Picture This

Chapter 1: Delylah

Chapter 1: Delylah

Delylah Banks stands in the crowded lobby of the Haven River Ranch lodge, surrounded by wannabe cowboys. Emily and Luca's New York friends—real estate agents, hedge fund analysts, investment bankers, and trust fund babies—all play Western dress-up for a long weekend in Montana, preening in their polished square-toed boots, Wrangler jeans, and identical Stetsons. Delylah, by contrast, hauls a broken-wheeled Samsonite, a duct-taped backpack, and a tight budget. Her forensic photography job pays enough to keep her comfortable, but after four years of photographing crime scenes and dead bodies, she's ready for a change. She's hoping her November art exhibition will sell enough pieces to fund a move home to Montana, where she might finally find a real cowboy—a man who won't raise an eyebrow at her old suitcase or mind a little dust on his boots. A man who wouldn't cut in front of her for the hotel's check-in line.

When Emily comes racing down the lodge's staircase, arms spread wide, her squeal cuts through the lobby. The two best friends embrace, and Emily's excitement is palpable—her hair now six inches longer with extensions, her sleeveless denim dress one of many outfits she'd modeled during packing sessions at her Manhattan penthouse. Emily and Delylah have been best friends since kindergarten, when Emily's parents bought the house next door in their small hometown. They moved to New York together after high school, and Delylah still lives in their old cramped apartment, using Emily's former room as her studio.

Emily doesn't yet know Delylah is leaving the city. Delylah has only told her parents, swearing them to secrecy. She's waiting until after the wedding to break the news, not wanting to add stress to an already keyed-up bride. Luca's parents hadn't wanted a Montana wedding—they'd envisioned an opulent city gala—but Emily and Delylah had both dreamed of weddings at the Haven River Ranch, nestled at the base of the Crazy Mountains, forty-five minutes from their hometown of Big Timber. The resort is magic, with a five-year waiting list for weddings, but Emily's mom is cousins with the owners, the Haven brothers, and they'd secured a spot for June. In just two days, Emily and Luca will say "I do" in a green meadow beneath towering indigo peaks.

Emily announces a change in the agenda: they're going glamping. The resort has a beautiful campsite in the mountains—they'll drive up in the morning, hike, spend a day with nature, have a campfire, and sleep beneath the stars before returning to prepare for the Saturday wedding. Delylah is genuinely surprised; camping is her kind of activity, not Emily's, but Emily insists she needs to disconnect and stop obsessing over decorations. The rehearsal dinner is moving to tonight instead. Emily has a busy afternoon ahead: a final dress fitting, a walk-through with the wedding planner, and she hasn't yet seen the new barn that supposedly blends refined and rustic perfectly.

As they shuffle forward in the check-in line, Emily loops her arm through Delylah's and rests her head on her shoulder, admitting she's holding her breath over Luca's parents' approval. She just wants everything to be perfect. Delylah promises to drop her bags and be at Emily's disposal all weekend—even if that means glamping. She mentally sorts through her suitcase, realizing her hiking boots are still in New York, collecting dust for eight years. She's glad she opted for tennis shoes over heels, though her worn sneakers earned side-eyes from Luca's snobby friends earlier.

Then something over Delylah's shoulder catches Emily's attention, making her smile.

Noah.

Noah Chappel jogs down the stairs, hazel eyes scanning the lobby. He flashes Emily a crooked smile, and when his gaze locks with Delylah's for a moment, her heart stops and her cheeks flame. Emily's older brother. Delylah's childhood crush. He's only gotten more handsome in the years since she last saw him—his wavy hair longer now, curling slightly at his ears and the nape of his neck, his strong jaw dusted with dark stubble. A simple gray T-shirt stretches across his broad chest, sleeves straining against his biceps. His faded jeans mold to his bulky thighs and drape down long legs to scuffed boots. Amidst a lobby full of good-looking men, Noah puts them all to shame.

The last time Delylah saw him was at Christmas a few years ago, when he'd brought a girlfriend who, according to Emily, he broke up with not long after New Year's. Delylah has spent her entire life faking indifference when it comes to Noah, never asking Emily about him directly but clinging to every word she shares. It's only a crush, she tells herself—the boy of her teenage dreams. She used to doodle his name with hers in hearts, write "Delylah Chappel" in her diaries, and picture her wedding to him more times than she can count. But that childhood crush has faded with time, distance, boyfriends, and life. He's only ever seen her as Emily's best friend, the girl next door. Soon this wedding will be over, and she'll go back to New York, and it could be another three or thirty years before she sees him again. But for now, she can use the nostalgia of a crush. After her breakup with Peter, she needs a reminder that good men still exist, that she isn't dead inside. Even admiring Noah from afar is enough to know a hot guy can still make her pulse race.

