25. Sloan
SLOAN
Sloan adjusted her shoe, considering going back to her car for a Band-Aid. She’d only been walking around Main Street in Franklin for a couple of hours, but already her feet hurt. The summer air was hotter than she’d like, though, and sweat was dripping down the back of her dress.
She’d started the informal job search by coming downtown, since it was only ten minutes from her new house, mostly to generate some ideas.
But with a big gap in her résumé, little work experience, and a mostly useless degree, she appeared more than inadequate—and the managers of the few boutiques she’d dropped into to inquire about a job seemed to agree.
Never mind that she’d been shopping couture for the last seven years. Having a card with a high credit line wasn’t exactly a skill that translated into work.
Sighing, she let her gaze skim the windows of a local sip ‘n’ paint shop.
Cheyenne and Sloan had gone to one in Bozeman a few years earlier and had fun—but there was no Cheyenne here in Tennessee.
She’d lost contact with most of the “friends” she’d had in high school early in college—not that she’d been that close to them anyway.
She hadn’t needed friends back then. She’d had a boyfriend . And she’d let herself fill all her spare time with him because it was easy and safe.
As her eyes settled on a painting of a garden gnome holding a heart, she smiled wryly.
And now I invited that ex-boyfriend to live with me.
Which meant she needed to be cautious. Even if they weren’t dating, she was good at taking the easy way out with friendships.
Not only was she not great at making friends but her natural introversion also meant she often turned down opportunities for socializing.
Or chose silence rather than speaking up for herself.
Which is why Penny was so mad at me for signing that NDA with Evan.
But she was trying to be better at doing the right thing for herself. If she wasn’t careful, she’d isolate herself and let Kyle be her social outlet, simply out of convenience.
She’d done that with Evan, too, after all. Cheyenne had gotten in mostly out of her own efforts, not Sloan’s.
I really should have been a better friend to her.
And that really made her miss Cheyenne’s voice right then. They’d texted a lot since Sloan had left for Nashville, but Sloan had promised to do better at being a real friend. Which meant actually calling, rather than letting texts be sufficient.
Sloan dug in her purse for her phone and called Cheyenne. She picked up on the second ring. “Hey! I was just thinking about you,” Cheyenne said, her voice somehow bright despite the distinct sound of Bryce’s wailing in the background.
“Is this a bad time?” Sloan settled the phone between her ear and shoulder, stepping closer to the paint shop to let a couple with a stroller and a dog pass her.
“Just changing a diaper, so hang on just a few seconds . . . Alllll done.” The wailing stopped abruptly and Cheyenne continued, cooing, “See? You’re a happy boy now, aren’t you? You just weren’t comfortable sitting in all that poo-poo.”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t call you when I was eating,” Sloan said dryly.
A laugh sounded on the other side. “You’d be amazed what you learn not to be disgusted by when it’s your own child.” Cheynne cleared her throat. “But he’s a happy baby now. What’s up? How’s life in Nashville . . . and Kyle?”
Sloan smiled at the Cheyenne’s complete inability to hide her pointed curiosity. Apparently, the texts Sloan had answered about him weren’t satisfactory enough. “Good and good. Actually”—she cleared her throat—“he’s going to be my roommate for a little while.”
“Oh my God, are you serious? Did you guys have sex already?”
Leave it to Cheyenne to go there.
Sloan leaned against the window, laughing. “Hundreds of times. About eight to ten years ago.”
“That is not what I meant. I need all the sordid details. My libido is in the trash after having a baby.”
For a few moments, Sloan let her mind wander back to those days when thinking about a sex life with Kyle had been totally acceptable. She lifted her gaze, making sure no one else was around to hear her, and said, “Well, one weekend I think we had sex like twenty times, but—”
“Are you still talking about eight years ago?”
She grinned. “Yes.”
“I mean now, Sloan.”
“Oh, well then, there’s nothing to report. Because we are not together.”
“Who says you have to be together? And didn’t you just say he’s moving in? That’s a pretty huge step.”
Sloan sighed and adjusted her purse strap.
“I’m just lending him a room until his apartment is ready.
That’s all. And it was my idea, not his.
I’m not even sure he’s entirely comfortable with the prospect, but his family is driving him up the wall, and I wanted to help him out.
There is no romance, no sex, no anything.
And that’s the way it’s probably going to stay. ”
“Boo,” Cheyenne said in a theatrical voice. “That is so not fun.”
