Page 119 of The Route to You

My niece is not wrong. Especially in this environment, Sloan looked so happy. This was a good fit for Sloan.

But on the way home, as her eyelids were drooping closed, Tara murmured sleepily, “Uncle Kyle?”

“Yes?”

“I like Miss Sloan,” she whispered, then nodded off.

Kyle flicked a glance at her cherub face, the little girl who had him wrapped completely around her tiny, blue paint-splattered pinkie.

He smiled to himself. “Me too, kid,” he said softly. “Me too.”

30

SLOAN

“So . . . your roommate,” Delilah said, rinsing out brushes in the sink adjacent to the one where Sloan was washing palettes. “He’s pretty hot. Is he single?” She gave Sloan a knowing look, like she knew exactly just what that answer would reveal.

“As a matter of fact, he is single,” Sloan said with a smile.

“Oh, but you’re blushing anyway. Why? Because I said he’s hot? He is and you know it. He can’t paint, but he’s very easy on the eyes.” Delilah shook a handful of brushes out and laid them flat to dry on a dish rack beside her.

Stupid red cheeks. “I am not blushing. It’s just warm in here.”

“Here’s a silly question. You two aren’t dating now, but were you dating a few months ago when your name was splashed all over the news?”

“Kyle and I haven’t dated since I was a freshman in college, or been together romantically in any way since then.”

Delilah’s dark brows came together, drawing Sloan’s attention to the piercing on her right brow. “Why do you sound strangely evasive?”

Sloan set a palette on her dish rack and started rinsing another one, her eyes focusing on the swirl of colors going down the drain—pink and blue, white and yellow, all mixing to make the water greenish. “I signed an NDA with my ex,” she said softly. “I can’t really talk about what happened in the news.”

“Oh, the plot thickens.” Delilah cocked her head to the side. “You know my curiosity is burning now, right?”

Sloan gave her an apologetic grin. “Well, unless you can pay me the money I’d lose if I break the NDA, I can’t say anything else.” Margaret Klinefelter had drilled that in Sloan’s brain when they’d been dealing with that whole NDA thing. As much as Sloan didn’t want to remember that, a part of her also couldn’t remember some of it.

In the days and weeks that had followed the fallout of her breakup, she’d been numb at times, apparently blocking out some of those long days with her lawyer.

“So, you’re not dating . . . yet. But, obviously, he still has some feelings for you, or he wouldn’t have shown up here tonight.” Delilah straightened, then grabbed a rag to dry her hands.

Feelings for her?

Truth was . . . she couldn’t quite get a read on what Kyle felt for her.

Even when she tried to flirt with him—like that entire drunken embarrassing episode in the hallway the night before—he didn’t respond.

“We’re just friends,” she said simply.

“Said with about zero conviction.” Delilah hung the rag back up.

“I hurt him pretty badly in college.” Sloan finished the last palette and set it on the rack. “I dumped him my freshman year. So, I can’t say I blame him if he doesn’t want to rekindle things.”

“Yes, but do you want to rekindle things?”

“I—” Sloan turned to look at Delilah, faltering. She swallowed hard. “I don’t really deserve him.”

“Oof.” Delilah grimaced, setting a hand over her heart. “Sweetie, I know we’re just starting to get to know each other again, but I’m going to tell you right now—I don’t allow that sort of talk in my shop. I’m a bit of a girl’s girl. So, unless you killed Kyle’s family or something, I’m going to say you’re absolutely, completely wrong.”

“But I⁠—”