Unforgettable
Page 1
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1.
“How about you and I make a deal? Just for tonight, the real world doesn’t exist. It’s just me and you, and whatever happens next.”
“One night,” he echoes slowly, his dark eyes glittering with lust in the dim light.
“One night.” I promise. And then I reach for him, tugging his tie to bring him. His breath is hot on my lips. His body hard against me.
Closer, closer, and then we touch. His mouth claims mine, and the heat takes me over. Desire surging, a rush like nothing else. I slide my hands up his chest, arching into him as I--
RING. RING!
The loud shriek of my cellphone breaks through the delicious haze. I struggle awake, groping blindly for my bedside table.
“Hello?” I yawn.
“Noelle, sweetie?” My mom’s voice comes loudly. “Were you still asleep?”
The lights from my alarm clock illuminate the dark room. “It’s 5:30 a.m.,” I groan, falling back into the warm pillows. “Of course I’m still asleep.”
“You said you were getting an early start.” Her voice is brisk and slightly out of breath. I can just picture her on the treadmill at the hospital gym: striding out a quick couple of miles before work like it’s nothing at all. “It’s a long drive, you should be on the road already. Although¸ I don’t understand why you can’t fly down with us all tomorrow.”
“You know I can’t fly.”
“Won’t,” she corrects me. “They have marvelous drugs for that. Two pills, and you’ll be so out of it, you won’t notice the heights.”
“I don’t want to be out of it.” I roll over and try to blink awake. “I’ll be fine, mom. I like to drive. It gives me time to think.”
“Well, if you’re going to be there early, you can help with the arrangements. I called ahead about the flowers, but the girl in the shop didn’t sound like she knew what she was doing. Would you double-check at the church, too?” she adds. “And we all have to head straight back to the airport after the service, but if they want to hold some kind of reception, I suppose that would be alright.”
“Uh huh.”
“I have to go, I’m in surgery all day. Drive safe.” She hangs up.
I wish I could sink back under the covers and melt back into my amazing dream: just me and that mysterious stranger, kissing right there in the middle of the street…
Except it’s not a dream.
It’s been three days since I met him: Ash. I didn’t get his surname, or barely any other information, but for those few blissful hours, it felt like I knew him better than anyone. We had the most incredible night together, the kind you remember for the rest of your life. I gave him my number before I left, and I’ve been hopefully checking my phone ever since.
But he still hasn’t called.
I let the memories melt away and stumble to the kitchen and set the coffee to brew while I go take a shower. I wish I were a stranger to early-morning wake-ups, but my job at the law firm has me working crazy hours right now: I’m usually at my desk by 6:30, and not home before ten. My friends tell me it’s a rite of passage, and every new associate has to make it through. Survival of the fittest; to the victor, the corner office.
I just wonder if I even want it anymore. I’ve spent my whole life on track, but recently, I’ve been feeling a frustrated itch, like this isn’t the life I imagined for myself. But today, at least, I’m excused from the usual grind. I dress in some cut-off shorts and a T-shirt, grab my overnight bag and a thermos of coffee, and head down to the basement garage. Keeping a car in New York City is a major hassle, but with my fear of flying, it’s the only way. Besides, I told Mom the truth: I love driving. It’s the one time I’m allowed to ignore my cellphone and all the pressures of my normal life, gaze out the windshield, and just let my mind wander.
The world is still silent, the sun rising as I head out of the city and onto the highway. It’s over ten hours to North Carolina, and I settle back, relaxing: the radio on, breeze whipping through the open windows. As the miles speed past, my thoughts wander to the reason I’m making the trip. My happiness fades.
Grandma Olsen.
Nana to me, and only me. “I’m too young to be a grandmother,” she’d wink from her spot in the kitchen of her old-fashioned diner. “The rest of you can call me Nancy.”
But I called her Nana from the time I was a toddler, and somehow, it stuck. Every other summer when we were kids, my parents would take us to visit her, down in the small beach town where my dad grew up. My sister would go tan on the beach, my brother would run around causing trouble, but I loved nothing more than to sit up on the counter in her steamy kitchen and watch Nana bake.
It was a sight to behold. Muffin pans oozing berry juices; cake tins scented with lemon and spices; sticky morning buns glazed in sugar and cinnamon; and trays of jewel-like cupcakes, frosting whipped into airy peaks. You never knew what she would whip out of the oven next, but it would always be delicious. I spent my summers with flour in my hair and buttercream smeared around my mouth, until my parents decided that they couldn’t be away from work so long. My siblings and I were packed off to sleep-away camp instead: learning tennis, and computers, and how to sleep when someone’s let a jar of bugs loose in the cabin.
My time in Beachwood Bay became sandy memories. Nana and I would write to each other—I loved getting those old-fashioned envelopes in the mail—and then, eventually, I taught her how to Skype. Her hip started giving her problems a few years back; Dad wanted her to move up to the city with us, but she refused. That old beach town had been home to her all her life, and she wasn’t about to leave just because she took a little longer to get down the stairs. She sold the diner, and bought a big house out by the beach instead, turning it into a B&B with the best breakfast in the state. I always meant to go down and visit more often, but work got in the way. The last time I saw her, it was Christmas, a year ago. She made roast beef and a vast cake, studded with nuts and candied fruit, served under a huge fir tree to an assorted cluster of guests, family, and old friends. The room was packed with laughter and good food, just the way the holidays should be.
