Page 127 of The Route to You

“Girl,” Delilah said with a shake of her head. She started to put a cork in a mostly full bottle, then stopped. “I think you might need this tonight. You’re a mess.”

Sloan groaned. “God, I am a mess, aren’t I? This was supposed to be my big foray into independence, into finding myself . . . doing life . . . without a man, and what did I do? Made a beeline for Kyle Winnick.”

“Okay, stop. Don’t spiral. I think you’re doing great.”

In some sense, she was right. Sloan had a job, she owned her own house, and she was living with a man yet not beholden to him. She felt free. And yes, if Kyle told me he wanted to move things forward as an “us,” I would say yes. He’d proven over and over what a good man he was. He was the best man she knew. And she was smitten, even if that felt wrong.

Delilah poured Sloan a full glass of wine. “Now, take a sip.”

Begrudgingly, Sloan lifted the glass to her lips and did as instructed.

“Okay, now breathe. Deep in and outs.”

Sloan drew a breath in through her nose, then released it, her chest still just as tight.

“Now, look at me—straight at me—and tell me one thing you’ve always wanted to do but never let loose enough to do.”

“With Kyle?”

“No, girl, in general. With your life. That’s what you want to reclaim, right? I mean, I know you want to reclaim him too, but that can come later.”

Sloan sighed, this time letting herself relax into the feeling of it through her lungs. She swallowed more wine, her gaze flickering over Delilah and an intricate design of ivy wrapped around her bicep.

“A tattoo,” she said in a low voice that surprised even herself.

Delilah quirked a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah, actually. I always thought it would be fun. Especially to get something for my mom, like in her handwriting or something.”

“Well, let’s do it, then. Not the mom thing, because we can’t do that tonight, but something else. And we’ll save the mom one for your second tattoo.”

Sloan balked, her brain spinning at the concept. “What?”

“Let’s go. Let’s get you that tattoo. I can even sketch some ideas for you before we leave.”

“I can’t get a tattoo,” Sloan gasped.

“Why not?”

“Because . . .”

Delilah gave her a hard stare. “Don’t say because you don’t want one. Unless you were lying.”

“I know, but they hurt.”

Delilah slid the bottle of wine closer. “That’s what this is for.” She grinned.

Sloan set her hands on the bar top, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t do this. It would be crazy. Impulsive. And she didn’t do impulsive, or at least, not well. Impulsive landed her with Kyle.

“Text Kyle that you’ll be back late tonight and not to wait up. Lucky for you, I know exactly where to take you for a great tat.”

Sloan glanced from the wine bottle to Delilah’s arms and back to her own paint-smudged fingers. A faint, lighthearted feeling rippled through her. If anyone had asked her a year ago if she’d be here—in Tennessee, working at paint n’ sip—friends with Delilah Bloom—she would have laughed.

But back then, she’d been busy shoehorning herself into the type of woman Evan Tipton wanted.

Evan, who would have had a heart attack if she came home with a tattoo.

Her mouth twitched. She didn’t want to do this to get back at Evan. She was far beyond the point of caring about what he wanted.