29. Kyle
KYLE
The front door to Elle and Quinn’s house flew open before Kyle was even halfway up the walk. Tara came barreling out toward him. “Uncle Kyle!” she shouted, arms stretched wide.
He caught her, lifting her off her feet and twirling her, grateful that he could do this again. She wasn’t that heavy, of course, but after months of having to tell her that he couldn’t lift her, couldn’t play the way she loved, he was finally starting to be able to get back to being fun.
“Hey, monkey.” He planted a kiss on her cheek as her arms wrapped around his neck. “You been waiting at the door for me?”
She gave an enthusiastic nod. “Can I bring Flutterwing?”
He glanced at the door, which Quinn had just stepped out of. “What did your mom say?”
“She said yes!” She gave a broad smile.
“Fibber.” Quinn gave a slow shake of his head. “Mummy said no because she doesn’t want you to lose her.”
“Pweeeeeeeease?” Tara clasped her hands, begging Quinn, her bright blue eyes looking physically pained at the idea of leaving her stuffed unicorn behind.
Elle came to the door, Charlotte resting against her hip. “No, baby. Flutterwing is safer here at home.”
“What if we promise to take good care of Flutterwing?” Kyle asked when Tara turned her pleading gaze to him.
“You’re a sucker, Kyle Winnick.” Elle glared at him, but her eyes held a smile.
Tara, who had decided that was good enough for her, climbed down from Kyle and bounded into the house. “Tara—” Elle said, turning and following her.
Kyle watched them go with a grin. “Don’t know how you do it,” Kyle said to Quinn with a shake of his head. “I feel like I’m physically incapable of telling her no.”
“And that’s why she’s spoiled rotten. She’s got every one of her aunts and uncles completely under her thumb. Aiden quite literally started searching for ponies for her when she asked him for one. With Isla’s full support.”
Kyle laughed because he could completely see Aiden doing something like that. “Well, I guess she’s a bit out of luck when it comes to me. The only pony I can afford is one that they sell in the Walmart toy aisle.”
“Speaking of which, how’s the . . .” Quinn held up his hands. “Sorry, mate. Bad habit.”
“Actually, I’ve come up with a new plan for a job,” Kyle said, crossing his arms.
Quinn’s expression turned with interest. “Oh really?”
“Yeah . . . I’m going to try to reboot Pathways .
Or something like it, anyway, since Helixnet owns the IP.
Davy sent me a helpful checklist of what I need to do to get started, so I’m looking through a list of potential sponsors.
” He didn’t mention what a daunting list Davy had sent.
Less than twenty-four hours in and he already felt overwhelmed.
“That sounds intriguing. Do you think any of your previous sponsors would be interested?”
Kyle gave a rueful smile. “I don’t know about that. We’ll see which of the wholesome sporting gear and adventure travel companies want to take on a scandalous YouTuber. I might have better luck branching out.”
“You should put out another statement to defend yourself. What have you got to lose? I still think you should consider litigation if it comes down to it. That congressman has every reason to want the situation to go away, and given his previous lies, you have a case for both slander and libel.”
Grimacing, Kyle squinted at him. “Litigation with that asshole sounds like a nightmare I don’t want to deal with.
It’s all he-said-she-said unless Sloan decides she wants to be further publicly humiliated by providing the evidence she was given about Evan, and I’m not going to ask that of her.
” Plus, what Davy had said was true. He was living with Sloan now. That wouldn’t help his case.
A beat of heavy silence followed, then Quinn nodded. “You’re a better man than most. I hope you know that.”
“Of course he doesn’t know that. If he did, he’d be arrogant, and then he’d stop being better,” Elle said from beyond the doorway as she joined them again.
Tara darted out from behind her, a purple backpack now resting on her shoulders.
“We packed Flutterwing.” She gave Kyle a sharp look.
“Guard that unicorn with your life. Tara insists she can’t sleep without her. ”
Tara skipped out toward Kyle, reaching for his hand. “Ready!” she announced, her dark curls bouncing.
