Page 1 of Connected By Souls

Prologue

Noah

The problem isn’tthat I remember nothing—it’s that I remember it all. Every lifetime we’ve had together, every heartache, every celebration, every goodbye, every fucking little thing. But this lifetime will be different because I remember. All I have to do is find her and get her to fall in love with me again. The problem, I have no idea what she looks like in this lifetime or where she is.

As long as I can remember, I’ve dreamt of her. Sometimes she has long blond hair with a smile that lights me up from within. Other times, she has beautiful brunette curls and the cutest freckles on her nose that I love to trace. In my most recent dream, her hair was fiery red, with beautiful golden streaks that would make even the most gorgeous sunset weep with envy. All my dreams, though, have one thing in common—she’s mine. She always has been and always will be.

She comes to me almost every night, and as I got older, she wasn’t a little girl who loved to collect seashells with me or make forts in the bamboo gardens. She was a woman. No matter her hair color, she always has the same body that I crave with those piercing green eyes. I know what makes her sigh and what makes her scream my name as her body trembles beneath me. We’ve lived in the mountains far away from others, while other times, we’ve lived near the sea. We marry and have families, and in other dreams, we’re taken from each other’s arms too soon. Those are the worst, my own personal hell that I get to relive over and over again.

My dreams lately are becoming more and more intense, and I half expect to wake up and see her right next to me. She feels so damn real, only to find no one there when I reach for her. How can I ever expect to find someone when the one I crave is reaching out to me in my dreams each night? Throughout the years, I’ve had my fair share of girls in my bed trying to fill that emptiness, but no one has ever come close.

At twenty-eight, I have a career that I love, thanks to these memories. I began to write my dreams down at an early age to help clear my head. It helped me to get the words on paper, and eventually, in my early twenties, my journals became more like a book. I published my first bestseller at age twenty-two. I’ve written five more books since—each is our story and life together. The passion I feel for her easily comes through in my writing, and I’ve found the readers connect to that desire, a need I can’t tone down even if I wanted to. They devour my books and crave more, just like I do.

No one, except for my family and close friends in our small coastal town in Florida, knows that I’m actually the best-selling author, Beck Hunter, and I prefer to keep it that way. Everyone else knows me as the local handyman, Noah Bennett, son of Jaxson and Sage Bennett, older brother to Bella and Luna, and destined to leave a trail of heartbreaks in my wake because no girl has been able to catch and keep me….yet.

Emma

Gripping the wheel tightly, I remind myself to keep breathing, deep breaths in, deep breaths out. This past year has been a living hell, but I survived. I’m here, and I’m breathing, and I refuse to let grief control me anymore. This move will be good for me—it has to be. My best friend, Skye, thought I was crazy when I told her I was packing everything I owned and moving to Florida.

Losing my parents in a freak car accident at twenty-three years of age has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. It took everything in me to find my way out of the darkness, and I still don’t know if I’ll ever truly be happy again. After my boyfriend, Tyler, of two years, betrayed me shortly after my parents’ death, I knew I was on a downward spiral toward losing myself. It was either dig deep and find my strength or forever be chained down to my pain and grief.

When I started to go through my parents’ things and found pictures of our happiest moments vacationing in Crystal Isle, Florida, it felt like my mom was giving me a sign and pointing me in the direction I was supposed to go.

So here I am, one year later at twenty-four, in my dad’s restored Bronco, filled with memories and everything I own, driving to a small town in Florida all because I’m trusting my instincts and signs from the Universe. I may be certifiable insane, but since I don’t trust most doctors, I’m not about to get diagnosed.

I didn’t have the heart to sell my childhood home, so I put our little mountain cabin on AIRBNB because, apparently, small-town mountain retreats are all the rage right now. The extra income will help me since I spent most of my inheritance buying a small beachside cottage.

Thankfully, I landed a job at the small library in town to help with my expenses. I’m looking forward to working there. Just being surrounded by books calms me and makes me happy. I’ve been talking to Miss Sylvia, the owner of the library, and she said I would be a perfect fit. We bonded immediately and have the same visions for expanding and upgrading the library. I was concerned she wouldn’t hire me without a college degree, but she laughed and told me she would follow her gut over a piece of paper any day. I guess the perk of small-town libraries is that they can set their own rules.

The extra money from the cabin and this new job will allow me to focus on what I really want to do anyway, write children’s books. I’ve had these children's stories in my head since I was little, but I’ve never felt I could do it. Tyler was no help when I told him about my dream of being a children’s author. He constantly told me tobe practical and get a real joborgo to college and get a degree. I never had the desire to go to college. I love learning through books and on my own time. Unless I want to be a doctor or need a specific degree to do what I love, I would much rather save my money. I feel now is the time to give this writing thing a try. The mountains of Tennessee are beautiful, but the ocean is calling me. I can’t explain it, but it feels like home in Crystal Isle. There’s a pull here that I can’t explain. Rolling down my windows, I breathe in the salty air, and for the first time in months, I smile.

ChapterOne

Noah

“All fixed,Mrs. Woodbury, that should do it.” Turning around, I see her eyes looking down at my…is eighty-year-old Mrs. Woodbury checking out my butt? I climb down the ladder and put the burnt lightbulb on the counter.

“Thank you, my dear. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She meets my eyes with a little gleam. “Noah, you’re way too good-looking to be single. My offer still stands to introduce you to my granddaughter. She’s visiting me soon from New York, and I know you two would hit it off.”

This isn’t the first time someone’s grandma has tried to set me up, or a mother or a cousin twice removed from the family, hell, even my own mom has tried countless times. I have no interest, though. I’m better off with my dreams.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll have to pass…again. I’m sure she’s a nice girl, but I have my hands full with work and don’t have much time to date.”

Technically, I have a lot of free time on my hands at night, but they’re consumed with images of her, the taste of her, the feel of her beneath me. Jesus, I need to stop before I get hard in front of Mrs. Woodbury. That will really give her something to look at.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, just let me know. You are way too juicy to be alone.”

Did she call me juicy? I really need to get out of here before I feel her undress me with her eyes. “Um, thanks, I think,” clearing my throat. “I better get going. I have somewhere I need to be.” I start packing up my tools before any more awkward things are said.

I'm done here after fixing a clogged drain, hanging a new ceiling fan, and replacing a light bulb. Half the time, these older women in town get lonely and look for things for me to do. I don’t mind. I don’t do this job for the money. Lord knows I have plenty of it from my books, but sitting and writing novels all day is not me. I’ve worked out a pretty good writing schedule early in the morning after my run and in the evenings before bed when my thoughts are consumed with her. I’ve always loved working with my hands—building or repairing things is like meditation to me. I’ve recently bought another house to renovate in my spare time, and it should be ready to flip soon. It feels good to help this town that I love, and it keeps me busy so my mind doesn’t wander to her. Most of everything I make as a handyman goes back into the community, especially funding the library.

“How much do I owe you?” Mrs. Woodbury asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“How about you make me some of your famous apple pie, and we’ll call it even.” If there’s one thing I have a weakness for, it’s Mrs. Woodbury’s apple pie. It’s probably a good thing I like to work out and keep in shape because her apple pie would be the death of me.

“Perfect! I’m making pies this weekend to sell at the outdoor market. I’ll make an extra one, especially for you, and swing it by your place next week.” Her face is beaming with pride as I smile back at her.

“That sounds great. Have a good evening, and let me know if you need anything else.” I head out the door to my truck.

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