Page 47 of The Route to You

I’ve got nothing else I’m supposed to be doing.

Other than saying goodbye to Granny.

And maybe, if he was honest, the interruption was the point. He wasn’t ready to face it yet. To say a goodbye that was so final. He took a pull from the beer, the bitterness of it clinging to his throat.

“Pancit okay? Anyone not eat pork?” Francesca asked, coming back toward them. She’d discarded her snowpants and nodded at Sloan. “You want to get out of your snow clothes? It’s got to be hot over by the fire.”

“Pork’s good.” Sloan practically leaped off the couch. “And yes. That would be great.”

“I’ll show you the room.” Francesca waved her down the hall.

As they disappeared, Kyle met Dean’s gaze. “We’re not together,” he said in a low voice.

Dean blinked. “Ah, shit, sorry man.” He winced. “Will she care about sharing a room with you?”

Kyle took another drink. “I’ll probably just sleep on the couch.”

Dean nodded slowly. “I’ll tell Francesca. She thought you guys looked cute and she’s absolutely going to say something to Sloan.”

“We dated in high school but that was a million years ago, you know?”

Dean studied him, then lifted a brow. “So, what brought you out to Vail together? Just . . . catching up?”

Kyle rubbed his sore cheek. He should tell Dean. He probably would tell Dean, eventually. But not right now. Not with Sloan down the hall and his own head still full of everything he didn’t want to touch.

“I’ll tell you another time. Long story.”

“Okay.” Dean held his hands up.

Francesca and Sloan returned a minute later, Sloan in warmer clothes. Sloan’s cheeks were pink from the heat, her hair still damp in places from melted snow, and she looked . . . softer. Younger. Like she’d taken off armor.

That was his first thought when he saw her come out of the hair salon. She’d looked more like Sloan, at the least, the version he remembered. More . . . real. Naturally pretty, like she’d always been.

“Your turn,” Sloan said, bumping his knee lightly with her own as she passed him.

The touch was quick. Casual. Maybe even unintentional.

It still sent a stupid spark up his leg.

He rose from the couch, beer in hand, and headed down the hall. Staying here was starting to feel like a bad idea, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Like he and Sloan could tolerably coexist when they were alone, but the minute anyone got a little closer to that sphere, things became complicated. Tipped sideways.

On the mountain, they’d been buffered—Dean boarding with him, Sloan and Francesca skiing behind them, laughter and speed doing the heavy lifting.

In here, with walls and couches and the softness of domestic life around them, everything felt different. Like those same walls were closing tightly around him.

Kyle shut the door to the guest room and unbuttoned the ski pants, flicking his eyes toward the neatly-tended full-size bed.

That would be a hell of a lot more comfortable than the couch.

Maybe Sloan could take the couch.

But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t ask. Not after last night. Not after tripping with her in his arms down the mountain.

He exhaled, annoyed with himself, and pulled out his phone.

Three missed calls from Davy.

Fantastic.