Page 61 of The Route to You

She was still tired in that deep, bone-level way that had nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with adrenaline finally burning off.

Which was ironic, considering she’d actually slept.

With Kyle.

Well. Not with with. But with. In the same bed, under the same blankets. His hand warm over hers until she’d drifted off, the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected and hadn’t been prepared for.

I can’t remember the last time I slept so . . . peacefully.

He’d told her she was safe, and the truth was, he hadn’t needed to. He didn’t need to spell out something he made so clear with everything he did.

She’d woken before him, heart doing something stupid and fluttery, very carefully disentangling her fingers from his like she might set off an alarm if she moved too fast.

He hadn’t pulled away in the night. That was the part she couldn’t stop thinking about. And she shouldn’t be thinking about Kyle. Or anyone. Two days ago, she’d woken up ready to take vows with Evan.

She wasn’t that big of a flake.

Yet . . . falling into a rhythm with Kyle had felt as natural as breathing.

The road stretched on, empty and pale.

Kyle’s hands were steady on the wheel, his posture relaxed but alert, eyes narrowing occasionally as the snow thickened and the visibility dropped.

She found herself watching him more than the scenery, music helping to fill any need to talk. The way his hands were strong, with long fingers that always seemed steady. Competent. He’d pushed the sleeves of his thermal Henley up to his elbows. A sheen of fine, dark golden hair covered his well-muscled forearms.

He’s going to catch you staring.

She flicked her eyes away.

Last time she’d driven this stretch of road, it had been summer, a cloudless blue sky above her. Sun-baked asphalt. Evan had complained about the drive almost immediately, then fell asleep, then woke up long enough to tell her she was taking the curves too slowly.

He’d wanted to fly into Vail when she’d insisted they finalize the menu in person. She’d wanted the road. She’d always wanted the road.

Kyle hadn’t complained once this trip.

The GPS chirped again. “Rerouting.”

Sloan sighed. “That thing is lying to us.”

Kyle glanced at the screen and pulled over to the shoulder. He lifted his phone, analyzing the new route. “It’s not lying . . . it’s being aggressively optimistic.”

“That might be worse. How long is it saying it’ll take now?”

“Five hours.”

She squinted over her sunglasses. “See? It is lying. It’s been lying to us all morning. It said five hours two hours ago.”

He gave her a chagrined expression. “It’s a confident liar. That counts for something. To be honest, I’m not sure where it’s getting its information from anymore anyway. We seem to be out of service more than we are in it. I think we get a reroute every time my phone actually reconnects to data.”

She huffed a laugh. “At this point, we’re not going to get there until, what? Midnight?”

“If it doesn’t reroute us . . . maybe.” He snapped the phone back into a holder suction-cupped to the windshield. “We’ll get there. Might take longer, but we’ll get there.”

Something about the way he said it—so matter-of-fact and laid-back, as though he didn’t need to worry about catching a flight tomorrow and had all the time in the world—tugged at her chest.

A vein would have popped in Evan’s forehead by now.

She glanced at the low, heavy clouds above them. “You’re weirdly competent in crisis situations.”