Page 19 of On Dry Land

“I can’t leave it behind,” I tell him. “What if you change your mind and abandon me in town? What if you forget I came along and drive back without me?”

He pauses, one foot in the car and a gloved hand resting on top. Even his gloves look soft and expensive.

“I won’t leave you behind,” he promises. I nod, but still, I’m not letting this backpack out of my sight.

This time, instead of waiting for permission, I turn on my heated seat the moment I get in the car. Dryden, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, smirks but doesn’t comment. He smells good, and insanely, I wonder if he can smell his fancy shower products on me as well. I often wonder if people can smell me, but it’s usually because I’m worried about that smell being offensive rather than pleasing. Grinning, I turn my head and look out the window, hiding my face. I’m still riding the high of a full belly and a good night of sleep. Today feels beautiful and full of possibility. Today, I feel more like myself.

“Was everything okay in the cottage?” he asks awkwardly, voice a little less smooth than usual.

“Perfect. Heaven on earth, if I’m being honest. That lobster was the greatest thing I’ve ever eaten, by the way. Thank you for that. For all of it. I feel like I’ve won the lottery.”

He drums his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, gloves resting on his lap, where he’d placed them when we got in. I’m a bit of a hand guy, and Dryden’s are suitably matched to the rest of him. Smooth dark skin, long fingers, narrow bones, and prominent veins. I bet his forearms are phenomenal. I keep my own sleeves tugged down, partially obscuring my hands. I don’t want him to see what’s below.

“I’ve got plenty frozen. I’ll give you more,” he offers.

“Okay,” I agree, because I’m in no place to turn down handouts and have little desire to. I’ve been thinking of that lobster since the moment I woke up. “So, what’s the plan? Fix the boat and take her out for a spin?”

He sighs, glancing over at me again in a slightly exasperated manner, like I’m a precocious toddler trying his patience. I’m feeling a lot better about him today than I was yesterday, though, which means now it’s time to figure him out. I’m here in Siren’s Point to vlog, and a big part of that is meant to be footage of the lobster boats. Luckily, I found myself a fisherman.

“Lex will take a look at the boat. No spinning,” he corrects. “I’ve got other things to do, in the meantime.”

“Oh? Like errands?”

“Like putting together traps.”

I perk up at that. Lobster traps! I didn’t realize they were a DIY affair.

“Can I help? Or just watch? If you were comfortable, maybe I could film a little bit?” At the incredulous look this earns me, I hold up a hand. “I vlog. Make videos and post them on the internet. Mostly on-the-road stuff while I’m traveling, but recently, people have started requesting certain content like…drag shows in New York. So, while I was in New York, I found a bar that would allow me to film parts of the show. People loved it.”

“Vlogging is your job?” Dryden asks, frowning, but in a tone that sounds more curious than disdainful.

“Uh, sort of. It started as a hobby, I guess. A way to sort of…distract myself from life. There is some monetary benefit to it, but it’s not regular income, so it’s hard to rely on it as a job. Definitely enough work to feel like a full-time job, though. Filtering through all the footage, editing it down, recording voice-overs. It’s a lot. Especially when I don’t have guaranteed internet.”

“Hm.” He makes a small noise of acknowledgment, fingers still tapping on the wheel.

“Anyway, when Siren’s Point came up as my next destination, everyone requested lobster fishing content. So, that’s why I’m asking. But you’re already helping me a ton, so no stress if you’re not into it. I don’t include anyone in the vlogs that doesn’t consent to it.”

“You’re quite friendly this morning,” he notes, avoiding the question. Reaching forward, I fiddle with the air vents. I’m going to get too used to being warm, and it’ll come back to bite me in the ass in a few weeks when I’m sleeping on the ground again.

“I think you’re all right. I don’t trust you, but I think you’re all right.” He snorts softly, mouth curved into a small smirk. I look back out the window, watching the trees whip by.

“I don’t mind if you film me,” Dryden says eventually. “But fair warning, it won’t be what you’re expecting. It’ll be tedious and unexciting.”

I’m not sure what kind of high-octane life Dryden Roy must live to think this is tedious. From the moment we arrive at the wharf and park in front of his boat shed, exciting things are happening. A woman is standing next to a truck, chatting with a group of guys as we pull up. Heart hammering with anxiety and jacket pockets stuffed with my filming equipment, I leave my backpack in the passenger seat of the Porsche and climb out. Dryden, who looks over at me when I close the door, drops his gaze to my shoulders but doesn’t say anything. Clicking the key fob to lock the doors, he tosses them over the top of the car to me. Surprised, I almost miss them, dropping my gloves to the ground as I fumble to catch the keys. I clench my fingers around them, metal digging into my palm as I bend to retrieve my gloves and hide my face.

Leaving the backpack in the car felt a little bit like peeling my heart from my chest and putting it in the glove box for safekeeping. I’d been planning on sticking myself to Dryden like glue, never letting him far enough out of my sight to slip into his car and drive away with my entire world in the passenger seat. But now I’m the one with the keys. The one with the power to take and to leave. It has been a very long time since someone has trusted me with anything, and nobody has ever trusted me with a car that probably cost upwards of a hundred grand. Sure, I won’t actually be driving it, but I could, and that’s the point. He gave me these keys because he knew I was more worried about my damn backpack than he apparently is about his Porsche.

Lifting my coat to slide them into the pocket of my jeans, I look up at Dryden, but all I can see is his back as he walks over to speak with the others. I follow a little slower, not wanting to just jump right into the group but also curious and not wanting to miss anything they’re saying. Every pair of eyes but Dryden’s lands on me as I near. Well used to curiosity aimed my direction, I smile.

“Randy mentioned he’d seen you yesterday with a friend,” the woman comments to Dryden, whose shoulders stiffen just a touch. She reaches out to shake my hand. “Alexandra Louise, but you can call me Lex. Rich, Mark, and Isaac.”

I nod and shake the hand of each of them as she gives introductions, before stepping back to stand next to Dryden. Not too close, but close enough that there is something of a divide between us and them as we face one another.

“Spencer Davis. Good to meet you.” Tucking my hands into my full pockets, I rock back on my heels. Lex eyes me with interest.

“Can’t say I’ve seen you around before. New to town?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I agree. Unsure whether I’m meant to tell anyone I’m staying on his property, I add on vaguely, “Thought I’d tag along with Dryden today and help out.”