Page 28 of On Dry Land

Dryden doesn’t laugh, but there’s a definite light in his eyes to go along with the smirk. He doesn’t give a whole lot away with his expressions other than disinterest, but I get the feeling that he finds me amusing. I hope so, anyway, because I’m starting to really like him, and I’d prefer the feeling be mutual.

Going up to his house last night had felt like a massive step over the boundaries I maintain to protect myself. I’d been sitting in the cottage, relaxed on the sofa, working through some editing, and unable to stop wondering what Dryden was doing. He already admitted to hiring cleaning staff, so I knew that wasn’t it. Is there any work he can do from home that maybe he was taking care of? Or was he already in bed, early to sleep and early to rise. I didn’t know the answers to any of my questions, and eventually, the curiosity had driven me out the door and across the lawn to the big house, glowing like the light at the end of the tunnel. To Dryden, sitting perfectly visible in the center of the spotlight.

Slipping into the passenger seat of the Porsche, I settle back and wait as Dryden pulls out of the lot. I want to ask if there’s another hockey game tonight and if I could come up and watch with him again. I don’t, though, because it’s an outlandish desire for me. I’m so good at being alone. I like it. All the years I’ve been walking across the country, I’ve never once felt the kind of draw toward another person that I’m feeling toward Dryden. A physical pull like he projects a gravitational field and is tugging me in. I have to care what people think of me for survival’s sake, but with him, it feels a little deeper than that. I’d like to know that he likes me and enjoys my company, that I’m not the only one stepping across a boundary, and that he’ll meet me on the other side.

“How did you fill out the W-2 if you don’t have a permanent residence?” Dryden asks suddenly, voice soft over the low purr of the engine.

“I have a PO box. I’m originally from Utah, so that’s where my ‘permanent address’ is.” I make sure to emphasize the air quotes that were implied. Dryden glances at me and then back at the road. “Sometimes employers won’t accept a PO box as a mailing address, but Rudy did.”

“Is the permanent address a fake?” he asks, again not sounding as though he’s angry, but merely trying to understand. It doesn’t bother me. If questions about my life made me uncomfortable, I wouldn’t be able to do the kind of work I do.

“No, it’s a friend’s address.”

“I see.” He lapses back into silence, and I consider bringing up all the concerns I have about working for Rudy at the vet clinic. But there’s a difference between answering a question when someone inquires and offering up the information unasked. He probably doesn’t care.

When we get to the house, I hover uncertainly near the car. Dryden glances at me and away, unconcerned. Feeling undecided, I take a few hesitant steps toward the guesthouse. My eyes snag on the pool and hold there. Heated, he’d said. Unused, he’d also said. Hating how ridiculous this internal battle I’m waging feels, I clear my throat. Maybe I can’t ask for another evening watching hockey, but I can ask for this.

“Dryden?”

“Mm.” He makes a low noise to let me know he heard me but doesn’t look up from where he’s bent over the trunk of the Porsche.

“Would you mind if I used the pool?”

Now he glances up, brows dipped in a slight frown. Straightening, he rests a forearm on the raised lid of the trunk.

“Sure. I can uncover it.” Frowning a little harder, he rubs a finger thoughtfully under his full bottom lip. “I’ve got testing strips around here somewhere. We should check the pH before you swim. It’s been a little while since I’ve had it treated. I’ll call the pool guy tomorrow and get him out.”

I wince. I should have known unused meant it was also uncared for. Now all I’m doing is giving him more things that need to be done and more money that needs to be spent on me.

“You know what, that’s okay. I don’t need to use it.”

“I’ll grab the testing kit,” he replies as though I didn’t speak at all, slamming the trunk closed and stepping around me toward the front door. Sighing, I tip my head back and glance up at the sky, puffing my cheeks out in a sharp exhale.

I’m waiting next to the pool when he returns, still frowning as he fiddles with the kit in his hands. When I see that it’s the directions he’s looking at, I smile. My dad had been of the never use instructions and just figure it out yourself variety, and it had frequently led to fights with my mom. I can’t help but find it endearing that Dryden doesn’t seem to have a problem using them.

“Easy enough,” he tells me, dropping the kit onto a lounge chair and pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. Walking around the edge of the pool, he indicates the corner opposite. “Grab that.”

Obediently, I squat down, and together, we begin rolling back the cover. It’s heavy, and by the time we get to the end, I’m wondering why the people who built this house—clearly filthy-stinking-rich—didn’t pay a little extra for an automatic pool cover.

“Good lord, why the hell isn’t this automatic, like everything else in this damn place,” Dryden comments. I burst out laughing, surprising myself and him, if the look on his face is any indication.

“Sorry,” I say, bringing it down to a chuckle. “Sorry. It’s just, I literally had the exact same thought a second before you said that.”

After sending a somewhat teasing smile in my direction, he crouches down, legs spread wide, and drifts his fingertips through the pool water. I do the same from the opposite side, surprised when it’s already warm.

“Doesn’t look like there is any visible algae,” he comments, shaking the water off his fingers before wiping them across his thigh. “It’ll take a bit to heat up fully, though. I cranked it to the highest setting while I was inside so you don’t freeze. It’ll be a hot tub shortly.”

“Oh. Right.” Feeling slightly idiotic for assuming the pool wouldn’t get any warmer than this, I clear my throat. “That cover works well. No leaves or anything.”

“Mm,” he agrees, rising and picking up the testing kit. I wander over to stand closer, wanting to help since I’m the reason he’s going through all the trouble.

It turns out the pH is just fine, and I’m touched when Dryden checks multiple water samples from different spots in the pool. That warm, fuzzy feeling evaporates slightly when he says, “I suppose we won’t know if there is any bacteria in there until you get in. Hopefully, you’ve got good health insurance.”

I roll my eyes, huffing out an amused snort of breath. He knows I don’t have any health insurance at all. Before he can leave and disappear into the big house, I gesture toward the pool and ask the question I’ve been working up to this entire time.

“Want to join me?”

It’s probably strange to be asking him that about his own pool, but he already admitted to never using it, and I know he wouldn’t have hopped in with me on his own. The thing is massive. I don’t mind sharing it, and honestly, I kind of hope I have to. He stares at me, face implacable, as he thinks through the offer.