Kyle waved goodbye to Quinn and Elle, dropped a kiss on Charlotte’s cheek, then headed toward his truck with Tara. “I’ve got a special surprise for you today,” he said as he lifted her into her car seat.
Her eyes went wide. “A sup-wiiiise? What supwise?”
He winked, checking the latch. “You’ll see.”
He shut the rear door, then slid into the driver’s seat, trying to forget about all the things that had been circling his brain since the night before.
He owed it to Tara to be fully present, even if his mind felt crowded right now.
Especially because those issues wouldn’t go away by dwelling on them.
“First,” he turned on the engine, “the playground. Then we’re going to get Happy Meals.
Then we’re going to stop at a place and get some milkshakes to go.
Finally, the surprise.” He flicked a glance at Tara through the rearview mirror.
“So, for now, the big decision is, chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry.”
“Chocolate,” she said without hesitation.
“I knew I liked you,” he said with a grin.
Two hours later, armed with milkshakes, Kyle opened the door to Get Yer Bloomin’ Paint On on Main Street, half amazed he’d never noticed the name of the place while driving around town. Tara followed at his heels, her milkshake cup delicately balanced between two hands, straw in her mouth.
The bell of the paint shop jangled as they walked inside and a woman near the front with blue-streaked hair looked up at him. “Hi! You here for the paint night?”
“Yeah, both of us,” he said, setting his hand on Tara’s shoulder. “Two tickets.”
The woman laughed. “It doesn’t work that way. Take a seat,” she said, nodding toward the tables set up with paint stands, canvases, and brushes.
“We can paint?” Tara asked, her eyes sparkling with delight.
Kyle smiled down at her. “Sure can.”
He led Tara to a table, noting that most of the seats in the studio were still empty. As he pulled the stool out for Tara, he set her milkshake down beside her paint stand. “Now don’t spill this,” he muttered under his breath. “Deal?”
She nodded vigorously.
“There are smocks over on the wall,” the woman who’d greeted them said, coming up behind him. “Can I get you anything to drink? We have beer and wine at the bar in the back. And soda or water for your daughter.”
“She’s my niece, actually,” Kyle said with a polite smile.
Sloan’s voice came from the back as she stepped through. “Hey, Delilah, do you think—” She stopped short at the sight of Kyle.
Would she be mad that he’d come without telling her?
“Oh my God, what are you doing here?” Her pretty face relaxed into a grin before she crossed the space toward him. “Is this Tara?”
He nodded. “Tara, this is Uncle Kyle’s friend, Miss Sloan.”
The woman who Sloan had called Delilah jerked her chin up.
Sloan leaned down toward Tara. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you,” she offered sweetly.
Tara ducked her chin shyly.
Sloan straightened, then looked from Kyle to Delilah. “Uh, Delilah, this is my roommate, Kyle.” She gestured to Delilah. “My boss, Delilah Bloom.”
Why do I get the feeling she knows who I am? Kyle extended his hand toward her. “Nice to meet you. So, you’re where the shop gets its name?”
Delilah gave a pleased smile. “Yup. I go heavy on the puns as often as possible. Let me get you both a bottle of water. On the house.”
She headed back to the bar section in the rear of the shop, and Kyle helped Tara onto her stool. He held out a milkshake for Sloan. “And this is for you. We picked chocolate because it’s the best flavor.”
“Wow, thank you.” Sloan took it from him and sipped it. Then she held a hand over her heart. “This reminds me of Granny Winnick.”
Tara gave her a look of surprise. “You knew my gate-ganny?”
“Sure did.” Sloan leaned down toward her. “She was great. Super funny.”
“I love Gate-Ganny,” Tara said with a little pout. “We don’t get to see her now.”
Kyle’s heart squeezed, and he tried not to think of the urn in his room. “I miss her too, kiddo. Let me get you a smock, okay? Want to show me which ones to grab, Miss Sloan?”
