Page 23 of The Route to You

She took it from him, then grabbed her bag. At least she’d packed her toothbrush. “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”

He nodded to the only other door. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to grab some more firewood. Are you done with my jacket?”

“Oh . . . right.” She slid out of it immediately, missing the warmth the second it left her shoulders. “Thanks.”

The corners of his mouth curved up in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

He hates me. She didn’t look back at him as she started toward the bathroom. I would hate me, too, given the circumstances. She’d barged into his cabin, wasted one of his packages of ramen, had a panic attack in the living room, sent him out in the snow looking for her phone, and now she was taking his T-shirt and bed.

Okay, so maybe he hasn’t turned into a serial killer. A serial killer probably wouldn’t have put up with all that. But he definitely wasn’t well off if this was what he rented to come to Vail.

Do you hear yourself, Sloan? Stop judging Kyle. She was sounding like Evan’s family, and that was unacceptable. Be thankful. Your driver left you out in the snow, and you are now in a cabin that’s dry and warm.

And truthfully, he was going to a lot of trouble for her.

She shut herself in the cedar-scented bathroom, taking in the particle board that made up the walls, the smallest shower she’d ever seen, and the single piece of decor she’d seen in the entire cabin—a sepia-colored framed photograph of a couple taking a bath in an old barrel.

Rustic was one way of putting it.

The oval mirror above the pedestal sink was water-stained at the edges, and she leaned closer, peeling off the eyelashes that had been itching her for the last half hour. Penny would have said she should have gotten eyelash extensions, like she’d suggested.

Penny.

Her sister would be flipping out over her leaving the wedding, making accusations about how Sloan loved drama.

And she’d have definite thoughts about being here with Kyle.

Which was almost funny because Penny had a thing for broad-shouldered blond men who looked like they belonged in the cast of Barbie.

Kyle could have been a Ken. When they’d been in high school, Sloan had been the envy of all her classmates for dating him—he was on the varsity football team and a full year older than her.

He’d never acted like a stupid jock, though. He’d been sweet. Tutored her in calc and physics. He’d been safe. A good kisser.

God, what am I doing here?

She removed the lashes from her other eye and tossed them in the trash can under the sink. Without a place to put her stuff, she set her carry-on bag on the toilet seat lid and then put her makeup bag into the sink. A wadded-up bundle of toilet paper served to remove her makeup rather than a cotton pad.

As the makeup came off, her chest loosened. It was as if she’d finally stepped offstage and could wash that persona away. Like she could stop performing. And Kyle had seen her without makeup a thousand times, so it wasn’t weird to do it now.

She tied her hair up into a ponytail and brushed her teeth.

Moving the makeup bag, she started the water and bent to splash it on her face. Should she be crying? She’d just gotten the worst news of her life and stored it away like an inconvenient email. Hadn’t shed a tear.

And she’d just broken up with her fiancé and run out on her wedding.

What type of person does that and doesn’t even shed a tear?

It wasn’t as though she felt a huge weight off her shoulders, either. The drowning feeling she’d gotten when she’d been at the rehearsal dinner was still there, choking her.

If this was the right decision, should she feel better?

Changing out of her clothes, she pulled Kyle’s T-shirt on, along with a pair of warm wool socks she’d brought. The shirt hit mid-thigh, and for a second, she felt ridiculous—like she’d stepped into a memory she didn’t have permission to touch.

Quickly, she folded her clothes and left the bathroom. The main area was warmer than the bathroom had been, thanks to the stove, and she hoped to be settled into the sleeping bag before he returned.

As she hopped into it and lay against the small pillow, she let her eyes wander the room again. Where in the hell would Kyle even sleep? Was she supposed to offer to share the bed? He’d been the one who’d volunteered to sleep on the floor, and maybe she should just leave it at that.

The door to the cabin opened and Kyle trudged in, carrying an armload of logs. He dropped them beside the door. Stomping the snow off his boots, he glanced at her and then moved to the stove. “Find everything you needed?”