Page 35 of On Dry Land

Rudy leaves the kennel area with a murmured reminder about taking my break. I nod, watching him disappear through the door that leads to the exam rooms. This time, when the dog barks, I don’t jump. I wonder what kind of dog it is and what they’re here for. Vaccinations, maybe, or just a routine exam. Vomiting, perhaps, as that’s a common reason dog owners get nervous and bring them in. Hopefully nothing too serious, whatever it is.

When I finish the cages, I put my hands on my lower back and stretch. Dutifully, I log in to the old computer and clock out for a thirty-minute break. I brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, slightly squished in the plastic bag. Needing a break from the artificial indoor lighting, I take my sandwich out front. It’s cold as hell, and the bench feels freezing beneath my legs when I take a seat. The fresh air is nice, though. I hate being trapped indoors for long periods of time and find it hard to believe I ever enjoyed working ten- and twelve-hour days at the veterinary hospital, all without ever leaving the building. It makes me itch to think about it, a bit of claustrophobia finding me as I remember.

Taking a bite of my sandwich, I fish my cell phone out and bring up the streaming service I post my videos on. Clicking my profile, I suck in a sharp breath and choke, turning my face into my elbow and coughing so hard my eyes water. Wishing I had some water, I take a couple steadying breaths and lower the hand holding my sandwich down to my leg, focusing on the screen of my phone.

“This can’t be right,” I say to myself, looking at the view count on the “Welcome to Siren’s Point!” vlog. I have never, in all the time I’ve been doing this, had that many views in less than twelve hours. Hell, I’ve never had that many views in twenty-four.

Toggling over to the comments, I read through a few. The top messages are from regulars. People who comment on every single video, without fail, even if it’s just a simple love this! I grin as I scroll through, taking a few screenshots of the best ones. I fucking knew people would lose their minds over Dryden.

I almost forget to eat and spend the last five minutes of my break swallowing down my sandwich as fast as I can. My jaw is still stuck closed with peanut butter when I go back inside, waving to Shelby at the reception desk. She pretends not to see me, pecking away at her keyboard as I slip into the back.

The rest of the day seems to pass slowly. Or perhaps I’m just too focused on watching the time, eager to head home and find Dryden. When I’m finally released from my duties, I step outside and can’t help but smile at the sight of the Porsche idling at the curb, paint gleaming in the murky winter light. Opening the passenger door, I slip inside and aim that smile Dryden’s way.

“Hey,” I greet him.

“Hello,” he says, sounding somewhat confused. I suppose I’m not usually this enthusiastic, but I really have been spending the day counting the minutes until I could see him. I can’t wait to tell him about the video.

“Have a good haul?” I ask, reaching for my seat belt. I was disappointed to wake up to a text message from him, sent at three thirty this morning, letting me know he was hauling today and wouldn’t be able to drive me into town. Disappointed less because I’d have to ride in with Rudy and more because I was jealous. I want to go hauling, too.

“Fine,” he tells me, the car sliding smoothly away from the curb. “Good day?”

“Yeah. Hey, listen to this, you’ll never believe—wait, where are we going?” Dryden, who is supposed to take a left off Main, has gone straight through the light and missed his turn. Frowning, I sit up straighter in my seat, trying to ignore the immediate stab of fear in my gut.

“Picking up dinner.” He glances over, lips turned down in a frown. “But I can drop you off if you’d prefer.”

“No, that’s okay.” Relaxing back in my seat, I twist my fingers together. “Dinner from, like, a restaurant?”

“Yes. It won’t take long,” he tells me, as though I have anywhere else to be. “What will I never believe?”

“What?”

“You said ‘you’ll never believe.’ What will I never believe?”

“Oh.” Chuckling, I pull my phone out of my pocket and open the photos, clicking one of the screenshots I took earlier. “I posted a new video this morning—your video—and it blew up. A hundred and fifty thousand views already. The internet is frothing at the mouth for you.”

“Excuse me?” he asks, and I have to swallow down a laugh at the haughty tone. Clearing my throat, I start to read.

“Hello, tall, dark, and gorgeous.” Pausing to receive the incredulous look Dryden sends to my side of the car, I hold up a finger for him to wait. I read the next one. “I may be naught but a simple landlubber, but I sure do admire the cut of his jib. Oh, this one is good, too. Those knots are a little sloppy, maybe he needs something new to practice on. I volunteer.”

“Stop,” Dryden says.

“Hold on, it gets better. How about this one: he can shiver my timbers anytime he wants. Or, my personal favorite: I now identify as a lobster.”

“You’re making these up.”

“The internet is a wild place, Dry, and you just became the latest thirst trap. No pun intended.”

Instead of laughing the way I’d hoped he would, Dryden pulls the car to a stop at a red light and looks at me, draping a hand casually over the gear shift. It’s the same way he always looks at me, but with a touch of something new. I resist the urge to fidget, holding eye contact with him until the light turns green, and he’s the first to look away. Tugging down the zipper on my coat, I try to give myself a little air. It’s hot in here.

“My knots aren’t sloppy,” he says, breaking a silence that had felt somewhat alive with possibility. For just a moment, I thought he was going to reach across the car and touch me.

“That’s not what Tif says,” I reply, raising my eyebrows when he side-eyes me. “But don’t worry, she’s volunteering to help you practice.”

“I’ll try to contain my excitement,” he deadpans.

“Most of these comments are from women who want to…marry you,” I tell him, giving the PG version of what most of these commenters actually want to do to him.

“I cannot imagine anything less tempting.”