“Only when it comes to you.” He boops my nose as if he didn’t just turn me inside and out. Those comments… They are Eve's apple. Delicious and sinful. Promises of things to come when this man is all mine.
But that’s not the case right now.
Which means I need to put a stop to it.
Nerves hum, but I know I need to get it out. “Noah? I love your humor, I do. But it takes my mind places it doesn’t need to go right now.”
I brace for him to get mad at me, to say I’m immature and need to grow up. But his face softens. “Of course, Esme. I’m sorry; I was joking. I tend to not think before I speak sometimes. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I will try my hardest to be more careful because I respect you and this relationship, and I don’t want to cause you to stumble.”
And then, as if he didn’t just say all the right words and make me fall even harder for him, he steps up to my door and opens it, walking inside like he owns the thing. I’m flustered and left standing on the grass as I stare into my camper at the man who is taking up so much space in my home and my life.
Though we’ve been working to sort fact and fiction, I still have Noah innately entwined with the version of him that I wrote, and it scares me. The things he said to me back in Bora Bora, the promises he made me… There’s a year of soul-wrenching heartache between that moment and today. But yet, he still is my perfect man. He is somehow better than I wrote him to be in the novel. That fictional version of him I fell in love with as I drafted line after line of his character doesn’t hold a flame to the real man. And something whispers that I don’t deserve him. That he’s not real.
Maybe you should kiss him and find out just how real he is to you,fictional Noah suggests, and I choke on my spit as Icontemplate the action. Of course my character is going to egg on the real-life romance.
Butterflies take off in my stomach at the thought. Can I? Is it too soon? We kissed once back in Alaska, but it was the gentle pressing of lips. A featherlight touch. I want tokisshim.
“You coming inside? I promise there’s room for the both of us even if we have to squeeze on the couch.” Noah winks, motioning me inside my own place. His innuendo and double entendres can use some work, but I’d never ask him to stop flirting with me. I clear my head and smile, remembering the way Ashton and I were smushed up on the couch only about a month earlier. Being smushed up against Noah is going to feel a heck of a lot different.
I step through the doors, immediately calmed by the cascade of colors. The camper decor is desert chic with its brown, green, orange, red, pink, and white color scheme. The houseplants tie the vibe together.
Sneaking a look at Noah as I sit down on the couch, I smile. He plunders through the kitchenette, looking in all my cabinets. He moves to all the storage spaces in the main area next, reaching above me and looking through my small book collection. He pulls down one of his novels and smirks. “Well worn, I see.”
I snatch my copy ofDays in Dothan—a contemporary romance about a couple who reunite in their hometown of Dothan, Alabama, after being apart for eight years—from his hands. Noah chuckles and sits down next to me as I hold my cherished book in my hands. “This book is my favorite Ashton Ashley.”
Noah leans back, manspreading as he wraps one arm around my shoulders. His smells of citrus and vanilla, and I now know that his scent wasn’t just an island thing. “Why’s that one of your favorites? It’s one of our earlier ones.”
Noah and Ashton have written way more books than the three I gave fictional Noah. But one thing remains: these Prewitt boys write in tune with the music of my soul.
“I love second chances and think most people deserve at least one second chance in their lives.” I snuggle close to his side as I flip through the paperback book. “I like how Vance… Wait, did y’all name this character after y’all’s best friend?”
Noah’s fingers play with my hair. “You met Vance?”
“Ashton took me on a tour of Prewitt Publishing. The day after I met your family.”
The hum in his chest vibrates against my shoulder. “They’re on pins and needles to see you again,” Noah states. “To see us together.”
Together. Images of how together we could be right now flit through my head. Should I do it? Should I try to kiss him? I don’t want to do anything else, but I’m dying to know what my boyfriend tastes like. If it’s anything like what I wrote about.
We have an hour before we need to head to El Mariachi, so I woman up and make a move to initiate. “We’re together. Right now.” Okay, that was bad. But I warned him flirting wasn’t my specialty.
“We are,” Noah remarks. I sit up and twist to face him, adjusting the strap of my jean overalls while I play with the one that dangles. But he turns the conversation back to books. “I was writing a book about us while I waited for you to remember me. But I burned it before I fled for Alaska.”
I freeze, looking him dead in the eyes. “Why did you do that, Noah?”
He laughed derisively. “Because I didn’t want any reminders of what we could have been. It hurt too much. It scared me that I felt so strongly for a woman who could never return the feelings.”
Soaking in his words, I try to think of how to respond. I would have loved to see Noah’s point of view, written in his beautiful prose, of the events that happened on Bora Bora. Then, an idea occurs to me. “Noah? What if we wrote my book together? We could revamp some chapters to be in the male point of view, and you could draft those. We could write our story.”
He stares at me in silence, searching my eyes. Noah opens his mouth to speak, but then he snaps it closed before shaking his head. “I can’t do that to you, Esme. This is your debut novel. I want all the focus on you.”
I continue playing with my strap as I bite my lip, a small flush blossoming across my cheeks. “I want you to write this with me. It’s just as much your story as it is mine. It’ll be a good way to bond.” I don’t know why the thought of reworking my book with Noah feels so… intimate. But I want it.
I want so much from this man; it scares the mess out of me. Every moment with him, whether in person or on the phone, is a blessing. A gift that was withheld for far too long.
Noah follows the motion of my fingers fiddling with the hanging strap, and so I drop it and bring that hand to my lips. As I hoped, his gaze follows. “Yes, Esme. Let’s do it.” He drags his eyes to mine. “But right now, you’re killing me, sweetheart. I’m trying to take physical contact slow, but—”
“Did we have sex in Bora Bora?” I blurt, remembering that I had questions about that based on… dreams… I’ve had.
