My mind spins. Noah’s promising me everything I’ve ever fantasized about. He’s encouraging me to chase my dreams and will stand by me...at least emotionally. This, for Noah, is epic.
Like the last time we visited here, the evening is closing in around us. The night sky is fading into orange and reds. Soon, the shadows will overtake us, but this time, the darkness doesn’t frighten me. Just because I may not be able to see Noah, it doesn’t mean that he’s not beside me.
My fingers slide along his cheek, and I relish the way his stubble sweetly scratches my palm. I craved more, and Noah’s given me more.
Noah tilts his head into my touch. He also feels this connection...this magnetic force calling us home.
Home.
Noah’s become a man and has built us a home. Not a structure. Not a physical place to lay our heads, but a home in the sense that it completely matters...we belong to each other.
I inch higher on my toes. Noah begins to lean down to me, but I don’t want him reaching for me. I need to be the one who kisses him first. To be the one that starts the first night that begins without the baggage I’ve been carrying.
Before Noah has a chance to lead, I brush my mouth against his and slip my tongue between the part of his lips. Noah immediately fists my hair, and the gentle pull sends shivers through my bloodstream.
I inhale, and Noah’s spicy scent fills my lungs, and it’s intoxicating. Hands roam, cooler air pricks at my skin, and the pads of my fingertips skim above the goose bumps rising on his back.
The wind whips through my hair, stinging me and evidently stinging Noah as his strong hand smoothes back the curls and he begins this slow, seductive descent of kisses along my jawline and down my neck.
My body cries for more and arches into him, but I drove here for a reason. With a hand on Noah’s chest and a lot of willpower, I ease back. “I want to jump.”
It’s like watching a train speeding at two hundred miles per hour slam on the brakes, and I stifle a giggle as Noah attempts to switch gears. He’s totally disheveled thanks to my exploring. His hair completely mussed. His shirt hitched up on one side, exposing the muscles of his abs. “What?”
“Hunter said I wasn’t a risk-taker, and I am. He said that I should wear long sleeves to hide my scars because it would be easier. I don’t want easy because I know I’m strong. I went on this trip with you, and I’ve begged gallery owner after gallery owner to give me a chance, and I told Hunter his paintings sucked twice.”
Noah laughs, and the smile on my face grows. He hitches a finger in the loop of my jean cut offs and draws me near. “That’s my girl.”
His girl. My cheeks warm with a bit of shyness and joyous embarrassment. His girl. “Your girl wants to jump off this ledge into a pool of water.”
Noah peers over. “Know what I see when I look down?”
“Water?” I grin way too wide and innocently.
“Rocks,” he answers as his other hand claims my waist. “Sharp rocks.”
“What happened to Noah Hutchins—thrill-seeker, rush-finder, willing to do whatever?”
I meant to make him smile, but the opposite happens. His face falls, and his hold on me tightens. “I thought I messed us up, Echo. Beyond repair and the thought of not being with you anymore...” He briefly closes his eyes and swallows. “I’m not anxious to watch you jump toward rocks.”
I reach around and link his hands with mine then swing them at our sides. “What if we jump together? You can scare the bad rocks away.”
Half of his mouth tips up. “What’s the deal, baby? Why this? Why now? You don’t need to do this to prove anything to anybody.”
Ugh...and that would be the reason why. “I want to jump. To prove it to me. Not to Hunter. Not to you. Not to anyone else. I’m sort of mad at myself. I spent an entire summer trying to prove that I had talent by waiting for someone else to tell me that I did. That I was someone separate from my mother and you know where it got me? Right back where I started. With her in my face.”
Noah scratches the stubble and seems to be weighing his words. “What’s that have to do with jumping?”
“Because she wouldn’t have jumped.”
When Noah raises a questioning eyebrow, I push forward. “Mom wasn’t the type that would have left an art gallery. She made every decision about her life based on her art—a showing came first over dance recitals or kindergarten orientation. Her number one most stated reason for coming off her meds was because they supposedly killed her creativity.
“She came off in order to create, and she almost killed me, and she has yet to say she’s sorry. If I go to this showing, she’ll be there, and I’ll have to face her again so I need to jump. I need to know, when I’m standing face-to-face with Mom, that I’m not her. That I realize there’s more to life than a job.”
“You’re not her,” says Noah.
“I know that,” I answer honestly. “I know that now, but sometimes a girl has to jump.” I stare at the ground and nudge a pebble. “And I’d like you to jump with me—and before you say no, you already promised you would.”