Chapter Sixteen
Of This Town ~ early August
Noah and I stare down at our entwined hands, and I pray he can’t feel the way my palms are sweating. We sit on my parents’ couch, waiting for them to get home from the store. The television shows baseball in the background, but we aren’t watching the game. Thankfully, Ethan got called into work this weekend, so he’s one less person I have to worry about.
It’s been a week since we returned from Alaska.
A week of dating the man I forgot, though we’ve only been physically together for two days this week. He had returned to Tuscaloosa with Ashton when we got back, but he drove down yesterday and is renting a room at Grannie’s Inn. Not prepared to have Noah face the entire town, Grannie agreed to keep Noah’s presence here hush-hush until he talked to my family. So, I spent half the day and into the wee hours of this morning tucked snugly away in the vintage floral- wallpapered room with him. He even brought me a bouquet of his favorite books to read.Books!
We talked about our pasts, our favorite things, and our ambitions. We pored over the rest of my book, and Noah helped me separate reality from the fiction. And not once did he pressure me into physical contact or speak about how he loves me. He had done that once on the phone earlier in the week, and it freaked me out the way he casually mentioned it. But like the look in his eyes on the plane did, it also conjured up desire. Like Iwantto love him.
And all of this still feels way too good to be true, which terrifies me more than anything. It’s like I’m waiting with bated breath for him to realize I’m not the one he truly wants. Every conversation we have, I’m drawn deeper into his orbit. He’s perfect, just like a book boyfriend, which is said to not exist.
So when will the other shoe drop? When will I find a reason to demand more romance out of him? One week? A month? A year down the road?
I glance over at Noah as he squeezes my hand. He mentioned last night how he was nervous to meet my parents again as the first time didn’t go over well. I had laughed and told him that was understandable, but I encouraged him that I had spoken with my parents, and they were ecstatic to meet him.
The door knob turns, and Dad steps through. Noah shoots to his feet, yanking me along with him. Without saying a word, Dad does exactly what he said he wanted to do. He shakes Noah’s hand, hugs him, and says, “Thank you for protecting my daughter, son. And I’m deeply sorry for the way I treated you. Please know you are always welcome here.”
Mom, in a heap of tears, bear-hugs Noah who returns her strong embrace in stride. “Thank you,” she finally says after a minute and lets him go.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins,” Noah says, a grand smile on his face, “the pleasure is all mine. I’m glad to meet the people who raisedsuch a kind, intelligent, talented, and beautiful woman.” Noah slips his arm around my waist and smiles dotingly at me.
Mom flicks her eyes from Noah to me, her eyes brightening. “Are you two going to get married now?”
I choke and cough, and Noah patiently pats my back until I regain my composure.
“Not until she’s,” Noah smirks at me before turning his attention to Mom and then landing on Dad, “caught up to where I’m at. I’ve been ready to marry her for a while, but she needs a little time.” Noah Prewitt. Bold in his assessments and statements. I like that about him, his blunt honesty.
My parents look at each other, confusion crossing their faces. I bite my tongue to stop from laughing. “Well,” I say, dragging Noah down to the dark brown couch. He adjusts the khaki shorts he’s wearing and tugs at the collar of his white shirt. He resembles Ashton right now because he wanted to impress my parents, but his hair is still curly and disheveled, his eyes colored wild, and his entire aura inviting. “Why don’t we get the game of Twenty Questions over with.”
“You know me so well,” Dad says, laughing. They sit down on either side of us on the recliners, and Noah holds my hand for dear life.
***
“Well, guys. Should we get ready to head to lunch?” I ask, shooting to my feet to save Noah from any more questions about marriage and grandchildren and hunting.
Mom claps her hands together, standing. “Yes. Oh, and Ethan and Sam will be meeting us at El Mariachi.”
Great.
My brother and best friend will meet Noah in front of the entire town. Okay, not the entire town, but El Mariachi is always hopping on the weekends. I tug Noah to his feet. The mountain of a man stands, never releasing my hand. “Awesome. We’ll meet y’all there. I want to show him my home.”
“Thisis your home, sweetie,” Mom comments, insinuating once more that my camper isn’t a real home. I give her a flat, warning look that says: Do not start this with me. If I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s that I can stand on my own two feet. I can speak up for myself. I can say no. I can create the life I want to live. One moment—one second—at a time.
“See y’all later, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins.”
Dad walks over to shake his hand. “It’s Gregory and Melina, son.”
My heart grows three sizes as I watch Dad’s blue eyes shine with appreciation. This has been a hard journey of healing for us all, and though we all have a long way to go, I trust God to see us through.
We say our “see you laters” and exit the house into the hot, humid August heat. I lead Noah across the yard until we stand at the steps of my camper. Suddenly nervous, I drop his hand and face him, rocking back and forth on my heels. “So, this is where I live. I know it’s small, but it’s cozy and mine.”
“I already love it, Esme.” But then Noah smirks, a wicked gleam sparking in his eyes as he crosses his arms over his Prewitt Publishing T-shirt. He’d lost that collared shirt as soon as he took a bathroom visit in the midst of the parental interrogation. “Think I’ll fit inside?”
I choke on a breath, doubling over as a coughing fit takes over. Noah pats me on the back. “Joking, sweetheart.”
Catching my breath, I straighten and quirk my brow at him. “I wrote about your wicked humor in the book.”
