"I planned the honeymoon," Noah said casually, leaning against the kitchen island the morning after their accidental wedding.
Lexi, sipping her oat milk iced latte in full glam athleisure, froze mid-sip. "Wait, really?"
He nodded, cool as ever, hair still slightly messy from sleep. "Yup. Packed your bag, too."
Her brows arched. "Okay, that's either romantic or terrifying."
Noah gave a single-shoulder shrug. "You'll find out."
Lexi's stomach fluttered. Against her will. Which made her deeply uncomfortable.
Not because she liked him. She didn't. She couldn't. Noah Blackwood was an emotionally constipated wilderness bro with the personality of a dry protein bar. But… the idea of him planning something romantic was weirdly hot.
Maybe it was Hawaii. Or the Amalfi Coast. Or Iceland in those blue lagoon spas with champagne and overpriced robes.
She pulled her tinted sunglasses from the top of her head and slipped them on with a confident smile.
This was going to be good.
⸻
It was not good.
It was not Hawaii.
It was hell.
"Surprise," Noah said, arms wide like a discount Bear Grylls, as they pulled up to a dusty parking lot at the base of a mountain trail. "Three days. Forest. Hiking. Tents."
"Tents," Lexi repeated, as though the word had personally offended her.
"Real honeymoon vibes, right?"
She didn't speak for a solid seven seconds.
Noah, annoyingly unfazed, was already unloading gear from the trunk. His gear was basic and practical—gray and mossy green, weatherproof and boring.
Her gear was… curated. Matching blush pink performance leggings, coordinating sports bra, breathable-but-stylish windbreaker, sleek waterproof boots that had never actually seen water, and a mini designer backpack just big enough to hold SPF, lip balm, and emotional trauma.
"You're kidding," she finally said.
Noah smirked. "You made a whole video last week mocking my outdoors content. I figured this was poetic justice."
Lexi's jaw dropped. "That was because you roasted me first! You made a three-part stitch calling me a 'chaotic Fabergé egg in crisis.' And I still don't know what that means!"
He grinned. "You are a Fabergé egg in crisis."
"And you're a stale granola bar in cargo shorts!"
"Which is exactly what you're married to now," he said, throwing her a smug wink.
Lexi seriously considered smacking him with her hiking pole.
⸻
The hike began.
The first five minutes were tolerable. The trail was relatively flat, the air crisp, and the trees made for pretty scenery—filter-free, which she hated to admit.
Then came the incline.
Lexi's thighs began to burn. Her calves screamed betrayal. Her lungs felt like she'd borrowed them from an asthmatic sloth.
Twenty minutes in: "Is this a mountain or a staircase to hell?"
"It's a moderate incline," Noah said, not even winded. "There's a scenic overlook in an hour."
"I'm scenic enough," she wheezed. "Look at me. I'm giving main character meets murdered by foliage."
"You're giving 'would not survive a single episode of Alone.'"
Lexi ignored him and trudged on. The trail narrowed and twisted between pine trees, sunlight breaking through in golden spears. It would've been beautiful if her legs weren't plotting a mutiny.
They crossed a narrow wooden bridge over a creek. On the other side, a slope of slippery rocks awaited.
Lexi took one look and stopped. "I have a rule. If a path looks like it was designed to kill me, I don't go down it."
"You're going up, actually," Noah said.
"Worse."
"Want a piggyback ride, Your Highness?"
"I hope you fall off a cliff and get adopted by squirrels."
⸻
The rock climb was where she truly broke.
Scrambling up a cluster of slick boulders, Lexi slipped and scraped her arm.
She let out a gasp loud enough to startle a bird from a nearby branch. "OH my God. I'm wounded. I'm bleeding."
Noah looked back. "You're fine."
"I'm going into shock."
"You got a scratch and a bruised ego."
Lexi pointed dramatically to her arm. "I bled for this marriage."
Noah sighed, walked back down a few steps, and offered her his hand.
She batted it away. "I don't need your help."
"Right, of course. Independent queen. Please, continue climbing like a cat in Crocs."
Lexi hissed but grudgingly took his hand. His grip was steady and warm. Her heart did something stupid, and she hated it.
⸻
By the time they reached the campsite—a forest clearing beside a gently trickling stream—Lexi collapsed onto the grass and announced she was too young to die of spite.
Noah had his tent up in ten minutes.
Lexi had hers spread out in a tangled mess that looked like an abstract art piece made of failure and rage.
"Why does this pole have six ends? Why does the diagram look like it was drawn by a medieval monk?!"
She kicked one of the stakes and let out a frustrated scream.
Noah didn't even mock her.
Which was infuriating.
Instead, he walked over silently and began assembling the tent without a word.
Lexi glared at him. "I didn't ask for help."
"You didn't have to," he said, snapping poles together. "Your tantrum did the talking."
She wanted to scream. She wanted to kiss him.
Wait. No.
No she didn't.
⸻
They lit a fire as the sky faded into lilac and blue. Crickets sang. Stars began to prick the sky.
Noah pulled out a first aid kit and gestured for her arm. "Let me clean it."
"I can do it myself."
"You could. Or I could do it correctly."
She narrowed her eyes but sat down. He cleaned the scrape with a tenderness she didn't expect. No snark. No gloating.
Just warm, capable hands and a strangely unreadable expression.
She hated him.
Just… not entirely.
⸻
Later, he made hot dogs over the fire. Lexi sat beside him, live streaming with one arm dramatically wrapped in gauze.
"I barely survived," she told the camera. "Injured. Betrayed. Surrounded by wildlife and a man who thinks Crocs are appropriate footwear."
In the background, Noah muttered, "They are."
"He tried to kill me with cardio," she added.
The stars were bright. The air crisp. Her legs ached, but she felt strangely proud over making it up here.
"It will be worse tomorrow," Noah grinned and took a bite of his hotdog.
"What??"