up like sardines, I lean further into him. “Every time I thought about how the only woman I’d ever loved forgot me, I could have just died right then and there.”
“Ashton helped you through them?” I ask, though really, it’s a statement. Noah nods.
“Do they still happen?” I press on.
“Not often,” Noah says. “But sometimes, yeah.”
I take stock of that. I want to help him if I’m ever around and it happens. But then something else he said catches my attention. “The only woman?” I ask breathlessly. “Really?”
Noah’s voice softens. “Yes, Esme. Sure, I’ve dated a lot of women.” I bristle, and he chuckles. “Let me finish.”
“Fine,” I respond, unsure why I’m bothered by the fact he’s dated a lot of women. He’s not mine. Not really. Even thoughhis fingers rub slow circles on my stomach.He’s not mine. He belongs to an Esme who doesn’t exist.
He thinks he knows me; he doesn’t. Not really.
Though this panic attack is a great way for him to start.
“I’ve dated a lot of women, yes, but I never loved any of them. You got that angle right in your novel, though my novels have sold very well, thank you very much.” Noah smirks, a bit of Ashton’s headiness coming through. “But unlike the playboy vibe you give me—thanks, by the way—I didn’t lead them on. Once I realized it wasn’t going to work with a woman, I’d kindly tell her and we’d go our separate ways. But with you, it was different. From the moment I saw you sulking on that beach, drowning your sorrows in mimosas and kicking sand as if it personally offended you, I thought to myself, ‘I’ve got to know her,’ and I started formulating a plan to talk to you. I watched as you removed the pink umbrella from your empty drink and accidentally poked yourself in the cheek when you attempted to put it behind your ear. I was smitten, and I had my move ready. I was going to pluck that umbrella from your fingers and smoothly tuck it behind your ear. But that’s when that bald guy stepped in.”
Unbidden laughter leaks out of me. “Really? You saw a broken woman on her honeymoon alone and thought ‘yep. I’ve gotta talk to her’?”
I feel Noah’s shrug from behind me and laughter vibrating in his chest. “Then I saw you deck a man in the nose.”
I laugh aloud now. Drying my face, I sit up and face him as we both stretch out. “Every man’s dream,” I mock.
“You know, I actually spent that first night outside your bedroom door, keeping watch for you. I didn’t tell you that earlier, but I think you should know just how much I care about you—and have from the start. You were shaken over the attempted kidnapping, and I couldn’t bear to let you sleep alonein that bungalow knowing the criminal was still out there. We didn’t kiss that night, didn’t spend the night talking or laughing. I didn’t want to be too forward after what you went through, even though that’s how you wrote me.” Noah side-eyes me, and I look away, a smidge guilty. What can I say? Readers like a romantic rogue.
If we didn’t spend that first night how I wrote it, then I wonder… “When did we kiss? Did that scene ever happen?”
