Page 26 of Picture This

“I have a crush on you, Delylah Banks.”

The sixteen-year-old Delylah Banks inside of me screamed at the top of her lungs. Twenty-six-year-old Delylah Banks wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. It seemed too good to be true.

“So . . . tomorrow?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He reached for my hair, brushing the bangs off my brow. His thumb skated across my cheek, leaving tingles in the wake of his touch. “Good night.”

He backed away, about to retreat down the hall.

“Noah.” I reached for his arm, pulling him back. “I ordered dinner. Cheeseburger. Fries. Mini crab cakes. Loaded baked potato.”

“Is that all?”

“Fruit tart. Chocolate cake. Diet Coke. Wine.”

He chuckled. “What’s on your mind, Lylah?”

I loved that he knew me well enough to know I sorted through my feelings with junk food. “Would you have kissed me in the tent?”

“Definitely.” He inched closer. My pulse quickened as he lifted both hands, framing my face. His thumb dragged over my bottom lip. “I’m going to fuck up your hair.”

My knees buckled. “Yes, please.”

We moved at the same time, colliding in the threshold. Noah swept me off my feet, his arms banding around my waist. Mine clung to his shoulders. His mouth crushed mine as he took two long strides into the room, kicking the door shut before he pressed me against the nearest wall.

As promised, he fucked up my hair.

I was surrounded by cowboys.

Not only the wannabe cowboys from the city, but real cowboys who’d donned their best for this reception and were turning this night into a hell of a party.

Montana weddings were the best.

The barn at the Haven River Ranch was packed with people. Some were the guests from New York, but most were locals who’d come from town for the wedding. Familiar faces crowded the dance floor as the band played a George Strait cover.

Emily and Luca were slow dancing even though the couples around them were doing a two-step or jitterbug. But ever since they’d kissed during the ceremony, they’d been in this happy bubble, mostly oblivious to everyone else.

The brunette in front of me at the bar fanned her face as she stared at the crush of people on the dance floor. She seemed close to my age and, given her Dior clutch, a guest of Luca’s. “I need to marry a cowboy.”

I followed her gaze, spotting the Haven brothers at a nearby table. Like most of the local guys here tonight, both West and Jax were wearing cowboy hats and boots. And both seemed to have gotten even more handsome in the past eight years.

When I was in high school, all the girls would swoon whenever there was a Haven-brother sighting in town. They were arguably two of the most attractive men I’d ever seen in my life, and their wives were stunning.

West’s wife, Indya, sat on his lap, laughing at something he said while he toyed with one of her blond curls. Sasha and Jax were cuddled so closely together their chairs might as well have fused.

I lifted my camera and snapped a few photos of the Havens to share with Emily’s album, then let my lens swing to the other side of the room, where another cowboy caught my eye.

Noah was talking to my parents, the three of them standing at the edge of the dance floor. Like he felt my gaze, his smile widened.

He bent and kissed my mom on the cheek, then clapped Dad on the shoulder before weaving through the crowd.

“Wow,” the brunette said under her breath. “Tell me he’s single.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Sorry. Not single.”

“Damn.” She shuffled with the line, turning her attention toward the bar.