Page 16 of Picture This

My pulse pounded in my ears. The pit in my stomach was getting deeper. If something happened to her, if she was hurt or crossed paths with a predator—

“Ouch. Damn it.” A frustrated growl cut through the noise from the rain. “Ow. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

A breath rushed from my lungs. I’d never been so glad to hear a string of curses in my life.

Delylah came limping along the path, wearing a white tank top that was soaked through and a pair of cutoff shorts. Her tennis shoes were wet and dirty. Her dark hair hung in soaked strands over her shoulders. Her bangs were plastered to her forehead.

In her arms was a denim shirt, wrapped around what was probably her camera to keep it dry.

She looked up and froze. “Noah?”

“There you are.” I slapped a hand to my heart to keep it from beating out of my chest.

She stared at me, wide eyed, for a moment, then her pretty brown eyes flooded as she burst into tears.

“Hey.” I rushed for her, pulling her into my arms. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She buried her face in my chest, her shoulders shaking as a sob worked free. “I hate glamping.”

I chuckled, holding her closer. “Yeah, it’s not as good as regular old camping.”

She sniffled, shaking her head. As quickly as the tears started, they stopped.

It came as no surprise that she was quick to pull herself together. Delylah was the kid who’d scrape her knee and keep on playing. When we were younger and we’d ride our bikes around the neighborhood, anytime she’d crash, she’d just get back on and keep riding. She was as tough as she was beautiful.

But even though she didn’t cry for long, she made no move to let me go. She clung to my jacket, burrowing closer, a perfect fit in my arms.

Holding her felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like it was always supposed to be this way.

The last time I’d hugged Delylah was at my parents’ annual Christmas Eve party a few years ago. Mom and Dad liked to see just how many people they could cram into their house for eggnog and appetizers.

Delylah had been wearing a green dress to the party, the color bringing out the flecks of gold in her eyes.

I’d had a hard time looking away, but I’d kept my distance. My girlfriend at the time had come along, even though we’d already decided we made better friends than lovers.

When my path had finally collided with Delylah’s at the wet bar, the hug I’d given her had been quick, just a squeeze around her shoulders. Then I’d made up an excuse and left the party.

All because of the promise I’d made Emily.

A promise I’d never been more tempted to break.

Delylah let out a long sigh and leaned away, looking up with a pout. “I twisted my ankle. And scraped my leg.”

“Let me see.” I bent to inspect her thigh and the red scratches that ran from the hem of her shorts nearly to her knee. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Not that bad. My ankle is worse, but I’ll survive.” She took a step, but before she could start down the trail, I swept her into my arms.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Carrying you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can walk.”

“And I can carry you.”

Delylah opened her mouth, probably to argue, but another bolt of lightning flashed.

“Let’s get out of here.”