Page 87 of The Route to You

SLOAN

“I don’t think I experienced this part of home ownership before,” Sloan said, carrying an armful of bags into her bedroom. She set them on the floor beside the door as Kyle looked up from where he lay on his back beside an almost-built bed frame, power drill in one hand. Both dogs were curled beside him, as though they’d adopted him in her absence.

Sadie lifted her head and sauntered over for a pat, but Charlie stayed put.

“What’s that?” he asked. The position made a few veins in his bicep pop—and the one in his forearm.

Maybe it was that.

Maybe it was the power tools. Or the T-shirt and jeans.

But her heart skipped a beat.

“Having to buy two more things for every one thing I buy. I get a lamp, and suddenly, I need a nightstand to put it on and light bulbs to go in it. A headboard . . . which meant a drill and those little slider things to go under corners. Raw ingredients for the pantry, and then a hundred spices I didn’t realize I also need.”

He grinned. “You could do it my style and just get salt and pepper.”

She set her hand on her hip. “Which is why you’re forced to go out to eat, I’m sure. Speaking of which, I picked up some Italian subs on the way back. You hungry?”

“Starved.” His gaze flicked back to the bed frame. “Almost finished, though. Meet you in the kitchen?”

“Sure. I’ll lay out my best tableware.” She fished around for the bag of subs from the pile she’d dropped, then headed back down the hall.

Having Kyle here this afternoon had been nice. Almost too nice. The quiet domesticity of it all—him assembling furniture, her painting the bathroom until she’d realized she needed another can of paint and an edged brush for the trim—and the rhythm of it had a peacefulness that she appreciated but never felt permanent.

For far too long, she’d always felt like she couldn’t relax in the calm, forced instead to hold her breath and wait for the other shoe to drop.

But she liked him being here. Liked the fact that he wasn’t making things too complicated for her. He was steady in a way that she hadn’t appreciated enough when she was younger.

She pulled the subs out and then went to the fridge for a couple of cans of soda she’d picked up when they’d gone out the day before. She was doing her best to resist the urge to find excuses for him to stay longer, and hopefully, he wouldn’t see her offering dinner that way.

Being independent doesn’t mean digging up old boyfriends who are too nice to say no every time you need help.

That’s what Penny had said, anyway. Penny had voiced her opinion about Sloan’s decision to move to Nashville in the most older-sister way possible: loudly, negatively, and without mincing words.

But maybe Sloan needed to hear it. Because here she was, letting Kyle build furniture for her.

The sound of the dogs’ nails clicking against the wooden floorboards told her Kyle was probably coming down the hall. Sure enough, three seconds after the dogs came in, Kyle appeared in the doorway. “You now officially have a footboard, bed frame, and headboard. After we eat, I can help you slide the mattress on.”

“I can probably manage that on my own. I don’t want you to get hurt lifting it.” She set the soda on the counter, then gestured to the subs. “They’re both the same—Italian with all the fixings. No onion, though, because it upsets my stomach.”

“Awesome, thanks.” Kyle lifted one, then grabbed a can of soda.

Sloan took the other one, then sat down on the floor, legs outstretched in front of her. “Sorry about the lack of seating.” She swatted Charlie away as she came to investigate the food. “Out. Go join your sister in the living room.”

He smiled gently, then came and joined her, back against a counter. “No, this is perfect. Every time I’m with you, I get to experience a whole new side of floorspace living.”

She smirked, unwrapping the sandwich. “I’ll try to assemble the stools for the counter tonight. That way, the next time you come back, I might be able to actually offer you something that resembles a chair.”

“I can put those together before I leave if you want.” Kyle popped open the tab on his soda can. “It won’t take lo—hey!”

Too late.

Charlie had grabbed a hold of Kyle’s sandwich and took off running with it in her mouth.

Kyle reached for it reflexively with his left hand, then a flash of pain crossed his face, and he let out a noise that sounded like a yelp. Scrambling, Sloan put out a hand toward him. “Oh my God.”

As Kyle’s face reddened and he held his shoulder with the opposite hand, Sloan stood and bolted after the dog. “Charlie!” she cried. “Charlie, get back here. Bad dog!”