When Noah reaches the bottom stair and crosses toward the doors, Delylah lets herself check out his ass. Still perfect. She really hopes he's coming camping with them.

Emily snaps her fingers in Delylah's face, demanding to know why her face is red. "Were you checking out Noah?" Delylah lies smoothly, blaming the hot, stuffy lobby. Years of practice mean the lies flow like running water—she's spent her life denying this crush. Emily snorts, "Can you imagine? You and Noah?" Oh, Delylah has imagined. But she never once thought it would be weird. To Noah, though, she's just Emily's best friend and constant companion.

Luca emerges from the dining room, and Emily waves him over. The moment he appears, his friends abandon their places in line to shake his hand and clap his shoulder. With the path clear, Delylah snatches up her suitcase, grabs Emily's hand, and pulls her to the front desk. She checks in, sliding her driver's license across the counter. By the time the receptionist hands back her room key, the frenzy has died down and Luca's friends are reshuffling into line.

Luca comes over for a hug, glad she made it. But as Delylah picks up her suitcase, ready to dart upstairs to room 203 and scream into a pillow, another man walks into the lobby. Her grip falters. Her Samsonite clatters to the floor, probably breaking the other wheel.

Jake Hearst. Emily didn't mention she invited him. "He's our friend," Emily feigns innocence, but Delylah knows better—Emily has been trying to set them up for weeks. Jake is a pig. Emily takes Delylah's hand and pleads for one more chance, painting a romantic fantasy of falling in love at her wedding. Delylah deadpans, "So romantic," as Jake comes to stand at her side. She angles her body away, hoping he'll get the hint. He doesn't.

Jake leans in for a kiss on her cheek. "Hey, Del." Delylah backs away, nearly tripping over her suitcase, correcting him—she doesn't like the nickname Del. It's the third time she's had to remind him. She likes one and only one nickname: the one Noah gave her when she was ten. Everyone else calls her Delylah.

Jake brushes invisible lint from his crisp button-down, looking like every other designer-clad man in the room. He suggests they hang out, sit together at dinner tonight. Delylah thinks, Never. She's going to avoid him at all costs.

"I hear we're going camping tomorrow," Jake says.

Shit. She swallows a groan. "Glamping. Can't wait."

Chapter 2: Noah

Noah can't stop thinking about Delylah Banks. Emily's best friend, the girl next door, is stunning in a way that makes him forget how to breathe, and he catches himself wondering if she's single and how mad his sister would be if he spent the weekend chasing her around the resort. Camping he loves. Glamping, not so much. But with Delylah along, it might not be so bad.

He's been hauling boxes of decorations all morning, taking orders from Emily and his mother, and his plan is to drop off the last box at the barn and then cut loose. The resort is Haven River Ranch, and Noah worked here as a summer guide in high school and college. He knows these mountains like the back of his hand and misses the place now that he doesn't get up here as often. Emily asked him and their mom to call in favors to secure the resort for her wedding, and he didn't hesitate. They all want her big day to go off without a hitch.

That plan dies when Emily spots him from the lodge porch and waves him over. She needs a favor, and the exaggerated frown on her face tells him he's going to hate it. "Don't come camping," she says. Luca invited his friend Jake, and Emily hopes Jake and Delylah will hit it off. If Noah is there, she'll be shy. He argues that he's known Delylah since she was five, but Emily clarifies: not shy of Noah, shy about flirting with Jake. "You're practically her brother. No one wants to flirt with their brother watching."

Oh, fuck no. Noah is not her brother. Not even close. A brother wouldn't have noticed how long her legs looked in her jeans. A brother wouldn't imagine dragging her white tank top up and over her head.

He doesn't argue long. Wedding weekend. What Emily wants, Emily gets. Noah never tells her no, and his father says he spoils her. But his father isn't the one who gave her the scars on her forearms. He isn't the person who was driving the day of the accident.

Emily thanks him with a kiss on the cheek, then asks if he and Dad can go with Mom to meet the wedding planner at eight the next morning. He agrees. Then she asks when his date is getting here. His plus-one RSVP was six months ago, back when he was optimistic. The relationship fizzled after a few weeks. "She wore a lot of lipstick," he explains. Not his thing, the idea of smearing red or pink or nearly black purple all over both their faces in a kiss.

