Not a chance.
But I kept chasing it anyway.
Then—behind me—the sound of quicker footsteps.
“I’ve got it,” Noah called, and the next thing I knew, he was flying past me.
He vaulted clean over a cactus—one that would have eaten me if I’d made it that far—and with infuriating ease, snatched the hat off the ground, before it made one final push for Mexico.
From the distance, a cheer went up from Babs and her cluster of travel buddies.
I would have been more enthusiastic if I wasn’t so out of breath.
“Thank you, my darlings!” Babs yelled. “I’ll get it from you at the arch!”
“You got it!” Noah called back.
I stayed where I was, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed even Mrs. Grady had passed me, rejoining the group without much effort.
Meanwhile, my left heel was starting to sting—probably a blister. An ache was creeping in behind my eyes, and my shoulders had begun to burn under the relentless sun.
And I really, really wished I’d brought some water.
But of course I hadn’t.
Because I hadn’t thought it through.
When Noah reached me, I straightened, ignoring the temporary spots in my vision.
“It was her late husband’s,” I said, my voice rough.
He nodded, solemn, looking unfairly good in that worn baseball cap and aviator sunglasses.
The picture of freaking health. I mean, he didn’t sweat, he glowed.
Then, in what I know was just simple concern, he said, “You really need some sunscreen.”
“I know.”
“Did you bring any water?”
“I had some earlier…”
I trailed off, because whatever the end of that sentence was, it wasn’t going to sound good. And honestly, I didn’t need the reminder of how unprepared I was.
I was already acutely aware.
Instead of saying more, Noah began slipping out of the straps of a backpack I hadn’t even noticed he was wearing.
“You were a boy scout, weren’t you?” I asked.
He peered over the rim of those sunglasses. “Yeah, why?”
“Lucky guess.”
Without missing a beat, he reached into the pack and pulled out his water bottle. “Drink.”
I blinked. “But?—”
