But tonight isn’t spontaneous, and it’s something I’ve written about in my novel. In fact, it’s the last scene I wrote. And while I know tonight won’t go exactly how I wrote it, I’m excited to see what happens. In the realm of reality.
“You ready?” Noah asks as we pull into the crowded parking lot of The Wild Whitney.
“You know it, babe.” I wink and take him in. Noah Prewitt should always wear old Wrangler jeans, cowboy boots, and a tight white T-shirt.
I match him in my short cut-off jeans, white tank top, and bedazzled boots.
“I love the way you look in those jeans,” I comment as Noah gets out of the truck. I’ve gotten better at openly complimenting him because he is always saying how beautiful, hot, smart, kind, and talented I am. Noah receives love through affirmations and words whereas I am more action-oriented, and we are learning to speak each other’s language.
“Gross, Esme,” Ethan retorts as he climbs out of the backseat with Sam. I ignore him because it’s not like he didn’t just comment on Sam’s—and I quote—“fine-as-white-wine legs.”
A familiar truck pulls in as we’re all piling out of the truck.
“Ashton!” I shout with giddy excitement when he rolls up to The Wild Whitney. “And Branda!”
I run to hug the two of them, and then I make quick introductions. “This is my best friend, Sam, and my brother, Ethan.”
Ethan adds, “And I’m married to this beautiful woman.” He wraps his arm around Sam, tugging her close and kissing her. The two of them already had a drink back at the house, which is why Noah—probably a little offended by Crazy Colt’s earlier comment about not driving me—drove us four over here tonight. His truck is as lifted and decked out as Ashton’s, except Noah’s is a deep blue color to Ashton’s brown.
“What are you two doing here?” I ask, grabbing Branda for another hug.
“Noah said something about going to the town’s raucous nightlife, and we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to join.”
“Two hours for The Wild Whitney,” I hum. “It’ll be a letdown for sure. I’m sure y’all’ve got fancier clubs in Tuscaloosa. In fact, Noah took me out to one last weekend.” And yeah, the anxiety was real, but I powered through. We take turns tagging along with what the other wants to do whether we necessarily like it or not. It’s getting me out of my comfort zone, which I think is what he’s trying to do.
Ashton shrugs. “But the people we care about are here.” And in a mock whisper, pretending that he’s not letting Branda hear, he says, “Branda and Vance got into a huge fight, and the girl needs to blow off some steam. I came to pawn her off on you two.”
Branda elbows her brother, smiling sweetly. She’s a scary one sometimes, that’s for sure.Poor Vance.
“Well,” Sam slaps her arm, “let’s get inside. It’s hot as hell’s kitchen out here and the mosquitos are getting me.”
“They like sweet things,” Ethan coos, and I groan. These two will be relentless tonight.
Noah throws his arm over my shoulders as we walk into The Wild Whitney. It’s a ratchety old place that has been, and will always be, a town staple. The lights are dim, and there’s a trace of cigar smoke wafting in from the smoking quarters off to the side of the building. Mikey, the aging bartender who’s beenworking here for as long as I can remember, waves us over. Ethan and Sam are first in line for drinks, Ashton and Branda behind them, and finally, me and Noah. Country music pours from the speakers.
“I don’t want to drink,” I tell him as I rub my hand up and down his arm. Noah doesn’t drink, so I rarely do unless I’m having a girls’ night with Sam or an occasional weekend brunch with Isla. “I want to remember every moment of dancing with you tonight. You do dance, right?”
Noah smiles brighter than the neon signs, adjusting his grip to take my hand and lead me out to the small dance area. At that moment, the music shifts, and “Head Over Boots” begins to play. “What kind of Southern man would I be if I couldn’t spin my old lady around a dance floor to Jon Pardi?”
A lightness lifts me and carries me around the dance floor as Noah guides me in a swing dance.Just like in the last chapter I wrote. The couples on the floor part the way for us, but I’m so lost in Noah’s eyes and his smile that everything and everyone else begins to fade away. He spins and dips me all around this joint, pushing out then pulling me in. Kissing me, pressing against me, and swaying to the music with me.
The bridge slows us down, and Noah pulls me close, our foreheads touching as he mouths the words of the bridge and then into the chorus that follows. In this little bubble of ours, I kiss him. Applause erupts around us, hoots and hollers and whistles interspersed throughout. Noah and I break the kiss, but we cling to one another as if there’s never a possibility of letting go. I touch his face, his hair. I can’t stop myself, and I realize Grannie was right: I pet Noah. For a girl who doesn’t necessarily enjoy physical touch, I need it like I need air when it comes to this man.
My will to hold out breaks, crumbling like an eroded statue. “Ask me, Noah.”
He processes for a second, a loading wheel spinning above his head. Then, when it dawns on him, his entire body lights up. It’s as if joy are beams of light shining from within him. “Ashton!” he hollers over the music, never taking his eyes off me. I wrinkle my brows in confusion, but Ashton stumbles over to us with the help of Isla.
“Yes, my dear brother?” Ashton slurs a little, but it’s the smile on his face as he looks at Isla that takes me by surprise. Noah whispers something in Ashton’s ear while I compute the age difference between Isla and Ashton. Eight years? She’s eight years older than him, I believe.Interesting.
I wonder if he knows.
Isla throws me a pleading look that makes me think he doesn’t. I wink at the slender, redheaded curly-haired woman who’s got her arm wrapped around Ashton’s waist. If anyone deserves a night clinging to a Prewitt brother, it’s her. She’s the sweetest, most gentle soul I know. Though I always thought her and her best friend, the sheriff, would end up together.
The music cuts off, and Noah loudly clears his throat as people start to gather around us. He gives me a nervous smile before sliding down onto one knee and opening a black ring box. My heart beats wildly in my chest as my breaths stop.
“Esme, when I saw you standing in Nick’s house back in Alaska, I had just underlined this piece of scripture from Lamentations: ‘The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him.’ I’d been studying the book, trying to make sense of why God does the things that He does. I concluded I will never understand the mind of God, but all that matters is that He is God and He is good. Even if I never got the chance to see you again.” Noah sniffles, pushing back tears. “Then there you were. Standing in front of me. The answer to my most desperate of pleas.” He shakes his head, a look of wonder and amazement shining through his handsome face. “I’ve beencarrying this ring with me since I made it back to Tuscaloosa after Bora Bora. Even though you forgot me, I kept this ring on me at all times, waiting for this moment. I had to have faith it would happen. And,” he shakes his head breathlessly, “here it is. Marry me, Esme, sweetheart. Pencil me in with Sharpie.”
“Yes!” Laughter bubbles out of me as I offer him my hand, accepting the proposal he ripped right from my book. He slips a gorgeous silver ring on my finger, but instead of a diamond at the center, there’s a sunset orange imperial topaz.