Since he has no date, Emily needs him to sit with Luca's parents at the rehearsal dinner tonight. He resists, pointing out he might not see them again for a decade. But Emily pleads: she needs them to be happy, to have the best weekend of their lives. "This is supposed to be the best weekend of your life," he says. She shrugs. "And it will be as long as they keep smiling." Even if that means she doesn't. He grits his teeth and says sure.

Emily hurries inside, straightening her spine, smoothing down her denim dress, lifting her chin before she walks through the door. Noah has no desire to mingle with the crowd, so he rounds the building to the back patio. A bartender is setting up for the evening, and beside the bar are two coolers. Delylah is rummaging through one. She fishes out an IPA, twists off the cap, takes a gulp, then lets the bottle hang at her side, eyes closed, face tilted to the clear blue sky.

"Long day?" he asks. She jumps. She hadn't heard him. Since the lobby, she's pulled her hair into a ponytail, tied with a polka-dot scarf. His fingers itch to tug at it and set her brown hair free, but he tucks his hands into his pockets instead. She blushes when she says his name, and she tries to hide it by looking at her shoes. He catches it. "Hey, Lylah."

He grabs his own beer, clinks it against hers, and tells her it's good to see her. Same to you, she says. Her warm brown eyes catch the afternoon sunlight, and the caramel and cinnamon flecks in her irises glow. He catches himself wondering how pissed Emily would be if he ditched Luca's parents and followed Delylah around all night instead.

She tells him New York is all right, but it's not Montana. Homesick, he guesses, and she thinks so, smiling sweetly. His chest squeezes so tight he forgets to breathe. Still taking pictures? She picks up a black camera she left beside the cooler. Never leaves home without it. What about him, still teaching fifth grade? He's moved up to middle school now, seventh and eighth graders, and he loves them. "They're obnoxious and loud and sweet and hormonal. They're either laughing or crying. I love them. They make every day an adventure." She bets he's everyone's favorite teacher. "Damn straight."

She laughs, the sound musical and soft, fidgeting nervously with the buttons on her camera. Noah moved home after college to teach at the same school he attended as a kid. He considered the big city sometimes, but the students kept him here. His first fifth graders are in high school now, some of them still coming to see him. He can't go to the grocery store without bumping into a student or a family he knows. Around town, people call him Mr. C. He's planted his roots in Montana, even though he understands why Delylah and Emily left. This is home.

"Ready for this weekend?" she asks. "Should be a fun time. Save me a dance?" Her face lifts, eyes wide, mouth parting. Before she can answer, the lodge door bursts open and Emily calls for Delylah. She has to go, but she mentions that Emily hired another photographer for the wedding so she could enjoy herself and not work. She's taking pictures of the dress fitting, though, and she gives him a sly smile: "I'm absolutely going to get the best shot this weekend. This other photographer is just wasting her time."

They say goodbye. She tells him to have fun camping tomorrow, and the crease between her eyebrows appears when he says he's not going. "You love camping." He does, and he likes that she knows that about him. He jokes about the glamping, no hot dogs or beer. She feigns a gasp. "The horror." He'll stay here and hold down the fort. She'll have fun. With Jake. A sour taste spreads across his mouth. The last thing he wants is to watch Delylah hit it off with one of Luca's snobby friends.

"Bye, Noah." "Bye, Lylah."

He watches her hurry into the lodge after Emily, then turns to the meadow sprawling beyond the patio, staring up at the mountains and trees. His gaze drifts toward the campsite he can't see but knows is up there. Maybe it's for the best that he's staying behind. Her life is in New York. And he belongs to Montana.

Chapter 3: Delylah

The campsite is not what Delylah expected. This is not camping, she realizes, standing in the center of a glamping setup with three canvas tents, fairy lights, plush rugs, and a king-size bed on a permanent platform. The space could easily seat ten, but their camping party is exactly four: Emily and Luca, Jake and Delylah. A host named Mark, a recent high school graduate working at the resort for the summer, assumed Jake and Delylah are a couple and set up one too many tents. Delylah corrects him in front of everyone, making it clear she is definitely not sharing a bed with Jake. She wonders where the other campers are, the group Emily promised. No married couples from the wedding flew up. No one else came at all. She wants a serious discussion with Emily about these matchmaking attempts.

