Page 70 of On Dry Land

I stare at him. The most talking we’ve done since we broke up is a conversation on the pier about tide patterns. I open my mouth to tell him to leave, before I reconsider. It could be about Oliver. Stepping back, I flippantly gesture him inside. I don’t care if the king of England himself comes knocking; this is the last person I’m talking to for the rest of the day.

Shiloh toes off his shoes, one hand on the wall to stabilize himself. He’s smiling and looking over at Demon, who has roused herself from her feast long enough to notice we’ve got company. He crouches down, knees spread wide, as she ambles over to sniff at his socks.

“You have a kitten,” Shiloh says wonderingly. I roll my eyes.

“She ruins all my clothes.”

“She has a mustache,” he replies, rubbing a finger under her chin. “What’s her name?”

“Demon.”

He snorts, tilting his head to grin up at me. I don’t have any smiles in me, so I merely turn away and put the toaster pastries away.

“Hailey Johnson come by?” Shiloh asks. I arch an eyebrow at him over my shoulder, and he shrugs. Scooping up the kitten, he stands. She’s purring against his chest when he comes to stand next to me, the little traitor.

“Yes. It would appear I’m in mourning,” I tell him dryly, gesturing toward the dish.

“She’s a good cook.”

Sighing, I resign myself to the eventuality of eating a real meal for dinner and not snack food. It’s still a little warm as I scoop out serving sizes suitable for a family of four for both Shiloh and me. My stomach grumbles.

“I hope you cracked a window for your boyfriend,” I tell Shiloh, gesturing vaguely toward where his truck is parked out front. He chuckles.

“Ewan’s out of town for work.”

“And you thought you’d spend that time visiting your old boyfriend?” I clarify, slightly incredulously. Shiloh isn’t the type to cheat at cards, let alone on a person, but I have very little grace to spare in that department. Every face I see is shaped like a liar, to me.

“His idea, actually. This is nice.” He looks around the small room. “I can’t believe I’ve never been back here.”

I shrug. There was never a reason for me to show him the cottage. Shiloh rarely spent time at my house, and when he was here, we generally spent the time in the master bedroom. We settle on the couch, as it’s the only place to sit other than the bed, the pair of us on opposite ends and leaning against the armrests. Shiloh puts Demon down, and she walks softly over the cushions, climbing into my lap and spinning around in circles. She huffs as she settles down, curled into a little black donut. Shiloh watches the whole thing with a disturbingly sappy expression on his face.

“Enough. Wipe that look off your face,” I tell him. Plate in one hand, I stroke a finger down the kitten’s back.

“Heard from Spencer?” Shiloh asks.

“I’m not doing this with you,” I warn him, voice low and biting. In fact, I’m not doing it with anyone. Spencer is off-limits.

“Ewan likes to watch his videos,” Shiloh continues in a calm, unwavering tone. It was always hard to shake him when we were together, and he seems to have only become steadier in the meantime. I’ve never met a man so firmly planted as Shiloh Lepage. “He says he hasn’t posted an update lately, which is unusual.”

I stare at him, unable to maintain the cool, slightly condescending smirk I like to wear in the hopes of dissuading people from talking to me. I haven’t gone looking at Spencer’s social media. Not yet. Not when he hasn’t been gone a week, and the wound hasn’t stitched itself closed yet. Weak though it makes me, I didn’t think I could stand seeing him smiling as he filmed himself walking out of town.

“How does Ewan know what’s unusual and what isn’t?”

“Apparently, there’s an update posted every morning and every evening like clockwork. Ewan follows his stuff, like I said, and according to him, two days of silence isn’t the norm.”

Demon rumbles softly as she sleeps, a low-grade purr I can feel through my fingertips when I touch her. Two days could mean anything and nothing at all. He could be conserving battery life or taking a break from vlogging altogether. He could be in trouble.

“We haven’t spoken, nor are we likely to in the future. He’s gone,” I tell Shiloh. And myself, because of the two of us, I fear I’m the one who needs the reminder.

“For now,” he agrees softly. Kind in a way that makes me feel defensive. I’d like for him to eat his damn food and go. But because he didn’t come knocking on my door for nothing, he settles back and ignores the food altogether. “I think things will work out.”

“Things never work out,” I tell him. Not even his own shiny new relationship will keep. Everything, including love, has a shelf life.

He sits with that for a second, not snapping back at me the way both of us know I want him to. I’m usually so good at keeping myself aligned, at controlling my emotions. I feel as though these past few months have scraped me raw, rubbed off the protective armor and reminded me of the person I was before I learned better.

“You know, if you push people away, eventually they will go,” Shiloh says, and I almost laugh. I certainly can’t argue. He has firsthand experience. And he’s right, even though he may not be privy to precisely what happened. Spencer is gone, I’m still here, and it doesn’t take a betting man to put money on the person who did the pushing.

“I don’t need this, Loh,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”