Page 84 of The Route to You

Exhaling slowly, Kyle loosened the seat belt across his chest. He’d never expected seat belts to become an annoyance in his life, but after having his collarbone plated, they bugged the hell out of him. His hands came to rest on the steering wheel for a few moments as he sat in the silence of Tara’s soft breathing, the low tick of the engine cooling.

Sloan.

He turned her name over in his mind like it was on the tip of his tongue.

Whatever he’d expected out of today, she had not been in it.

God, she looked good.

The Sloan he’d seen today . . . wasn’t like the one he’d known in high school. Neither was she like the polished blonde he’d run into in Vail, or the vulnerable runaway bride he’d driven with from Breckenridge.

She was different in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

And maybe that’s what’s so fucking terrifying about her being here.

He wasn’t stupid enough to think he wasn’t attracted to her anymore, that she didn’t affect him. She did. Always had.

But she was unpredictable.

One minute with her and he could start thinking about every minute with her for the rest of his life—only for her to throw a wall up between them that caught him off guard and left him with a black eye.

And you were foolish enough to promise to see her again tomorrow.

He swung open the door to his truck before his thoughts led him somewhere he didn’t want to go.

Going to the back seat, he unhooked Tara’s harness, then slid her out and lifted her onto his right side. Strictly speaking, he probably should let Quinn or Elle handle this for the sake of his shoulder, but he didn’t love the limitation.

Before he’d even gotten to the front sidewalk leading up to the porch, though, Elle was already opening the door and slipping out barefoot, her long blond hair in a messy bun piled on her head, loose sweater, and leggings for the cool mid-July evening.

“You moron,” Elle said, hurrying toward him. She took Tara from his arms and transferred her to her shoulder. Tara didn’t stir but snuggled into her mother’s shoulder. “You really have to stop carrying heavy things. You can always call Quinn or me if you need help.”

“She weighs less than a sack of flour.”

“Which you also shouldn’t be carrying. And unless you’ve suddenly taken up baking, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yeah, well, you’re about to give birth, so you shouldn’t be carrying her, either.”

Elle grinned at him. “How’d she do?”

“She was a perfect angel, as always. Discovered the hard way that gummies get hard on frozen yogurt, though.”

“I’m going to have to wake her up to brush her teeth.” Elle motioned back toward the house. “You in a hurry? Quinn and I were just cracking open a bottle of wine. For him, of course,” she added at Kyle’s look at her burgeoning belly. “I’m just eating the cheese and crackers. But he would probably love someone to have a glass with.”

He hesitated. His left shoulder was sore from PT and lifting a few things he probably shouldn’t have at Walmart with Sloan. But he’d also been trying to do a better job at being present and spending time with his family since he’d found himself suddenly unemployed and back home. Living with his parents for the time being made that easier.

“Sure, I’m down,” he said.

“How’s the job search going?” Elle asked, immediately going into older-sister mode before he’d even crossed the threshold. “Mom said you had an interview at some tech company in the city two days ago?”

Kyle shut the door behind him. “Yeah, it was all right.”

“That means you hated it.” Elle gave him a look.

“Hated what?” Quinn’s voice came down the hall, then he appeared, wine bottle in one hand, corkscrew in the other. Even dressed down after work, Quinn still looked like he was ready to go to work.

“The interview for that job he went to the other day,” Elle said. She frowned at Kyle. “You know, you’re never going to be gainfully employed if you keep going to job interviews and hating every place where you step through the door.”

“It just . . . is lacking a lot of the things I’m looking for in a job,” Kyle said, shoving his hands in his pockets.