The morning started pleasantly enough, with breakfast and a lobby meeting, Delylah wearing her favorite cutoff shorts and a chambray shirt, self-tanner nearly perfect. She was taking candid photos of Emily and Luca when Jake sauntered in thirty minutes late, hungover and reeking of old booze. It wasn't until the caravan pulled away with no one else in it that Delylah panicked. Emily claimed no one else wanted to come, and Delylah bites her tongue so hard she tastes blood.

Emily breezes out of her tent with champagne and a phone, posing for a selfie, but Delylah sticks out her tongue and fakes a smile. Luca emerges, complaining there's no service, and Emily cheerfully explains that disconnecting is the whole point. Jake appears with a bottle of bourbon, calling Delylah "Del" and offering her a drink at ten in the morning. She corrects him: her name is Delylah, and she doesn't get drunk at ten a.m. He claims she's probably fun when drunk and sits so close his thigh brushes hers. She scoots away, but he follows, drinking straight from the bottle and telling her to give him a chance.

Emily encourages it, insisting they have so much in common, namely Emily and Luca. Jake agrees, calling them both hot and humble, and Delylah mutters under her breath, moving to another couch. She concedes that Jake is handsome when he isn't talking, but the moment he opens his mouth he drops from an eight to a three. He announces he's going to win her over this weekend. Delylah's favorite shorts have never felt more regrettable.

Luca frowns at his phone, desperate for a signal, while Emily talks about how Luca had to chase her, and now look at them. Luca ignores her, downs his bourbon, and storms into the tent. Emily follows, leaving Jake and Delylah alone. Jake tries to flirt, asking about camping, learning she grew up in Montana. He teases about knocking on her tent at night, and she suggests he knock on Mark's. Jake misremembers the host's name as Matt. He keeps staring at her legs, and Delylah flees into her tent.

Emily storms in after her, red-faced. Luca isn't loving the experience because he's worried about missing a call or an email. Delylah points out he's on vacation, it's their wedding. Emily pivots to Jake, and Delylah unloads: pushy, arrogant, snobby. Emily defends him, saying Luca says he's a great guy, and how cute would it be if they got together because of her wedding? Delylah notices that Emily seems more enamored with the idea of the setup than with Delylah's actual happiness.

Emily pushes, mentioning Delylah turned down all the others, and asks if it's because of Peter. Peter, who was unforgivable. Delylah clarifies that she's not afraid of men like Peter; she's just not interested. Emily pouts, worried about Delylah being alone in the city now that she's getting married. She points out Delylah lives alone in their old crappy apartment, works a job she's miserable at, and has no other friends. Delylah has other friends, just not in Emily's circle. And Emily isn't wrong about the job. Forensic photography was a thrill at first, but she's becoming desensitized. Her faith in humanity is wavering. What she needs is to come home to Montana.

Emily keeps naming men: Harry, Steven, Richard, Samuel. Delylah says no to all of them. She doesn't want to date anyone in the city. When Emily asks why, Delylah blurts the truth: she's leaving. After the exhibition, she's moving home. Emily is shocked, then betrayed. Delylah explains she started thinking about what she really wants after Peter, that she misses home. The exhibition is her farewell to the city, filled with her favorite photographs from eight years in New York, pictures that remind her there is still good in the world. Emily can't believe she didn't tell her, can't believe she's leaving. Delylah insists they'll always be best friends no matter where she lives. Emily says she thinks she's mad, then softens, acknowledging that everything is changing. Delylah reminds her that tomorrow she'll be married, and it will be perfect. They hug. Emily drops the Jake idea, admitting he is kind of obnoxious. Delylah takes her camera and heads out for a hike.

She grabs a premade hiking pack from the resort, complete with bear spray and water, checks that Jake is out of sight, and escapes up the trail. An hour vanishes in a heartbeat. She reaches the crest of a hill, taking in the view: pine and earth scents, pebbles crunching, rocky peaks giving way to evergreen forests and sweeping plains. The Haven River Ranch sits proudly in the meadow below. It's too bright for great photos, and pictures never do the landscape justice, but she snaps a few anyway. New York's streets were enchanting, but they can't compete with the magic of Montana. She breathes in the air and keeps hiking, pausing to photograph whatever catches her eye.

When her stomach growls, she returns to camp. Jake lounges on a couch, phone blaring death metal. He tells her Emily and Luca left, that they had a big fight and neither wanted to stay, so Matt drove them back. Delylah corrects him again: Mark. Jake didn't ask if Mark was coming back, and he doesn't do drama. He offers Delylah a drink, then tells her they should party. She refuses, saving her partying for the wedding. He says he can wait. Delylah asks if this aggressive behavior actually works on other women, and Jake looks genuinely confused before revealing the whole reason he came up: Emily said Delylah was into him. Delylah wants to correct him, but the truth is, Emily probably did say that. She calls the camping trip over. Jake agrees, grabs his bottle, and starts weaving down the two-track road, a drunk idiot walking all the way down the mountain.