“You know what’s not fun? Not having any practical job skills to make you hirable. Evan really screwed me by insisting I not work.”
“That was entirely about control, you know. How else could you be his little puppet princess who did whatever he wanted while he fucked around?”
Wow, that was refreshingly honest.
Still, Sloan’s heart ached at the thought, and she said, “Yeah, well, I just spent a couple of hours walking around Main Street in the town closest to my new house, trying to think of anything I can actually do to earn back my independence. I came up with nothing. I’m going to do my best to try to make it on my own without dipping into my dad’s money, but it feels so bleak right now. ”
“You can do it,” Cheyenne said, her tone reminding Sloan of an instructor at a spin class.
“Can I, though? I thought Nashville would feel like coming back home, but I’m starting to realize I’m a stranger here now. I don’t know if I fit here.”
“It’s been a handful of days. You have to give yourself some time. Maybe . . . I don’t know, go out on some dates or something. Join a gym. Do stuff to meet people.”
Dates? “I don’t know if I’m ready to date.”
“Again, I’m not suggesting a long-term commitment, babe. Just socializing. Especially if you’re not interested in Kyle. It might help you both if you’re dating.”
Sloan grimaced. I didn’t say I wasn’t interested, either.
A woman with dark brown hair streaked with bright blue, and intricately tattooed arm sleeves approached. “Oh, we’re not open until four, sorry,” she said to Sloan, reaching for the door.
Sloan stepped away from the window. “Oh, sorry, no I was just—”
“Sloan?” the woman said, tilting her head. “Sloan Carrington?”
Oh . . . yikes. The way she said it made Sloan think she should know who she was, but she couldn’t place the woman for the life of her. “Call you back,” she said to Cheyenne, then hung up. “Yes? Do I know you?”
The woman laughed. “Probably not. I mean, you used to, but it’s been a while. Delilah Bloom. We were friends in middle school.”
Delilah? Sloan remembered a mousy, shy brunette who sat at Sloan’s lunch table in eighth grade. But she never in a million years would have recognized her.
Delilah seemed to realize this. “It’s probably easier for me to remember you, considering you pop up in the news every now and then. Or the alum newsletter.”
Oh . . . Sloan bit her lip. Oh no. This was something she hadn’t really considered about moving back here—that of the people following everything with Evan in January, the only people who would continue to link her to it would be people who’d once known her.
“I’m sorry,” Sloan said, giving her an apologetic smile. “It’s just been a really long time. Do you work here?” She nodded toward the paint shop.
“Yeah, I own it. You thinking of coming and painting sometime?”
“I’d love to. I’ll have to figure out when I can.”
Delilah tilted her head. “I remember you being really good at art. Winning a lot of the school contests. Do you still paint?”
“I dabble,” Sloan said politely. “I got my degree in it but mostly let it go over the years. Though I took some refresher oil classes over the last few years and loved it. It was a great stress relief.”
“I always say art is like oxygen. Helps you breathe, you know?” Delilah lifted a key ring, and it jangled as she slid a key into the lock.
“But, yeah, sorry, I’m not open yet. If you want to come back later, you can take a look at some of the projects we have coming up. Or you can look at our website.”
“No problem.” Sloan looked down the street. “I was just walking down the street putting some job applications in and wanted to peek through the window.”
Delilah gave her a quizzical look. “Are you—” She frowned. “Didn’t your family move a long time ago?”
Her look said everything that she hadn’t already hinted at by mentioning “the news.” She was well aware of Sloan’s father’s newfound wealth and success.
“Yeah, I just moved back. Trying to strike out on my own.” Sloan forced a smile. “But it was good to see you. I’ll try to come back for a class sometime soon.”
Delilah continued to stare at Sloan as if she’d turned into a giant puzzle piece. “That would be great. See you around.”
Sloan started back toward her car, heat flooding her cheeks.
“You know, I’m looking for someone to teach classes. Part-time,” Delilah called from behind her.
Turning slowly, Sloan steeled herself for the inevitable look of pity. But it wasn’t there. Delilah left her key in the lock and fumbled in her bag.
“Send me some of your portfolio, if you’re interested.” Delilah held out a business card.
Teach a painting class?
Sloan blinked at the card, her heart stumbling. “Oh, I’m not that good. Not anymore.”
“Most of the time, people who’ve taken classes in oils are already well above the skill level we teach for paint nights. I’ll check out your work, and then we can talk. And who knows, if it comes back to you, I have a long waiting list of people wanting private lessons. Those pay pretty well, too.”