Page 33 of The Route to You

The way he dotes on his side chick? “Well,” he said carefully, “obviously something must have been wrong behind the scenes, or she wouldn’t have taken off.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing,” Davy said, leaning forward conspiratorially. She lowered her voice like she was about to tell him the plot twist in a thriller. “What if she didn’t leave? Evan thinks that she might have been taken.”

He nearly choked. “Taken. Like . . . kidnapped?”

“Don’t say it like it’s insane,” Davy hissed. “He is a congressman, after all.”

“I’m not saying it’s insane. I’m saying it’s less likely than her leaving.”

“The night before her wedding?”

“What if she just went skiing? Or for a hike or something?”

“She’s not outdoorsy,” Davy said with absolute conviction, as if she’d personally witnessed Sloan recoil from a pine cone. “Mr. Tipton told my dad she left a note with her ring, but Evan didn’t mention it to me. So, who knows.”

“If she left a note, then she probably wasn’t kidnapped, though. I’d say that’s pretty solid evidence.”

The server arrived back with their coffees and Kyle sat back in his seat, grateful for the interruption. If Davy knew where Sloan was right this minute—at a beauty salon a few streets away with his credit card—Davy would murder him with her bare hands.

And much as he wanted to respect Sloan’s privacy, Davy was his friend now. Not the girl he’d have sold his soul to kiss ten years ago when he’d first spotted her selling cake pops in the parking lot at homecoming. Once this trip to Montana ended, they’d return to being exes and go their separate ways.

He didn’t want to lose his friendship with Davy over this. Or his job. Davy was too tied into his work for that not to ripple outward and wreck things.

Also, Sloan hadn’t technically asked him not to tell Davy. But Sloan shouldn’t have to spell out please don’t tell the one person at this wedding you know who can blow up my entire life in under thirty seconds.

But the last thing that would help this situation was more lies.

Kyle flattened his palms against the tabletop, hanging his head like he was physically bracing. “All right, I have a confession to make.” A beat. “But you have to swear to me you’re not going to breathe a word of it to anyone until the right moment.”

Davy paused in the middle of tearing a sugar packet. “What?”

He released a slow breath through puffed cheeks, trying to think of the best way of putting this. Is there a best way of putting this?

No, probably not.

Better just get it out.

He looked up. “Uh, so, turns out, funny story . . . I actually know Sloan.”

Davy’s brows furrowed.

He rolled his shoulders, sitting straighter. “She was my girlfriend. In high school. Long time ago.”

The air between them thickened with tension as Davy stared at him like he’d announced he was secretly Canadian. “What?”

“Yeah.” Kyle gave her a pained grin. “Crazy, right? What are the odds?” Kyle grabbed some sugar, the sudden need to do something with his hands fueling him. He dumped it in his coffee, stirring.

“Anyway,” he continued, “we only talked for a minute or so at the rehearsal dinner, but then last night, she called out of the blue, and ended up at my cabin⁠—”

“Oh my God,” Davy blurted. “You had sex with her.”

“No.” Kyle jerked back. “No. Absolutely not .”

Davy’s eyes narrowed. “Kyle.”

“I did not sleep with her,” he repeated, voice rising. “This is not a Hallmark movie with a happy reunion of star-crossed lovers.”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that you’re supposed to go after the bridesmaids? Not the bride? I’ve seen you make some questionable choices after a late night of drinking before, Kyle Winnick, but this⁠—”