Delylah waits for Mark to return, eating a sandwich and a Diet Coke while reviewing her photos. But the only sound is the wind rustling tree branches. As clouds sweep over the sun, the light changes, every color intensifying from green to blue to gray and gold. She's out of her seat in a blink, scrambling up the trail with her camera. Thunder rumbles. Lightning flashes. She reaches the peak and snaps photos in a flurry, her shutter racing as fast as her heart. A vision sparks: a gallery wall with these mountains evolving through the storm, the contrast between her New York shots and her Montana shots marking the change in her life. Past to present to future. She stays rooted, furiously photographing until the downpour comes, drenching her completely.

Fear for her camera drives her back down the narrow trail, but before she can reach the shelter of the trees, her foot lands on a smooth rock. The world turns on its head. She goes flying, landing hard on her side, slipping down the incline of rocks. Pain explodes through her ankle and leg. Her cry is swallowed by thunder. She finally stops, sprawled on the ground, a piece of shale digging into her spine. She pushed herself up, too worried about saving her camera to break the fall properly. There's a huge scrape on her bare thigh, raw but not gushing. When she tries to stand, her ankle buckles, and she crashes to her knees. The scrape she could manage. A sprained ankle is another matter. She curses herself, knowing she should have left sooner. The only person to blame is herself. Unless... she thinks, with the faintest trace of bitterness, how could she blame this on Jake?

Chapter 4: Noah

Noah stands beside the open door of the resort SUV while Emily hovers nearby, her cheeks pale and eyes red from crying. She mutters that this is embarrassing. He bites his tongue and coils the hose, returning it to the stables. The smell of Luca's vomit still clings to his nose even through the scents of hay and horses. The SUV needs detailing, but he'll leave that to Mark. The rubber floor mats are still wet, at least they're clean.

Emily had begged him to help. She was too mortified to ask Mark, their host, to clean up her fiancé's mess. So Noah pulled the SUV to the stables, found a hose, and scrubbed. While Emily took Luca to their lodge room for a shower and a nap to sleep off the alcohol, he handled it. He tells her not to worry. He's dealt with this before. Students losing their lunches, back when he was teaching grade school.

Emily explains it all. She should have let Luca sit up front. He gets carsick, and the road down the mountain was winding. He had no trouble on the way to the campsite, so she didn't think about it on the way back. She just didn't want to sit in the back. Noah understands. Ever since the accident, she chooses the front seat whenever possible.

Emily runs her fingers over the scars on her forearms, the ones she got that day. She sighs. So much for camping. Noah tells her she had good intentions. She asks where Mark went. Far, far away from the SUV. Apparently he's a sympathetic puker. He took a different vehicle and went back to the campsite.

Emily reveals that Delylah was hiking when she and Luca got into their stupid fight. She didn't even tell Delylah they were leaving. She doesn't want Delylah to feel stuck up there alone with Jake. Noah thought she wanted them to hit it off. They didn't. Jake isn't her type.

Noah wonders what Delylah's type is. He can't remember her dating much in high school. He left for college her junior year, and even when he came home for breaks, she never had a boyfriend around. Her senior prom date was Emily, because his sister had just gotten dumped and Delylah was a damn good friend. Would Delylah go for a wealthy New Yorker? Or a middle school teacher who might not be rich but owns a house and isn't scared of a little vomit?

Emily goes to check on Luca. Noah falls in step beside her. Clouds are beginning to darken overhead. Rain isn't in the forecast, but the scent of it clings to the air. If the storm makes Delylah bail on camping, he could spend dinner with her tonight.

They're halfway through the parking lot when a resort SUV pulls up to the entrance, the Haven River Ranch logo printed on the doors. Deja vu. Mark leaps out, doubling over to retch by the tire. The passenger door opens and a very drunk, very shirtless man slides out.

Jake.

Emily gasps, her hand over her mouth. Noah follows her to the truck. Jake slurs that he's fine, carrying a balled-up shirt. Noah is not cleaning up puke in another vehicle. Emily looks past him, asks where Delylah is. Hiking. Jake squints like he's seeing double. Mark rounds the hood, looking as green as the truck's paint. He found Jake walking back.

