7. Sloan #2
Do you hear yourself, Sloan? Stop judging Kyle. She was sounding like Evan’s family, and that was unacceptable. Be thankful. Your driver left you out in the snow, and you are now in a cabin that’s dry and warm.
And truthfully, he was going to a lot of trouble for her.
She shut herself in the cedar-scented bathroom, taking in the particle board that made up the walls, the smallest shower she’d ever seen, and the single piece of decor she’d seen in the entire cabin—a sepia-colored framed photograph of a couple taking a bath in an old barrel.
Rustic was one way of putting it.
The oval mirror above the pedestal sink was water-stained at the edges, and she leaned closer, peeling off the eyelashes that had been itching her for the last half hour. Penny would have said she should have gotten eyelash extensions, like she’d suggested.
Penny.
Her sister would be flipping out over her leaving the wedding, making accusations about how Sloan loved drama.
And she’d have definite thoughts about being here with Kyle.
Which was almost funny because Penny had a thing for broad-shouldered blond men who looked like they belonged in the cast of Barbie.
Kyle could have been a Ken. When they’d been in high school, Sloan had been the envy of all her classmates for dating him—he was on the varsity football team and a full year older than her.
He’d never acted like a stupid jock, though. He’d been sweet. Tutored her in calc and physics. He’d been safe. A good kisser.
God, what am I doing here?
She removed the lashes from her other eye and tossed them in the trash can under the sink.
Without a place to put her stuff, she set her carry-on bag on the toilet seat lid and then put her makeup bag into the sink.
A wadded-up bundle of toilet paper served to remove her makeup rather than a cotton pad.
As the makeup came off, her chest loosened. It was as if she’d finally stepped offstage and could wash that persona away. Like she could stop performing. And Kyle had seen her without makeup a thousand times, so it wasn’t weird to do it now.
She tied her hair up into a ponytail and brushed her teeth.
Moving the makeup bag, she started the water and bent to splash it on her face. Should she be crying? She’d just gotten the worst news of her life and stored it away like an inconvenient email. Hadn’t shed a tear.
And she’d just broken up with her fiancé and run out on her wedding.
What type of person does that and doesn’t even shed a tear?
It wasn’t as though she felt a huge weight off her shoulders, either. The drowning feeling she’d gotten when she’d been at the rehearsal dinner was still there, choking her.
If this was the right decision, should she feel better?
Changing out of her clothes, she pulled Kyle’s T-shirt on, along with a pair of warm wool socks she’d brought. The shirt hit mid-thigh, and for a second, she felt ridiculous—like she’d stepped into a memory she didn’t have permission to touch.
Quickly, she folded her clothes and left the bathroom. The main area was warmer than the bathroom had been, thanks to the stove, and she hoped to be settled into the sleeping bag before he returned.
As she hopped into it and lay against the small pillow, she let her eyes wander the room again. Where in the hell would Kyle even sleep? Was she supposed to offer to share the bed? He’d been the one who’d volunteered to sleep on the floor, and maybe she should just leave it at that.
The door to the cabin opened and Kyle trudged in, carrying an armload of logs. He dropped them beside the door. Stomping the snow off his boots, he glanced at her and then moved to the stove. “Find everything you needed?”
“Yeah.” She bit her lip as he got out of the jacket, then peeled off his gloves.
He fed the fire and watched it catch. “If you’re good, I’m going to kill the lights.”
For half a second, she reached for her phone, then stopped short. Not having it was weird. Like she was missing a part of herself.
The cabin went dim, the fire from the wood stove casting a warm, orange glow.
This was what she’d been picturing when she’d looked up the log cabins he’d mentioned.
Something out of a book—a fire burning in a fireplace, the flicker making shadows dance on every surface, the coziness of wooden walls.
She had not pictured sharing this with Kyle. They didn’t speak as he got himself ready for bed, disappearing into the bathroom for another few minutes, and that was fine by her because she didn’t feel like talking.
But as he rolled a shirt up for a pillow and started laying some sweatshirts and his jacket on the ground for a mattress, her guilt grew stronger. He was being generous and she’d barely said thank you in a way that mattered.
“If you want to share the sleeping bag, I guess we can,” she said quietly.
He patted the shirt he’d rolled up, like he was fluffing the world’s saddest down pillow.
He jerked his chin up at her, surprise clear in his expression. Like he can’t get a read on me either.
His eyes flicked down at his rolled-up shirt and he hesitated. “I don’t think that’s the best idea,” he said finally. His expression didn’t give anything away, but he didn’t say it unkindly, either.
Still, she couldn’t help but feeling silly for asking. Like she’d been too forward or something. The sort of girl who breaks up with her fiancé and then crawls into bed with another man two hours later.
Cheeks burning, Sloan nodded, then rolled the opposite direction, facing the wall. “Good night then.”
She wanted to be hurt . . . but maybe I did cross a line by offering.
Kyle Winnick was someone she barely knew anymore, and she’d be stupid to forget it.