Page 81 of The Route to You

“You said the house looked like this, first of all , because you just moved.”

“That was like a whole two minutes ago.”

“You left me hanging. I’m curious. What’s second of all?” He sat on the floor, legs stretched in front of him, still petting Charlie.

Sloan released Sadie, who, jealous of the attention Charlie was getting, scampered over to Kyle and lay down for her own rubs. Traitors.

“Second of all . . .” Sloan looked at the boxes, then shrugged. “This is it. All I own. In those boxes. It’s mostly clothes.”

He rested his weight back on his right hand. “And you don’t think that’s a problem? Where are you going to sleep?”

“On the floor, I guess. At least for tonight. I’m planning to go furniture shopping, but I just don’t have anything right now. And anyway, I need to get a job before I run through all my money buying housewares and stuff.”

He only blinked at her.

Sloan stood, heat prickling her neck. “Can I get you anything? I have . . . water.”

He laughed, despite her seriousness. “Of course you do. Or at least, let’s hope so.”

“Stop making fun of me. I’m serious.” She came closer, then sat again, petting Sadie because it gave her something to do. “I don’t own anything. I gave it all up when I sold my portion of the house in Bozeman to Evan. I’m using the money from that for this house.”

She avoided his gaze and went on, “Yes, my dad would probably give me money for furniture if I asked for it, but I don’t want to ask for it. He already thinks I’m nuts for moving back here, and the minute I open my life to his money, it also means opening my life to his opinion.”

Kyle’s hand stilled as he stared at her. “So . . . you moved back to Nashville with a few boxes of clothes, two dogs, no job, and no . . . plan?”

Her chin lifted sharply. “Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“Aren’t plans frail things set up by people without an imagination?” she shot back.

His lips twitched slightly. “Yes.” He paused. “But, you know, things like a bed and chairs aren’t exactly plans. ”

Sloan sat there for a moment, fully aware of the fact that his words were making her heart race . . . and not in a good way.

Oh no. He’s right. What did I just get myself into?

“Is the urn in one of the boxes?” Kyle asked, his gaze settling over on the pile by the door.

“Oh yeah, I can get it. I’m sorry.”

“No rush. I’m not going to make you unpack everything right this second for it.” Kyle stood, then dusted himself off. He held out his hands and helped her stand. “Why don’t you give me the grand tour? We can talk while we walk.”

“It’s split level,” she said, gesturing toward the staircase they’d walked up to get to the main floor. The foyer was smack dab in the middle of the house layout. “Bedrooms are to the left, straight down that hallway, kitchen right behind that wall.” She led him through the living room to the dining room, then opened the sliding glass door. “Deck.”

Kyle inspected it with an approving nod. “Nice.”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “I just wanted something like what my parents had.”

That earned his gaze, the corners of his lips pressing tighter.

He didn’t have to ask. He knew.

“You know,” he said, poking his head out the door and inspecting the frame, “there’s a Walmart about five or so minutes from here. I’ll bet we can grab you a bed-in-a-box there at least, if not something sturdier. Maybe even some sheets and pillows. And lucky for you, I know a guy with a truck.”

God.

Why did he have to be so damned likable?