like a nine-year-old should. She played with smiles and laughter. She played as if she was loved unconditionally. She played with complete abandon and trust.
She played.
Just like Noah and I are playing now. Splashing in the water, running in the surf, laughing as if we’re free and flying. Everyone in the world, regardless of age, should be able to play like this.
The wind blows, and I shiver. The gulf water is warm, the breeze cool, and goose bumps form along my arms. I slow, Noah catches me and he immediately rubs his hands up and down my arms. The beach is deserted now except for a few lone couples walking along the sand.
Hotel rooms along the strip are lit up and the sound of music from the local bars drifts into the evening. My teeth chatter, and in a swift motion, Noah bends, swings me up in his arms and carries me to our blanket on the beach.
He wraps a towel around me before running one through his hair, then over the beads of water dripping down his chest. God, I love his chest. Like looking at it, like touching it, love kissing it. I just love him.
Noah reaches into the bag, pulls out his cell, and it lights up his face as he checks the time. His eyes dart as if he’s reading. Then he drops the cell back into the bag and flashes me his wicked grin. “You ready to head to the room?”
I pull the towel around me. Am I ready for a warm shower and a night with Noah in bed? Definitely, but there’s something I need to do and my foot begins to rock as anxiety tiptoes through my bloodstream. “I need to draw a picture first.”
His eyebrows furrow as he scans the horizon. “It’s getting dark fast. Do you want me to get the camping lantern? It’s in the trunk of your car.”
There’s a sketch pad and pencils in the bag and he thinks that’s what my canvas will be, but he’s wrong. A few seconds alone, though, would be appreciated. Our car is at the front of the hotel—won’t take Noah but five minutes to get there and back and that’s all I need. “Do you mind?”
“I’ll be right back.” A swift kiss to my lips, a rummage through our bag for the keys and a T-shirt, shoes on his feet, then he’s off for the lantern.
The moment he’s far enough away, I pull a T-shirt over my head, yank on a pair of shorts and then begin the task of drawing a picture just for Noah in the sand.
Chapter 6
Noah
A stray seagull squawks overhead as I return with the lantern in hand. The waves continuously crash against the beach and occasionally someone’s laughter from the balconies drifts down. In a T-shirt and shorts, Echo’s on her hands and knees in the sand next to our blanket.
She’s pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail and unruly curls have fallen away. Echo’s intent on whatever she’s drawing in the sand, and before I reach her, she stands, clapping her hands together to rid her fingers of the dirt. There’s a soft smile on her face and it’s the type that, when sent in my direction, promises very good things.
“Hey,” I call out, and Echo turns her head. Her grin grows wider and she walks toward me.
“I drew you something,” she says in a rush, and when I continue to try to walk past her to see what it is, she places a hand on my chest. “I drew you something.”
I stop at the brush of her finger and her repeat of words. “What?”
Echo shifts her weight from one leg to another and her bare foot begins to tap against the sand. I glance around the beach, searching for what could be making her nervous. Echo rests her hand on my cheek and returns my gaze to her.
I love those green eyes. They’re the reason I chose an emerald-colored stone for the ring. There’s a patch of sand on her forehead, and knowing Echo, it’s from when she was deep in thought about whatever she was drawing. She must have wiped at the stray curls on her forehead to brush them away, not realizing she was marking herself with sand.
Echo swipes her thumb against the evening stubble forming on my jaw, then drops her hand to take my fingers in hers. “I love you.”
Before I have a chance to open my mouth and say anything