Ty was so busy checking out her place, he didn’t notice the tiny backpack she was reaching for in the doorway of her room.

“That’s it. I can carry it.” She lifted it up one-handed and slung it over her shoulder, which indicated to him it wasn’t all that heavy.

Eyeing it dubiously, he said, “Okay, then. Guess we’re all set.” In his entire life he had never met a woman who could pack everything she needed for an overnight camping trip in a backpack. But then again, he was familiar with Southern women, who wanted to be prepared for anything at all times. Imogen was from New York. They lived in tiny apartments, they walked all over the place. Chances were she had learned to streamline, to take only what she needed.

Ty’s mother had been known to pull pedicure kits out of her camping gear in case anyone had tired feet or a blister after a day of hiking. And the food supplies had nearly flattened the tires on the family station wagon when he’d been a kid and they’d headed out on road trips. His father had never discouraged her and, in fact, had been grateful a time or two when his mother had whipped something totally improbable out of her purse, like a sugar packet or a whole bottle of antacids.

Imogen’s backpack was mildly unnerving, but he didn’t want to call her out on it and make her feel like she had done something wrong.

But he did feel compelled to ask, “Do you have boots in there?” She’d slip and break her neck if she tried to hike in those little shoes.

“Yep.” She patted the bag with her free hand.

“Okay, good. Let’s pump you full of caffeine and hit the road.”

It was only thirty miles to Lake Norman, but it took almost every one of them and a large black coffee before Imogen appeared to wake up. For most of the drive, she rested her head on the window with her eyes closed and Ty listened to the radio and stole glances at her, feeling a little foolish. She was so damn pretty and he was experiencing the weirdest sensation every time he looked at her, a sort of bizarre tenderness that he didn’t really understand. He’d never dated a woman like her, and he felt almost unsure of himself, like he’d fallen back about a decade and was an eager twenty-year-old desperate to impress a girl.

It wasn’t a comfortable place to sit, and the silence wasn’t helping.

He was grateful when she sat up and yawned and said, “Sorry. I’m not much of a morning person.”

“I kind of caught on to that. Maybe I shouldn’t have hauled you out of bed so early.”

“It’s okay.” She drained the remains of her coffee. “I’m good now. Are we almost there?”

“Pulling in right now.”

“It’s very beautiful,” she said, looking out the window at the huge canopy of trees on either side of the winding road. “Very green.”