Page 57 of The Route to You

No way in hell I’m watching that.

“I think I’m ready to hit the dusty trail, too,” Kyle said quickly, pushing off the couch. “You can sleep back in the bedroom. I’ll take the couch.”

“You sure? I can take the couch if you want.”

Wow, she didn’t even hesitate to offer. He hadn’t expected that.

“Positive.” He patted one of the nearby cushions. “This is like a luxury bed compared to last night. I’ll sleep like a rock.”

She hesitated still, watching him like she could tell he was trying too hard to make it casual.

“It’s fine, Sloan. I really don’t mind.”

Yawning, she stood, and then she shut off the television. “All right. I am pretty tired. But all our stuff is still out in the Jeep. Could you bring it back to the room?”

“No problem.”

He grabbed his coat and keys and headed out into the cold. The night air snapped at his lungs, each breath aching as he trekked through the snow toward his car. Maybe it had been Francesca and Dean and how easygoing and happy they were but, given the circumstances, the day had turned out a lot better than he’d thought it could.

Unlike the previous night, with all its snow, the stars shone brightly tonight, Orion easy to find and Scorpio, too. One of the things he’d appreciated the most in his travels had been the ability to see the night sky. He’d never realized how much he hadn’t been seeing as a kid growing up in the suburbs. Only when he’d been forced to step outside of the comfortable world he knew had he seen everything he’d been missing. Everything that had been hiding under electric lights.

He was supposed to be the funny one, so he never talked about these things when he traveled. The quiet. The way it made him feel both tiny and painfully aware of how fleeting it all was.

The loneliness of his humanity in the vastness of the universe.

He was just one more person, making his way through this life . . . like an ant with a breadcrumb far from the nest. By himself.

To what end?

A shooting star caught his attention, blazing across the sky in a blink, and he swallowed whatever thought had been forming and gathered the bags he needed from the back.

Once inside, he headed toward the guest room, trying to stamp out the melancholy that had come with that self-reflection.

Sloan was in the bathroom with the door closed when he stepped inside the room, so he set her bag down on the bed, then hesitated. Should he just leave it there or say good night?

Trust you to overthink everything.

The bathroom door opened. Sloan stepped out, hair brushed, face bare. And his body did that stupid hitch again, like at the salon. Like the memory that made his chest ache.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced at her bag. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, lifting his own duffel bag. He fished out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. “I might borrow the bathroom for a quick shower and then I’ll get out of your way.”

“Sure. I’m just going to brush my teeth.”

Kyle ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower on. The water was cold at first—apparently God wanted him to build character this weekend—but it loosened the ache in his shoulders and soothed the bruised sting in his cheek.

When he finished, he dressed and cracked the door. “In case you need to spit, I’m just finishing up, but you can come in.”

“I just decided to go to the kitchen,” Sloan said from the bed.

The silence made him suddenly aware of the weight of the quiet when it was just them. No Dean or Francesca. No TV to hide behind.

He stepped out and his gaze tracked the shirt she wore—one of his short-sleeved T-shirts. Following his line of vision, she bit her lip. “I helped myself, sorry. I didn’t exactly bring the best PJs with me.”

He hesitated. Seeing her in his shirt shouldn’t have an effect on him, but it did. “It’s no problem,” he managed. “Well . . . good night.”

Her face flickered, then she jumped off the bed and took a step toward him. “Will you stay with me?”