“How about you and I make a deal? Just for tonight, the real world doesn’t exist. It’s just me and you, and whatever happens next.”
“One night,” he echoes slowly, his dark eyes glittering with lust in the dim light.
“One night.” I promise. And then I reach for him, tugging his tie to bring him. His breath is hot on my lips. His body hard against me.
Closer, closer, and then we touch. His mouth claims mine, and the heat takes me over. Desire surging, a rush like nothing else. I slide my hands up his chest, arching into him as I--
RING. RING!
The loud shriek of my cellphone breaks through the delicious haze. I struggle awake, groping blindly for my bedside table.
“Hello?” I yawn.
“Noelle, sweetie?” My mom’s voice comes loudly. “Were you still asleep?”
The lights from my alarm clock illuminate the dark room. “It’s 5:30 a.m.,” I groan, falling back into the warm pillows. “Of course I’m still asleep.”
“You said you were getting an early start.” Her voice is brisk and slightly out of breath. I can just picture her on the treadmill at the hospital gym: striding out a quick couple of miles before work like it’s nothing at all. “It’s a long drive, you should be on the road already. Although¸ I don’t understand why you can’t fly down with us all tomorrow.”
“You know I can’t fly.”
“Won’t,” she corrects me. “They have marvelous drugs for that. Two pills, and you’ll be so out of it, you won’t notice the heights.”
“I don’t want to be out of it.” I roll over and try to blink awake. “I’ll be fine, mom. I like to drive. It gives me time to think.”
“Well, if you’re going to be there early, you can help with the arrangements. I called ahead about the flowers, but the girl in the shop didn’t sound like she knew what she was doing. Would you double-check at the church, too?” she adds. “And we all have to head straight back to the airport after the service, but if they want to hold some kind of reception, I suppose that would be alright.”
“Uh huh.”
“I have to go, I’m in surgery all day. Drive safe.” She hangs up.
I wish I could sink back under the covers and melt back into my amazing dream: just me and that mysterious stranger, kissing right there in the middle of the street…
Except it’s not a dream.
It’s been three days since I met him: Ash. I didn’t get his surname, or barely any other information, but for those few blissful hours, it felt like I knew him better than anyone. We had the most incredible night together, the kind you remember for the rest of your life. I gave him my number before I left, and I’ve been hopefully checking my phone ever since.
But he still hasn’t called.
I let the memories melt away and stumble to the kitchen and set the coffee to brew while I go take a shower. I wish I were a stranger to early-morning wake-ups, but my job at the law firm has me working crazy hours right now: I’m usually at my desk by 6:30, and not home before ten. My friends tell me it’s a rite of passage, and every new associate has to make it through. Survival of the fittest; to the victor, the corner office.
I just wonder if I even want it anymore. I’ve spent my whole life on track, but recently, I’ve been feeling a frustrated itch, like this isn’t the life I imagined for myself. But today, at least, I’m excused from the usual grind. I dress in some cut-off shorts and a T-shirt, grab my overnight bag and a thermos of coffee, and head down to the basement garage. Keeping a car in New York City is a major hassle, but with my fear of flying, it’s the only way. Besides, I told Mom the truth: I love driving. It’s the one time I’m allowed to ignore my cellphone and all the pressures of my normal life, gaze out the windshield, and just let my mind wander.
The world is still silent, the sun rising as I head out of the city and onto the highway. It’s over ten hours to North Carolina, and I settle back, relaxing: the radio on, breeze whipping through the open windows. As the miles speed past, my thoughts wander to the reason I’m making the trip. My happiness fades.
Grandma Olsen.
Nana to me, and only me. “I’m too young to be a grandmother,” she’d wink from her spot in the kitchen of her old-fashioned diner. “The rest of you can call me Nancy.”
But I called her Nana from the time I was a toddler, and somehow, it stuck. Every other summer when we were kids, my parents would take us to visit her, down in the small beach town where my dad grew up. My sister would go tan on the beach, my brother would run around causing trouble, but I loved nothing more than to sit up on the counter in her steamy kitchen and watch Nana bake.
It was a sight to behold. Muffin pans oozing berry juices; cake tins scented with lemon and spices; sticky morning buns glazed in sugar and cinnamon; and trays of jewel-like cupcakes, frosting whipped into airy peaks. You never knew what she would whip out of the oven next, but it would always be delicious. I spent my summers with flour in my hair and buttercream smeared around my mouth, until my parents decided that they couldn’t be away from work so long. My siblings and I were packed off to sleep-away camp instead: learning tennis, and computers, and how to sleep when someone’s let a jar of bugs loose in the cabin.
My time in Beachwood Bay became sandy memories. Nana and I would write to each other—I loved getting those old-fashioned envelopes in the mail—and then, eventually, I taught her how to Skype. Her hip started giving her problems a few years back; Dad wanted her to move up to the city with us, but she refused. That old beach town had been home to her all her life, and she wasn’t about to leave just because she took a little longer to get down the stairs. She sold the diner, and bought a big house out by the beach instead, turning it into a B&B with the best breakfast in the state. I always meant to go down and visit more often, but work got in the way. The last time I saw her, it was Christmas, a year ago. She made roast beef and a vast cake, studded with nuts and candied fruit, served under a huge fir tree to an assorted cluster of guests, family, and old friends. The room was packed with laughter and good food, just the way the holidays should be.