“Are you guys going to stay and paint?” Sloan asked, her eyes darting around the room as she led him to the side wall.
He nodded. “I figured it was a good date to take my girl on.”
Sloan’s cheeks reddened. “I’m not sure I’ll be very good.”
“I’m sure you’ll be perfect.” He grabbed two smocks off the hanger. “Besides, that’s what the milkshake is for. I have it on good authority they make everything better.” And because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “That and my T-shirts.”
Her face flushed further—if that was possible. “Well, thank you. For the milkshake, the T-shirt, and for coming out to support me.” She gestured to the room. “Don’t think there will be much of a turnout.”
“That’s probably better. Think about it—would you want to give your first class to thirty people or five?”
“That’s true,” she said, taking another sip of milkshake. “God, this really is good. But seriously, you didn’t have to come. I feel bad. Like I guilted you without knowing it.”
He gave her a look. “No guilt. This is called showing up for a friend.” He lifted the smocks. “Good luck.”
As he made his way back to Tara, he felt her watching him. Maybe he should have told her he was thinking of coming first, but Granny had always taught him that thoughtful actions were best served without decoration.
But it was strange. Every time he offered her some simple gesture, it seemed so foreign to her. He couldn’t help thinking about her dickwad ex, wondering if he’d ever been there for her in the ways she really needed.
More than anything, he got the impression Sloan had been far lonelier the last few years than he’d realized when they’d first crossed paths again.
She was shy, sure, but there was something more to it. And that shyness all seemed to go out the window the moment she started instructing the small class anyway. With a paint brush in her hand as she started on the background of a lighthouse painting, Sloan . . . glowed.
As though she could feel his eyes on her, she looked up at him just then. She caught his gaze for half a second, just enough for something from the night before to flicker to life inside him, then she looked away, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
A warning signal thrummed through his heart.
Nothing about her—not her, the confusing past, or the surreal present—was uncomplicated.
Yet,. when he thought back to how easily he’d fallen in love with her when they were young, he didn’t feel that same sense of loss that had once existed.
Like her return had healed some of that scar.
But for both their sakes, he had to be careful. She wanted to rebuild her life, and she deserved that chance.
The more he thought about it, the more he imagined how stifled she must have been, how Evan must have treated her—extinguishing the fiery parts of her that made her come alive—the angrier Kyle got.
“Uncle Kyle?” Tara said, mid-brushstroke.
He looked down at her, blinking. “Yeah, monkey?”
She smiled happily. “Do you like my pi-ture?”
He turned to look at her painting. Tara had decided to skip the painting Sloan was demonstrating and instead had painted two neckless figures on a field of green—one tall with light hair and one small one with brown hair. “Is that us?” he asked with a smile.
She nodded eagerly.
“It’s perfect,” he said, kissing her cheek.
Sloan slid in just then with a fresh canvas. “Here you go,” she said with a smile. “In case you want to paint something else.”
Tara ducked her chin again, shoulders lifting, not meeting Sloan’s eyes.
As Kyle helped Tara swap the canvas, his jaw worked. Tara normally talked to everyone, so what was her sudden shyness coming from? It had to be new-person nerves.
Or was it something else?
“Everything okay?” Kyle asked in a low voice.
Tara nodded wordlessly.
Then, lower still, he asked, “You scared of the lady?”
Tara shook her head.
Huh. This wasn’t like her.
“Then . . . what?”
She didn’t answer and went back to painting, but after a few moments, she quietly said, “Miss Sloan is pwetty, like a pwincess.”
My niece is not wrong. Especially in this environment, Sloan looked so happy. This was a good fit for Sloan.
But on the way home, as her eyelids were drooping closed, Tara murmured sleepily, “Uncle Kyle?”
“Yes?”
“I like Miss Sloan,” she whispered, then nodded off.
Kyle flicked a glance at her cherub face, the little girl who had him wrapped completely around her tiny, blue paint-splattered pinkie.
He smiled to himself. “Me too, kid,” he said softly. “Me too.”