Emily's jaw drops. She walks up to Jake and smacks him in the arm. He left Delylah up there alone. Noah echoes it. Asshole. Mark looks like he's going to hurl again. Emily turns to Noah with pleading eyes. He'll go.

Noah marches past the drunk idiot and grabs the walkie-talkie from the center console. Every guide carries one around the mountain. There are dead zones, but the campsite was picked strategically, close to good hiking trails and in range of the base. He tells Mark he'll be on channel twelve. Mark thanks him. Then Noah asks Jake which direction Delylah went. East or west? Toward the road or away from it? Jake blinks. Away? He doesn't know. Of course he doesn't.

Noah digs his truck keys from his jeans and marches across the lot, wasting no time. The clouds darken by the minute. A chill skates down his shoulders as he pulls away from the resort. By the time he reaches the campsite, thunder rumbles overhead. He puts on the jacket and cowboy hat he keeps in the back seat of his truck, then checks each of the tents. Empty. He starts down the narrow hiking trail, hoping like hell she isn't far off.

The campsite is still in view when the first drops fall, plinking off his hat brim. A steady drizzle, then the clouds open up. The downpour is so fast he can barely see twenty feet down the trail. He shouts her name, cupping his hands around his mouth. Lightning flashes, thunder cracks a few seconds later. He picks up his pace, careful not to slip on the rocks. His jeans are soaked, denim heavy. His boots squelch in the mud. He shouts her name over and over, but his voice is swallowed by the storm. His pulse pounds in his ears. The pit in his stomach grows deeper. If something happened to her. If she's hurt or crossed paths with a predator.

"Ouch. Damn it." A frustrated growl cuts through the rain. "Ow. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

A breath rushes from his lungs. He's never been so glad to hear a string of curses in his life.

Delylah comes limping along the path. She wears a white tank top soaked through, cutoff shorts. Her tennis shoes are wet and dirty. Her dark hair hangs in soaked strands over her shoulders, bangs plastered to her forehead. In her arms, she clutches a denim shirt wrapped around what is probably her camera, keeping it dry. She looks up and freezes.

"Noah?"

"There you are." He slaps a hand to his heart to keep it from beating out of his chest.

She stares at him wide-eyed for a moment. Then her pretty brown eyes flood and she bursts into tears. He rushes to her, pulls her into his arms. You're okay. I've got you. She buries her face in his chest, shoulders shaking. She sobs that she hates glamping. He chuckles and holds her closer. It's not as good as regular old camping.

She sniffles, shakes her head. As quickly as the tears started, they stop. It comes as no surprise. Delylah has always been the kid who scrapes her knee and keeps on playing. When they were younger, riding bikes around the neighborhood, anytime she crashed, she'd just get back on and keep riding. She's as tough as she is beautiful.

But even though she doesn't cry for long, she doesn't move to let him go. She clings to his jacket, burrowing closer. A perfect fit in his arms. Holding her feels like the most natural thing in the world. Like it was always supposed to be this way.

The last time Noah hugged Delylah was at his parents' annual Christmas Eve party a few years ago. She wore a green dress that brought out the flecks of gold in her eyes. He had a hard time looking away, but he kept his distance. His girlfriend at the time had come along, even though they'd already decided they were better friends than lovers. When his path collided with Delylah's at the wet bar, the hug he gave her was quick, just a squeeze around the shoulders. Then he made up an excuse and left the party. All because of the promise he made Emily. A promise he's never been more tempted to break.

Delylah sighs and leans away, looking up with a pout. She twisted her ankle. And scraped her leg. He bends to inspect her thigh, the red scratches running from the hem of her shorts nearly to her knee. How bad does it hurt? Not that bad. Her ankle is worse, but she'll survive.

She takes a step, but before she can start down the trail, he sweeps her into his arms. She asks what he's doing. Carrying you. She rolls her eyes. She can walk. And he can carry her. She opens her mouth, probably to argue, but another bolt of lightning flashes. He tells her to let's get out of here. Good idea. She loops her arms around his neck.

They're both drenched by the time they make it back to the campsite. He carries her to the largest tent and sets her down out of the rain. He'll radio the lodge and let them know they're making their way back. Wait. She grabs his arm before he can dart outside.

He stares down at her, wholly transfixed by the way she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. The image of him taking that lip between his own teeth is instant. It takes every ounce of willpower he possesses not to move.

The rain pounds on the canvas, filling the silence until she whispers, "Noah?"

"Yeah?"

"What if we didn't go back? At least, not yet."

A grin tugs at his mouth. "I've always wanted to try glamping."