AllFreeNovel
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"Want to step onto the land for a minute?" he asks.
I nod eagerly, realizing that the sandbar is in fact big enough for us to go on there. Noah grabs my hand and one of the saddlebags that was attached to his bike, and he helps me onto the cool sand. He motions for me to sit down and then pulls the boat further onto the land so that it won't float away.
"Go ahead, take off your shoes, get comfortable. The tide won't rise enough to cover this place, at least not this time of year.”
To my surprise, he pulls out a light blanket and places it on the sand and then takes out a couple of wrapped sandwiches, and a few bags of chips and some apples.
“I'm not much of a chef," he comments, a bit sheepishly as he unwraps one of the chicken salad sandwiches and hands it to me.
My heart is leaping in my chest, and I take a big bite out of the sandwich, moaning in exaggerated pleasure. Evidently, someone making me food is my love language because every time Noah does, I get giddy.
"It's delicious," I assure him, and I'm not lying. I recognize the croissants are from that bakery in town, the one that always make my mouth water when I pass by and I smell them. I don't know where the chicken salad’s from, but it's got little dried cherries in it that give me a burst of sweetness with every bite.
It’s all delicious.
Here on the sand, the ocean isn't…so bad. Terror still licks at my insides whenever I stare at the waves too hard, but I feel more at peace than I usually do when I’m this near the water.
Don't get me wrong, I've had to endure my fair share of beach and boat trips, but I've rarely felt any moments of peace during them.
I'm wondering if Noah’s got a bit of magic in him after all.
The girl stood on the edge of the cliff, staring out at the desolate ocean, wondering if he was out there staring at the land and missing her as much as she was missing him.
"Writing anything good?" His voice cuts through the story I'd drifted into.
I blush and grab a bottle of water, wishing I didn't do that all the time, get lost in my head. But unlike other people, who seem to get annoyed by that particular trait, Noah seems to find it…charming almost.
"Tell me about the story," he says. I roll my eyes, and bite into the sandwich.
"No, I'm serious. Tell me what the story is about."
"I don't share my stories very much," I say quietly.
"Why not? I mean, I've heard of how much your English teacher talks about the stuff you've written.”
"Writing feels…sacred to me, I guess," I muse. "I know once the words are out there, that people can say anything about them. I'll read a book and I’ll go on Goodreads, and people will have said the most horrible things about something I thought was so great. And I guess…I'm scared of that. Because it feels like I'll be showing a piece of my heart to people, and I'm afraid that they will hate it."
Noah nods, like my comments actually make sense. "But they could also love it too."
I nod and shrug. "But that's the thing, though; negative comments are the ones I feel like I would pay the most attention to. I once read this article by this actress who's basically universally liked. She was talking about how she would watch a ten minute fan video someone posted on TikTok of how wonderful she was, and there'd be thousands of those, and then she'd see a six second clip that was negative, and it would totally destroy her. And of course the question is, why doesn’t she just pay attention to the thousands of people that love her? But it just seems to be how it is."
He opens his mouth and I hold up my hand. "Or at least how it is for normal people," I say, raising my eyebrows pointedly.
It's actually one of the things that I love the most about him. He doesn't care. It's like you’re either born with self worth or you’re not. Other people’s opinions are like oil to him; they just roll off and he never thinks of them again. I wonder what it would be like to walk through life that self assured. Because I'm not aware of anything in Noah's background that would have made him that way.
"I know you have that notebook tucked up inside your shirt, Sky. Give me a chance, little stalker. Show me your heart."
He's joking, taking the words that I gave him and giving them back to me, but it feels heavier than that. Does he realize that I have been showing him my heart all this time? I'm wearing it on my sleeve for him right now.
I pull out the tiny notebook that I carry around with me everywhere, just in case the words strike. You never know when inspiration will hit you. Sometimes I’ll be walking down the street, and I’ll see a glance that someone gives a girl as she passes by, and all of a sudden I'll start imagining his hidden longing, and their story that could be if only she took a second to stop and look at him. Or I’ll be in the car listening to a song, and some kind of lyric will spark an entire story. I have notebooks upon notebooks hidden in my room, filled with words that have poured out of my soul from the most tiny encounters.
I hesitate, staring at the cover, but when I look up, he looks so…invested, and I decide to read a few parts.
A lot of this book is filled with sad poems. My experience the last couple of years hasn't lent itself to particularly happy thoughts. But I find one small paragraph that I wrote about him, and I decide to be brave, just this once, and read it to him.
"There was a moment that night when it felt like he looked at me and he actually saw me, that the spark in his eyes was my twin flame. Sometimes at night I imagine that he walked towards me, instead of away. That he'd seen inside my soul, and instead of finding it wanting, he'd found what he'd been looking for his entire life."
“Is that about me?" he asks, his face looking troubled at the thought.
