Page 155 of The Route to You

Sloan fished out a couple of cans of crushed tomatoes and set them on the counter. For the first time in years, her heart didn’t have the same heaviness when someone asked her that question—even though Penny was still very sick.

“She’s doing as well as can be expected. Responding great to the transplant, so that’s good. And she’s in good spirits. Lost all her hair and she’s making jokes about looking like Mr. Clean, so that’s progress.”

“And your dad?”

Sloan smiled as she pulled out a can opener. “Good. Really good.” She clipped the can opener to the side of the can and started twisting it. “Actually, we had some amazing talks while we were there. You know how I told you years ago that my dad got rid of all my mom’s stuff?”

He settled into a stool at the counter. “Yeah, I remember.”

The way he said it made her heart hurt. If he remembered, then he also probably remembered that she’d told him about it only a week before she’d dumped him. But it also mattered that he understood what had happened better.

“Well,” she said, pushing past the bad memory, “it turns out that his definition of getting rid of it didn’t mean that he threw it all out like I thought he did.” She set the can opener down and walked over to her purse, then fished out a key. “He put it in storage. Here in Nashville.”

Kyle gave her a startled look. “So, he didn’t throw stuff out?”

“Nope.”

“Then why not just tell you he put it in storage?”

“I don’t know. He thinks he was so depressed and frazzled he didn’t even connect the dots that when I yelled at him for getting rid of it—which were the exact terms he used—that I meant I thought he threw them in the trash. Dad really shut down after Mom died, apparently. To an extent he never told me about. We did a lot of crying together this last week, making up for lost time. And it made me realize how much that wrecked me when I was young. How badly I took it out on you.”

He lowered his gaze. “That’s great about finally turning a corner with your dad, though.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Sloan set the key into the basket she’d set out and went back to the tomato cans. She fished out a saucepan and dumped them in, then went over to her spice rack. “And I made progress with Penny, too.” She’d told him about when Penny had discovered her cancer before she’d left for San Francisco.

“Well, I hope so. You did just donate stem cells to her.”

True. Sloan shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s sort of the minimum siblings should do for each other if they can, right?” She grabbed some basil, salt, and crushed red pepper. “But we talked about not being there for each other three years ago. And she forgave me, which, I really needed.”

Kyle frowned. “I’m glad she forgave you, but you really can’t be that hard on yourself either, Sloan. You were sick too, just in a different way.”

“She apologized for being mad at me too. So, baby steps. I’m happy.” She drizzled olive oil into the mixture then took out a head of garlic and peeled a clove.

“What are you making?” Kyle asked, leaning over the counter as she stirred.

“Spaghetti sauce.”

“From scratch?” He furrowed his brow.

“Is there any other way?” she asked with a laugh.

“My mom always opened a jar. Speaking of which . . . can we have my family over this weekend? I forgot my mom’s birthday, and I wouldn’t mind getting them together with you. I mean, if you’re up to it, of course. You’ve had a tough few weeks.”

Sloan’s heart gave a nervous flutter, then she set the saucepan on the stove and covered it. She didn’t tease Kyle about forgetting his mom’s birthday, as it sounded like her poor communication with him had obviously distressed him more than she imagined. She did latch onto the fact that he wanted her to be part of his family again. “You want me to hang out with your family?” she asked as casually as possible.

He nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

Setting the sauce to simmer, she gave it all a stir with a wooden spoon, covered it, and then turned back toward him. She gave him a coy look. “Does that mean you like me ?”

Kyle drew his brows together, puzzled.

Then, because he hadn’t answered, she made a slow trace of her tongue along the wooden spoon, watching as heat burned in his eyes immediately. “Mmm . . . this is good. I’m so hungry.”

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble like that, woman.”

“What?” she asked with feigned innocence, swirling her tongue on the flat part of the spoon. “I’m not doing anything.”

He rose from the stool and came toward her. “You know exactly what you’re doing. And I fully intend to punish you for it.” He pinned her against the counter. “And for leaving me tortured for two and a half weeks.”