I chuckle as I kiss his jaw. One hand moves to cup his cheek, and I catch my ring glittering like a sunset in the low lamppost light above us. “So, who told you I like orange instead of pink now?”
“You sent my twin an orange heart and said you loved the color. Imagine my jealousy when he showed me.”
“It reminded me of you,” I state, bringing my lips to his. “My fictional dream guy come to life.”
Noah smiles against my lips. “Oh, but sweetheart. This isveryreal.”
Noah’s Novel Notes
Chapter 23 ~
You did it! Esme Lorraine Jenkins, you have drafted your first novel. And I stand in awe at your talent, my love. I fear my POVs will be drastically overshadowed by you, but I am not complaining. I will rise to the challenge. I pray we make each other better for the rest of our lives. It’s been an honor to write this novel alongside you.
The ONLY suggestion I have here at the end is to consider a circular ending to really drive home the theme of the novel. As you have it now, with BE and BN getting married and honeymooning in Bora Bora, is fantastic. But, I think we can elevate it. I’ve heard chirpings in the book world that readers are tired of stories ending with engagements or weddings, so why don’t we fast forward through those things and show the characters doing a small part of life together? How do they interact with each other now that they are married? What glimpse can you give to show that BE has embraced her true nature and is romancing her reality? Drive that home since it’sa central theme. As my mom used to say, there is beauty in the bramble. Show me the characters' beautiful life, even in the bramble.
I know our bramble is beautiful.
I’m typing this as I sit next to you while you read, and now I think it’s time we put the book down and cuddle. I miss your touch, my love.
Epilogue ~ One Year Later
Noah • June
Iwatch through the window painted with blueberries outside of Main Street Coffee as my wife creates trenches, pacing around the tables set up for the book launch event. She tugs at the ends of her straight brown hair, worry coating her face as she bites her bottom lip.
I’ve been standing here for over a minute, and I should have entered and put her at ease by now, but she’s adorable when she’s fretting. When she stops in her tracks and leans against the table like she’s about to vomit, however, the doting husband side of me resurfaces, and I push open the glass door. Esme spins on her sparkling orange heel, her off-white skirt fluttering around her. Her tense shoulders drop as relief washes across her tanned face.
“You’re late,” she says on an exhale, but we meet each other in the middle of the room, and she wraps her petite arms aroundmy waist. I kiss her on the forehead while relishing in her floral, feminine scent.
“And you’re a strung-out mess.” I stare into her soft brown eyes, fingering flyaways out of her face and tucking them behind her ear. She is so beautiful; it stuns me every time I gaze upon her.Thank You, Lord,I silently pray,for bringing her back to me.Aloud, I say, “But I come bearing a gift.”
I reach into the back pocket of my white linen pants and pull out an orange Sharpie. But not just any orange Sharpie—it’s a specific sunset orange hue that matches our book cover perfectly. I’ve been searching for two days for this specific color simply because my wife wanted one last-minute.
My wife.I still can’t get over those two words. Meeting her in Bora Bora was nothing short of God’s perfect timing, but losing her to the intricacies of the human mind was pure hell, the darkest moments of my life outside of losing my mom. I shake the thoughts, not wanting to put a damper on this day.
“You found one?” Esme’s eyes widen as she snatches it from my hand. She stares down at it as if it’s a relic worthy of protection, and then she throws herself into my arms again, causing me to stumble backward a few steps until I gain my footing and wrap my arms around her, lifting her off her feet and spinning her. She lets out a squeal, and I can’t stop the smile sweeping across my face at her joy. I live for every smile. I would scour the ends of the earth for every sunset orange Sharpie if she wanted me to. If it made her this happy.After all we’ve been through to get to this moment…
“You’re the best, babe,” Esme says as I set her down. She kisses my cheek, her eyes sparkling.
“Better than fictional Noah,my little author?”I quip, raising an eyebrow and tracing circles on her lower back. She once confided in me that a fictional version of me, the one she wrote about in the book, often talked to her. She said she thinks that’swhen she started to fall in love even though he was somewhere between the real and the reverie.
She winks and steps out of my grasp. “Always.”
“Even when I’m late?” I grab her hips and pull her back into me as she half-heartedly tries to squirm away. It’s impossible not to touch her when she’s near. I had trouble keeping my hands to myself when we first met, not to mention when we reunited and started dating. Now that we’re married? Yeah, no. I choose to be that annoying handsy couple. I want the world to see how much I love this woman.
“You’re better than fiction because of when you’re late.” Esme boops my nose while wrinkling hers. “Being with you has taught me that real life is better than fictionbecause ofthe messiness.”
My heart thumps wildly at her statement. She does this now and then. Stares at me as if she’s contemplating life itself, and then says some statement about how I’m so much better than the version of me she created in her head. I think she tends to forget that the version she crafted of me came straight from her memories, with tweaks here and there. Finishing this book alongside her has been a godsend. It’s allowed me to dig deep into her brain and her heart under the guise of work. Her chapters have been a step-by-step guide on how to romance her and love her well. She’s taken notes on the chapters I’ve written, too, and puts my scenes into practice.
What a glorious year it’s been. Especially after that season of utter darkness and depression.
I drag her lips to mine, relishing in the taste of her mango lip gloss while my mind is swept away to memories of Bora Bora and mango fish tacos and our very first kiss. Esme playfully pushes me away, saying, “Okay, babe. I’ve got to make sure everything is perfect for this evening.”
“Breathe, sweetheart. You don’t need to have a panic attack before your big night.” I slip my arm around her, massaging herhips. My body hums with the contact, and I have half a mind to find a closet in this coffee shop.
Esme grabs my hands and drags me behind her as we check the table set up in the corner. It’s long with a white cloth that has Prewitt Publishing’s logo—a rising sun over an ocean—on it. There is a sign with information about me and Esme, and then three stacks ofReveling in Reverie.
Written by Lorraine E. Jenkins and Noah A. Prewitt. It’s her debut and my debut under my real name, as a solo author instead of with my twin. I’ve known for a while Ashton was ready to step back from writing, but I kept pushing him to continue because his worldbuilding and plotting are unmatched. A perfect pairing to my prose. But he saw the opportunity to tell me that he wasn’t going to write any more novels when Esme invited me into writing alongside her. There was nothing I could say or do to dissuade him. He’s made up his mind to stick strictly to the business side of publishing, and I wish he’d tell me why instead of the stupid excuse that he’s tired of writing. I’ve watched him sit at his laptop and draft stories that he refuses to talk about. I’ve seen the fire in his eyes as he types away. There’s something he’s keeping from me, but I can’t push him. Just like he never pushed me when I realized I’d lost Esme for good.
