Once we’re done, I start scrolling through the pictures to find my favorites. The couple shots are really cute, and I send all of them to myself so I can use them for the Diary. My personal shots are a bit less impressive. The light’s off and my nose looks kind of big in most of them, like Drew didn’t actually look before shooting the shots, but at least the red rocks are mostly visible. I really can’t expect him to be good at everything. It’s actually kind of endearing that my photos suck, like he was so caught up in the moment of being with me he couldn’t focus on getting the shots right.

“Okay, are you ready for part two?”

I look up at Drew, who’s smiling at me.

“Part two?”

“Hell yeah,” he says. “I’d never get you up this early if I only had one thing planned.”

I pass his phone back to him, and he calls us a ride. I don’t actually know where we’re going until we step out of the car and Drew says, “As someone new to the city, you really have to take in the view.”

“The view?”

“Yup. You’ll see what I mean once we get to the top. It’s a whole experience.”

I look up at the road that seems to be snaking its way up the mountain. “Are we driving?”

Drew laughs, taking my hand and leading me toward a hiking trail. Oh hell no.

“You really have to walk it if you want the full experience.”

“But I’m in skinny jeans.”

He laughs again. “You’ll be fine, Noah. Do it for the Diary. Don’t you think our fans will want to see pictures of us against the city skyline?”

And I sigh because as much as I hate walking or anything else that can be considered “exercise,” and even though I’ve told him that I’m not much for outdoor activities, it could be a cute shot for the Diary, and I really can’t complain when he’s putting so much effort into keeping it afloat.

But I think he overestimates me because maybe a half mile in, I already feel like my legs are being burned off. He starts talking about how it’s such a nice day out, and like, sure, you know, if you’re having a picnic or going to the beach. This is a whole new level of torture.

I’m not sure how long it takes for us to get to the top, but literally everyone passes us—the white couple with a baby in one of those chest carriers, the group of teenagers lugging massive book bags, the young kid with his hundred-year-old grandmother.