A shiver runs down my spine as I fight the heat rising to my cheeks. Satisfied, Noah sits down beside me and introduces himself officially to my grandparents. After Pawpaw shakes his hand and tells him how excited he is to meet him, loud chattering resumes around us.
I lean into Noah’s side, a huge smile spreading across my face. “Noah Ashley Prewitt, who even are you?”
He kisses my forehead and takes my hand under the table. “I’m yours, sweetheart. All yours. And if you come with this town—including a guy who calls himself Crazy Colt—then so be it.”
I grin, squeezing his hand before lifting my other to cup his face. “Crazy Colt, though a nuisance, is someone we all try to look after,” I mention in a whisper, eyeing the white-haired mansitting off to himself in a corner booth. “He lost his wife, and he hasn’t been the same since.”
Noah presses his lips together, a distant look haunting his eyes. “I can begin to imagine the pain.”
I fiddle with his hair before moving back to his cheek and then down to his shoulder.
Grannie Bertha hobbles up to me and Noah. I stand to greet her, and Noah follows suit. “Hi, Grannie.”
“Always a pleasure to lay eyes on you, handsome,” she says, patting his arm. I have no doubt Noah is noticing the same tone and inflections used by his actual grandma, Lois. We’ve discussed the uncanny similarities between the two women multiple times since he’s staying at Grannie’s Inn.
He smiles and looks down at her cane. “Tell me, Grannie. Have you ever thought of bejeweling your cane? I know a fine lady who’d help you out.”
“Well I’ll be,” Grannie says, eyeing her cane. “I haven’t thought of it, but now that you mention it, that’s a grand idea.”
“I’ll get you in touch with my grandma, Lois. She has one, and I know she’d love the chance to show it off.”
Grannie pats my arm next. “I sure do like him, Esme.” She leans in close, and Noah and I bend down to hear her whisper, “I knew God would bring you two back together. He told me He would.”
Then, to me, she tsks. “You’re in love.” I scrunch my nose, but Grannie continues, a twinkle in her eyes. “You’re pettin’ him.”
Noah’s Novel Notes
Chapter One ~
For starters, if this is how everything went down when Bryan left you, he better pray he doesn’t run into me. I have zero respect for the Bland Box of Crackers (Ashton told me that’s what we call him).
Okay, now onto constructive (and very loving) criticism.
While you set the scene of Juniper Grove (and Book Esme’s –hereby referred to as BE- external conflict) up well, I would like to see you dig deeper into the internal conflict of BE. You tell me about her heartache, her anger, and her confliction over Ryan’s abandonment, but I’m not feeling it for myself. Try to get rid of words like “feel” and ‘“think” and drop strong verbs. Instead, describe it. Utilize the five senses to coax your reader deep into the warring emotions of BE.
You’re doing great, sweetheart.
Chapter Seventeen
Take me Down ~ mid-August
Aknock on my camper door startles me from my book world.
Yawning, I make a mental note to make another pot of coffee to try and pound out the last few chapters of my novel. Ashton messaged me yesterday and said he and Noah were coming back into town this weekend, which is only a few days away, to meet with me about a timeline for publishing. On top of that, school starts back next Monday, which means I only have these last few days to achieve my goal of finishing this first draft. Noah has already written his chapters.
I tug at my messy bun and tuck the loose strands in my face behind my ears as I take the few steps to my camper door. I’m so tired these days because Noah and I have talked for hours on the phone every single night. He never fails to call me at eight p.m., and we talk until the wee hours of the morning about everything under the sun. Last night, we conversed about how we came to adopt our faith as our own outside of our parents and Bible Belt culture.
And you know what?
I’ve never clicked with a person like I do Noah Prewitt, and it still astounds me he stepped right out of my novel.
The knock on the door comes again right as I go to open it, and the door knocks into whoever is on the other side.
“Oof.” A loud, masculine groan floats through the air as the door bounces back toward me from the force of hitting the man. It’s Noah. I know because I’m now all too familiar with that baritone from talking to him every single day since I brought him home from Alaska.
I ease the door back open to find him lying on the grass. Heat that has nothing to do with August in Mississippi overcomes me. “I’m so, so, so sorry, Noah!” I bounce down the three steps and reach out my hand to help him up. He laughs as he stands, brushing grass off of his flamingo-pink shorts and yellow Hawaiian shirt. Though the clash of colors hurts my eyes, this man makes it work.
“Not how I expected to be greeted,” he jests, then he looks at the ground where a bouquet of sunflowers lies. My stomach dips then soars as he picks them up, gives me an easy breezy smile, and holds the slightly mangled arrangement out to me.
