Page 40 of On Dry Land

Dryden

Yes.

Spencer

Want company?

I type out another yes, but pause. Deleting it, I write no and hover my finger over the arrow to send it, pausing once more. Putting my phone down, I distract myself with the espresso machine. It’s infuriating to feel this incessant pull toward Spencer. It’s like I’m waging a constant tug-of-war with myself, half of me wanting to get closer to him and the other half aware of how dangerous that would be. All of me wants him. Reaching for my phone, I type out a quick yes and lock the screen. Fuck it.

Coffee in hand, I pad over to the back door and unlock it. I have a momentary thought for the amount of snow Spencer will have to wade through and wonder if I should call the removal company to see if they can come a little earlier and clear a few paths through the yard. It’s too late to worry about it now, as I see movement near the cottage and watch the shape of Spencer coming into view. He trudges in my direction, shoulders hunched and face angled downward, away from the wind. He slips twice, righting himself easily, but slowing down as he skirts around the pool and approaches the back door. I slide it open, watching as he fruitlessly tries to kick the snow off the soles of his boots.

“Fancy a swim?” I ask him. He looks up at me through his lashes, bending down to untie his boots and leave them at the door.

“Or we could build a snow fort,” he replies. I stare down at the top of his head, unable to remember a time anyone has suggested that to me. Straightening, he tugs off his beanie and looks me up and down, grinning. “Or not, since you’re still in your pajamas.”

“It’s early,” I remind him, deciding to ignore the fact that it’s hours later than the time I’d already be at work, usually, on a morning I was hauling.

“I can help you shovel, if you want,” he tells me, shrugging off his coat and leaving it draped over the back of the couch like he usually does.

“No need. I hire a snow removal company.”

He laughs, tipping his head back and smiling up at the ceiling. I stare at the curve of his throat and the slope of his jaw. He must shave every day. I haven’t seen him with facial hair since he got rid of the beard.

“Of course you do.” It’s not derogatory, and in fact, he sounds happy at the realization, like I’ve done the exact thing he expected of me. I shrug, unconcerned. I don’t like shoveling snow. I can afford to pay someone to do it, so why wouldn’t I?

“Coffee?” I offer, waving him toward the kitchen. I’m curious as to what he thinks we’ll be doing during this visit. It’s the earliest he’s ever come over to my half of the property. Usually, in the evenings, we’ll sit together during his swimming sessions. Occasionally, he’ll join me for a hockey game. Other than that, the only time we see one another before noon is when I’m able to give him a ride to work.

“Thanks.”

Leaning against the counter, I sip my own while I watch him at the machine. He goes through the steps smoothly, familiar after I showed him how to use it. Unlike me, he’s dressed for the day and not leisure—jeans and a sweater that I’ve seen him wear four days this week. I’m fairly certain he has a revolving door of two outfits, plus the medical scrubs Rudy gave him for work at the veterinary clinic. Part of me wants to buy him more—and, it has to be said, better-quality—items, but most of me understands this would be crossing a line. I haven’t yet forgotten the way he’d made a point to let me know he doesn’t deal in favors. If I’m not careful, things I mean as gifts may very well come across as trying to buy him.

Leaving him to grab the milk from the fridge, I take a seat on the couch and sigh. I’m really starting to hate this thing. Briefly, I wonder what would happen if I retreated back to my bedroom, whether Spencer would follow and join me.

“What’re you thinking about?”

I glance up, shifting my legs as Spencer walks in front of me and takes a seat one cushion over from mine. I stare at the middle distance, momentarily distracted. He’s never sat so close to me outside of the Porsche before.

“Mm?”

“Your face. You looked mad. What’re you thinking about? Work?” He lifts his mug to his face, inhaling.

“Bed.” At his blank stare, I clarify. “I was thinking about going back to bed.”

“It’s almost seven in the morning.”

“And so?”

He contemplates me, and I have no compunctions about staring right back. I really do admire the color of his eyes. His face is too sharp to be boyish, features a little too mismatched to be considered beautiful. But those eyes. Framed by thick, dark lashes, he’s got the loveliest caramel-brown eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Still thinking about bed?” he murmurs, lowering the mug and turning sideways on the couch to face me, one shoulder pressed against the back. I raise my eyebrows at the come-on. I hadn’t been, but now I am.

“Thinking of joining me?” I ask, letting the offer settle on that couch cushion between us. He can do what he wants with it.

Spencer takes a breath deep enough that I can see the rise and fall of his chest, the clavicle peeking out the stretched collar of his sweater. He’s a rather thoughtful individual, prone to thinking things through before speaking, and I find myself unable to help but compare him to Shiloh. I’d wanted someone as unlike Dylan as I could possibly find after we’d separated. Dylan who was loud and boisterous and the recipient of every spotlight. There hadn’t been much that attracted me to Shiloh physically the first time I saw him, too used to desiring gym-toned bodies and meticulously groomed faces. But it had happened, eventually. More than the physical, though, it was his personality I liked. Quiet where I’d been used to loud. Thoughtful where I’d always dealt with selfish. Kind, even when I didn’t deserve it or do anything to earn it.

I should have left Shiloh alone, should have kept our relationship professional. I shouldn’t have soothed my broken edges with his and taken things I didn’t deserve or often appreciate. But, as I learned and was constantly reminded of during my divorce, I am nothing if not self-serving. I felt safe in the understanding that Shiloh would probably never love me and already knew the same thing about myself. That was the other thing I learned in my divorce—that what I thought was love for my husband might not have been love at all, and that maybe I wasn’t even capable of it.

Looking at Spencer now, I wonder if this will turn out to be more or less of a mistake than my previous relationships. Perhaps it will work out perfectly. We can enjoy each other’s company, and when we’re both through, he can walk away, and I can go back to how my life was before. I won’t run the risk of hurting my presence in Siren’s Point the way I did dating Shiloh. Spencer will be gone, I’ll remain, and everything will be fine. And, unlike with Shiloh, physical attraction will apparently not be a problem.