Epilogue Noah
Epilogue
Noah
Five months later . . .
Ilifted the final box from the back of the moving truck and tucked it under my arm.
“Is that it?” Delylah called from the porch. She was dressed for the cold in a pair of jeans and a thick oatmeal sweater. But after a day of hauling boxes, the sleeves were pushed up past her elbows, and her hair was piled on top of her head, a few tendrils by her temples damp with sweat.
“Last one.” I used my free hand to close the drop-down door, then walked up the sidewalk to the house.
She led the way inside, standing beside the door and rising on her toes for a kiss. “Done. Finally.”
“Welcome home, baby.”
The smile that lit up her face never failed to steal my breath. “I live here.”
“You’re stuck with me now, Banks.” I stole another kiss as she swung the door closed. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” She wrapped her arms around my waist.
I pressed my lips to the top of her hair. “Where’s this box going?”
“Um . . . I don’t know.” She searched the cardboard for a label, but all it said was Misc, written in Sharpie on the side. “I guess the kitchen. I can take it.”
“I’ve got it.” I toed off my boots as the chime of her phone ringing filled the entryway.
She fished it from the pocket of her jeans, showing me the screen and my sister’s picture. “She’s called three times today. I’d better answer in case something is wrong.”
Nothing was wrong. My sister was just impatient. She’d tried me three times today too.
“Hey, Em,” Delylah answered as I walked through the house to the kitchen.
The counters were cluttered with boxes. So was the living room and our bedroom.
My plan was to have everything unloaded before winter break at the school was over.
The sooner Delylah’s life was woven with mine, the better.
I’d already taken down some of my own artwork in the hallways to make space for her photographs.
I’d flown out to New York for her exhibition last week.
She’d been so nervous that her pieces wouldn’t sell, but my girl was a talent.
Not a single photograph had been left at the gallery.
The photos she’d taken of the storm during Emily’s wedding weekend sold before the show had even opened.
It meant she had some breathing room to get settled in Big Timber before she had to decide what project she wanted to tackle next.
We’d celebrated with Emily and Luca, then started packing up Delylah’s tiny apartment. Once she’d turned in her keys to her landlord, we’d hit the road, and for the past five days, we’d driven from New York to Montana in a U-Haul with Delylah’s car hitched to the back.
Her original plan was to stay at her parents’ house for a while until she was settled.
I’d thought it would take me the whole trip across the country to convince her to move in with me instead.
But when we’d driven away from the city and I’d asked her which house I should punch into the GPS, she’d told me mine.
Some of my friends thought I was rushing things with Delylah.
It had only been five months, and while we’d visited each other a few times and talked on the phone for hours each night, for most of that time, we’d been on opposite sides of the country.
Yet from the minute I’d kissed her at the Haven River Ranch, I’d known exactly where this was going.
Delylah sharing this house, this life, until the end of my days.
I pulled open the flaps of the box marked miscellaneous, finding notebooks, rolls of film, and a stack of loose pictures.
“You did not set us up, Emily.” Delylah’s voice carried from the living room. There was an eye roll in her tone.
Ever since the wedding, Emily had embraced the notion of Delylah and me, so much so that as of late, she’d taken credit for getting us together.
“You are ridiculous.” Delylah’s laugh filtered through the house, filling the halls.
I smiled, taking out the photos, flipping through the pile. Most were of Emily and Delylah in high school. Some were of our families.
But in the middle of the stack, I found my own face.
I was sitting in my front yard, sweaty and shirtless. My face was turned to the sun, my eyes closed. The picture was slightly wrinkled, and the edges of the photo were worn, like Delylah had traced them a hundred times with a fingertip.
Her favorite photo, exactly as she’d described.
Except she hadn’t told me there were doodles on the back.
My name was written inside a heart. And beside it was hers. Sort of.
Delylah Chappel
“Emily says—” Delylah gasped as she came to stand beside me in the kitchen, eyes blowing wide when she realized what I was holding. “Where did you find that?”
“This is a box of treasures.”
“Noah, give that to me.” She tried to snatch the picture, but I held it up so high she couldn’t reach.
“Not a chance. This is going on the fridge.”
“Absolutely not.” She jumped for it but missed. “Give that back. It’s so embarrassing.”
“Nah, it’s cute.”
“Hand it over.” She swiped for it again without luck. “Sixteen-year-old me is dying right now.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” I walked to the fridge, finding a free magnet to tack up the photo.
She went for it again, but I scooped her up and carried her to a free space on the counter, setting her between some boxes.
“Don’t move.” I held up a finger and retreated to the fridge, where I’d been keeping a box of my own.
A small velvet box with a solitaire diamond ring inside.
“Noah.” Delylah’s hand came to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as I opened the lid.
I plucked out the ring and took her left hand, sliding it on her finger. “How do you think sixteen-year-old Delylah would feel about changing her last name to Chappel?”
She smiled, a tear slipping free. “I think she’d say yes.”