Page 20 of The Route to You

“Why?” He lifted his gaze at her evenly. “You wondering if you broke my heart so badly that I never recovered?” He smirked. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you did. But I put myself back together eventually. I moved on years ago. And, obviously, so did you.”

She released a slow breath through pursed lips, as though she was trying to catch her breath. “Good to know.” Then she closed her eyes. “Oh God. I’m going to be thirty in three years. I’m going to be thirty and unmarried, and it’s going to take a few years before I even meet someone, and then who knows how long before I get engaged again and⁠—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on now.” Kyle peered at her. “How do you know any of that is true?” She was clearly crashing out. “You’re borrowing trouble from the future without reason.”

And all I needed is someone else nursing a wound to disrupt my own pity party. Selfish as the thought was, he wasn’t in a place to handle the utter chaos that was this woman’s emotions—especially when she was extremely emotional.

She clutched the bowl. “It’s not a far stretch. I dated Evan for four years. Four years. And we knew each other for a while before that.”

“Right . . . but if someone had asked you this morning what tomorrow would look like, you would have talked about vows and a first dance and a cake you’d pretend you wanted to eat when you really prefer strawberry pie, right?”

She nodded, her mouth curving at the pie comment. Some things hadn’t changed, apparently.

“So, there you go.” He shrugged. “Things can change in the blink of an eye—when you least expect it. You have no idea what your future will look like. You’ve been given a blank slate.”

His words seemed to settle her, and she focused her attention on the fork in her hand, biting her lip. After a moment, she set the bowl down. “You know what? I’m not actually all that hungry. I’m sorry. I feel a lot better, thanks.”

“No need to apologize.” But he’d better wrap this encounter up sooner rather than later—and return to his chore of getting more firewood. “Why don’t you pull up your reservation? I’ll see if I can figure out how to get you to your cabin. The Jeep I rented has chains on the tires, so we should be okay driving out to look for it.”

Sloan didn’t answer, but she dragged her large bag onto her lap, unzipping it. She dug through it, rustling the items inside. The bag looked a bit too big to be a purse, but . . . was that all she’d brought with her? She didn’t seem the least bit prepared for a cabin like this, which made him think she’d left with exactly what she could grab.

Kyle had only seen one other cabin nearby while hiking today—occupied by a couple with two kids—but it was similar in size to this one. And he doubted the amenities were any better. This one hadn’t even come with sheets for the twin-sized bed. Fine by him. He had a sleeping bag.

But Sloan . . . didn’t even have a coat.

Let alone firewood chopped.

She tugged a few items of clothing from the bag. “Where is it?” she muttered.

What is she looking for?

Sloan lifted her eyes, paling. “I can’t find my phone,” she whispered.

Oh fuck. She’d had it when she called him outside.

Outside . . . in the snow.

If she’s lost it, she’ll need a whole lot more help than some ramen and directions.

A knot cinched in his gut.

Somehow, he had a feeling the trouble this woman would bring him tonight was only just beginning.

7

SLOAN

God. Dammit.

Sloan dumped the contents of her carry-on out onto the wooden floor beside her, her pulse roaring in her ears. She was freezing, miserable, and lost.

And apparently phoneless.

And Kyle probably thinks I’m a moron.

He’d been nice enough, all things considered. She couldn’t have picked a better ex-boyfriend’s cabin to go running to. Unless, of course, he’d changed in the past eight years and developed serial-killer tendencies. Did she really know him at all now?

Positive thoughts, Sloan.