Page 31 of The Route to You

Why he shouldn’t drive me to Montana.

“It’s a whole day of driving.”

“Probably about twelve or thirteen hours, depending on how the roads are with the weather. We might have to stop overnight, but it’s doable. I do eighteen-hour drives regularly.”

“What about your job?”

“My job is pretty flexible. I don’t have anything scheduled for a few weeks.”

She bit her lip. The state of this rental didn’t speak to a great career. Was he a truck driver or something? “What do you do?”

His grin was almost shy, like it embarrassed him to say it out loud. “I’m a travel influencer.”

She stared. “You?” she blurted.

He chuckled. “Shocking, I know. I have a whole YouTube show and everything.”

“And you . . . make money off that?”

“Enough that I don’t have to do anything else anyway.” He moved back toward the bed and gathered his clothes from the floor. Then he added, pointedly casual, “So if you want, I’m available to drive.”

“I’m sorry, that was rude.” Heat crept into her cheeks.

“It was a fair question.”

She joined him and helped him pick up his scattered clothes, folding the ones that weren’t already beyond hope. “And you don’t have anything planned for the next couple of weeks?”

“Well,” he said, noncommittal, “sort of. But not exactly.”

She tilted her head.

He lifted his duffel bag onto the bed and stuffed some clothes inside. “My grandmother died a month ago, and she asked me to take her ashes someplace beautiful and leave her there. So, I was thinking I’d do it here, because she never made it to Colorado, far as I know. But it doesn’t have to be here.”

“Granny?” Sloan asked, eyes widening.

He nodded.

The sadness she felt was immediate and sharp . . . unexpected in the middle of everything else. “Oh.” Her voice softened. “I loved her. I’m so sorry, Kyle.”

His throat bobbed and he looked away. “Happens.”

She knew him well enough to know it wasn’t dismissive, but rather the only thing he could say without cracking open. He’d adored Granny.

She took a shirt from his hands and folded it. She wanted to say something meaningful, something that could bridge the awkward silence without making it worse. He probably thought she was vapid and foolish, and she didn’t know if she entirely blamed him for coming to that conclusion, and nothing she could think of really seemed good enough.

“I still remember when she took me shopping for a prom dress,” she finally said quietly, pulling some of Kyle’s stuffed shirts from the duffel bag and folding them. “Because my mom was so sick from chemo and your mom was still in a wheelchair after her accident. And then she took me to Kilwins for milkshakes.”

Her eyes stung and she blinked back tears, the memory of that time returning with a ferocity she hadn’t expected. Compared to her own home life, that time with Granny had been like a breath of fresh air. She’d been kind, funny, warm, and generous. I hate that Kyle lost such an amazing woman. But Sloan was thankful that she’d known her. The man in front of her was a testimony to how kind she had been.

Kyle glanced at her, expression shifting.

“I’m sorry,” she said, a lump rising in her throat. “I’m supposed to be comforting you.” A shaky laugh escaped her. “God, I haven’t even cried about my cheating fiancé and here I am, crying over your grandmother that I haven’t seen in over eight years. I swear, there’s something wrong with me.”

Kyle’s voice was gentle. “Grief’s a weird bastard.” Kyle reached over and took his shirts from her, setting them aside like he didn’t want her to have to keep doing anything. Then he set his hands on her shoulders, light and careful, turning her toward him. “It’s fine. I get it.”

The contact was brief, but it lit a small, alarming warmth under her ribs.

He flicked a glance back at the stove. “Do you want get out of here? I think it’s been a pretty damned miserable night for us both—different reasons, same result. Some hot breakfast and maybe a change of scenery might help.”