It felt so right being there with him.

So Sloane did something she had never done before. She took a deep breath and opened up.

“My mom loved ice cream. I mean, really loved it. Couldn’t go a day without at least a spoonful. My dad wasn’t as much of a fan, but he once told me the reason he loved it so much was because of how happy it made her. So every day or night, when she sat down to have that spoonful or bowl, Dad made it a point to sit with her.” Sloane smiled up at her ceiling. “It was cute and annoying to Callum and me. We’d be trying to go out to the movies or watch something, and there they’d be, standing next to the kitchen sink, eating ice cream, and giggling like lovesick teens.”

Sloane let out a slow breath.

“That day, there was no ice cream in the house, and there was no question about it—they had to go to the store and get more. They were extra lovey-dovey about the whole thing, so Callum and I stayed home. The rain picked up when they were out, and with how dark it was, they never saw the truck, driving without its lights, going the wrong way.”

Sloane took a moment. She knew she wasn’t going to cry, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

“They died instantly, we were told. Same as the truck driver. The sheriff came and told us in person, but, to this day, I can’t remember what he said. Then Ms. Peggy came over and stayed with us for the next month, until Callum legally became my guardian. I was fifteen, he was eighteen, but life insurance paid off this house and covered the bills. When I got a scholarship to go off to college, I told Callum he could do the same. Sell the house if he needed, but, as you can see, he didn’t.” She sighed again. “Which, I hate to admit, I’m grateful for. This was the last place we ever saw our parents, and I know it might sound silly, but sometimes I can walk by the kitchen sink and still hear them giggling.”

“That’s not silly. It’s nice.”

Sloane’s smile came back.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” she admitted. “At least not the specifics.”

Brady turned his head over to look at her. She did the same and met his gaze.

“You never wrote about it in the blog?” he asked.

“No. I just kind of omitted anything about them. I guess it was easier that way. Or, at least, felt easier at the time. Now, I wonder if saying something would have helped ease the ache a bit instead.”

“Then why tell me? Why now?”

Sloane, who normally could have championed gold at overthinking, said the first thing that came to mind.