Page 5 of The Route to You

“Kyle!” Davy’s voice cut through the music, murmuring, and his spiraling doubts. He drained the dregs from his glass, placed it on a nearby tray, then turned . . . and did a double take. Davy looked stunning. She rarely wore a sari, but she had one on now—an elegant, silver sari that shimmered like the chandeliers above them as she made her way toward him.

Running his fingers through his hair, he offered her a crooked smile. “Tell me I’m not underdressed.”

She grinned and adjusted his tie. “You’re absolutely underdressed, but I anticipated that. Tonight’s black tie. Tomorrow is white. Since I know all your sizes, I took it upon myself to rent you tuxes. They’re up in my room.”

“Fuck, Davy, I’m sweating already.” Kyle loosened his collar. “Why didn’t you tell me it was going to be a gathering of DAR offspring? There’s an absurd amount of official-looking people here.”

“That’s what happens when the groom is a congressman.”

A congressman?

Before he could fully process that, she tilted her head at him, giving him a pointed look. “And honey, I did. I told you they were old family friends of my parents from Connecticut. Your brothers-in-law are both wealthy enough that you should have been able to connect the dots.”

“My brothers-in-law, ” he said as Davy steered him toward the elevators. “I don’t know jack shit about the secret lives of the ultra-wealthy. Or how to fit in. Antony has me burp on television for effect.”

“I find that hard to believe. Isn’t Elle’s husband, Quinn, literally part of the English peerage?” Davy stopped at the elevator and pressed the button. She paused, then gave him a gentler glance. “Speaking of which, how is your family? And you? How are you all holding up after the funeral?”

Kyle forced his gaze away. He didn’t want to think about it. Talk about it. But Davy had been there when he’d gotten the call and fallen apart. She’d been the one to handle the whirlwind arrangements to get him back to Nashville and gone to war with the production company about the Cabo trip. “They’re okay. Better than me. They got to say goodbye.”

Davy slipped her arm through his and rested her head against his bicep. “I’m so sorry, Kyle. Hopefully, you’ll get some peace soon.”

I highly doubt that. The thought came out before he could stop it.

But that was the cycle he’d been in since that day in the Mojave. Endless nightmares of going to Granny’s empty house and not being able to find her. Of the phone ringing and him not getting to it before it stopped.

He didn’t know when—if ever—he’d forgive himself for not telling her he loved her one last time.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped to the side to let the people on it exit, then followed Davy inside.

“Actually,” he said as the doors slid shut, “I brought her with me.”

Davy’s eyes flared with alarm. “Your . . . grandmother?”

“Not to the wedding.” God, why did his chest feel so tight? His face flushed. “To the cabin. To Colorado. She left instructions in her will for me to take her on one of my adventures and spread her ashes somewhere beautiful. And she gave me another letter to read when I pick the spot. So, if I do it sooner rather than later, I’ll get to read her goodbye message to me.”

Davy slipped her hand from his arm to his hand and squeezed it. “That’s really special.”

“Yeah.” He kept telling himself that, anyway. It was Granny’s last gift to him. Elle and Liddy had gotten their own letters, but he couldn’t help wondering if they were upset that Granny had asked him to do this and not them. Liddy always had joked that he was Granny’s favorite—the one she doted on.

So every time he thought about the urn carefully packed in his duffel bag, he had to force himself to think of something else.

He slid a finger between his collar and his neck. “So . . . a congressman?”

“Evan Tipton. He recently exploded onto the political scene. My dad says he thinks he’s aiming for the Senate sooner rather than later.”

“You might have considered giving me some warning.”

Davy shook her head. “You didn’t read my email very closely, did you?”

He gave her a sheepish grin.

The elevator door opened, and Davy stepped out first.

“Oh, can you hold that for me?” a woman’s voice called from the hall.

“Hit the open button, will you, Kyle?” Davy said. She smiled at the approaching figure. “We wouldn’t want to keep the bride from getting to her own rehearsal.”

“Seriously, my wedding planner will murder me,” the woman said, closer now.