Chapter 19 #2
“I drew the lobster,” I remind him in a weak attempt at self-defense.
“Yes, you did. And then you gave it to someone who loves it. So you tell me what lesson is meant to be learned from that.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I grumble, scowling at a coastal bird flying by, who, admittedly, has done nothing to earn the ire.
“Tell me what’s actually wrong, kid,” Daniel requests, dropping his voice and adopting a little bit kinder of a tone.
“I want to stay.” The words come out barely above a whisper, but once they’re out, the effect is immediate.
Those four simple words have been taking up so much space in my chest, expanding against my lungs until it was a struggle to breathe.
I inhale a mouthful of salty coastal air, feeling as lightheaded as though I really was low on oxygen.
“Then stay,” Daniel replies, completely missing the point. “It’s not as though there was a set plan. You’re not booked for any shows, and you can work without the studio space for now. Stay as long as you like.”
“I want to stay forever.”
This time, the silence expands like a bubble, a physical thing pushing at the boundaries and waiting to see whether they’ll collapse.
“Okay,” he says eventually. I squint down at the rocks between my feet, trying to parse through his tone. Mad? Resigned? Wishing he worked for a different flighty artist?
“Okay?”
“Might take some doing, but we can make it work. You’ll be racking up a crap-ton of frequent-flyer miles going back and forth.
” He hums a little bit the way he does when he’s thinking hard.
“How’s the housing market up there? I’d say you could rent studio space, but since you’re prone to getting up in the middle of the night to paint, it might be best to keep everything at home—”
“Daniel,” I interrupt, because while I appreciate the enthusiasm, I’m not sure listening to a stream of consciousness about all the problems that need to be solved before I can live here is going to help my anxiety.
“I’ll work on figuring things out,” he says swiftly. “Are you wanting to find a more permanent place sooner rather than later, or are you comfortable in that long-term rental? The Kelp Castle or whatever.”
“Kelpie Kottage,” I correct, chuckling. “And I’m fine there for now. I haven’t been staying there much lately, anyway.”
“Mm-hm.” He hums, entirely too knowing. “I’ll take a look at the real estate up there and see what I can come up with.”
“It’s probably not great,” I admit. “People don’t really leave Siren’s Point. Shiloh bought his property after someone who’d lived in it their entire life died.”
“Well, maybe Shiloh would have space for a wayward artist,” Daniel replies cheekily. Shaking my head and adding an eye roll for good measure, I push myself back to standing. I feel better, which is pretty usual. Daniel is good at smacking sense back into me.
“It would probably be better if I lived alone.” I start walking back up toward Shiloh’s house, passing by the perfectly kickable rock and leaving it be for now. “I don’t want to be a leech.”
“Well, however it works out, I’ll find you something regardless.” He pauses, and I can feel the words building up in the silence. I wait. After a moment, he says, “So, it’s serious with this guy, then?”
I smile, happy that my assistant is sometimes pushed behind the adopted father persona.
“Yeah,” I agree, “it is. It’s always been serious with him.”
“Okay. Glad to hear we aren’t considering uprooting your entire life for a pretty one-night stand.”
“First of all, he’s very pretty. Second, what the hell do you know about one-night stands? Also, ew, don’t talk to me about sex.”
Daniel snorts. “Listen, I’m old, not dead. If you knew the things—”
“Bye, Daniel. Thank you for your help.”
I hang up before I can hear about all the “things” he was just going to say that would likely make me wish it were possible to bleach my ears.
Thinking that maybe I’ll try to make Shiloh dinner for a change, I quicken my pace toward his house.
I’m going to have food on the table for my man to come home to.
“Ugh, of course,” I mutter, pulling into the parking lot at the harbor at the same time as Dryden Roy. I give myself half a second to consider if I’m petty and childish enough to pretend I didn’t see him, before I push open my door and wave a hello. I can be polite.
“Howdy,” I say, and then immediately groan, inwardly flinching. Howdy? When have I ever said howdy in my fucking life?
“Howdy, partner,” Dryden Roy replies, the words so sarcastic they’re liable to catch fire if I were to flick a match his direction. He pops the trunk on his car, ignoring me so expertly I’d believe he didn’t know I was here if he hadn’t just spoken directly to my face.
“A little late to be heading out to haul,” I comment. He doesn’t reply, so I add, “Nice day for it, though.”
“Did you need something?” he asks, glancing around as though trying to figure out why I’m breathing air so closely to him. My eye twitches.
“Just being friendly.”
“I’m sure you could find someone else to be friendly with,” he notes, delivering it so dryly I can tell it’s not a joke. I have the sudden vivid fantasy of slamming the trunk of his car on his pretty, long-boned fingers.
“I could,” I agree, and silently add, but I’m going to stay right here and bother the shit out of you instead.
Silently, I stand there with my hands shoved into the pocket of my hoodie, watching as he pulls a crate of stuff out of the trunk. It’s a little unwieldy, if the way he’s trying to maneuver it is any indication. When he finally gets it out, he turns, spots me, and pauses. I smile.
“Here. Make yourself useful, then.” The plastic crate is shoved none too gently into my chest, and I barely manage to get my arms around it before he’s letting go. I’d been feeling a little bad for how things ended between him and Shiloh, but he sure doesn’t make that easy. What a dick.
He pulls another crate of supplies out, balances it on his hip, and slams the trunk closed.
He doesn’t even glance my direction as he strides off toward the pier, his boat one of the only ones still there.
On the other side, Shiloh’s slip is empty.
Not for long, though, as he usually comes in around the same time each afternoon, hence my presence here waiting for him.
I could have just waited at home—his home, that is—but the urge to get out was strong, and the back patio hadn’t provided quite enough distance for me.
“Put it there,” Dryden instructs me, tipping his head to the side in a clear indication of leaving the crate on the dock and not following him on board his boat. I give it a second’s thought before I clamber down behind him. I can be a dick, too.
He sighs when he realizes I’m still behind him, and I smile.
I put my crate next to his and look around.
His boat—Maiden Seas—is larger than Shiloh’s and has a slick, fancier feel to it.
Less used, perhaps, although the equipment and general setup is the same.
I walk the length of the boat, running a hand along everything idly.
It’s a nice vessel. I wonder how many crew members he runs for a boat this size.
“As fond as I am of your presence,” Dryden says, “I do have some work to do.”
When I look over at him, he’s bent over a trap, face hidden as he fiddles with something. I move a little closer, wanting to see what he’s doing. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to run a commercial fishing boat, and he definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to repair his own traps.
“Need help?” I offer, which earns me such a heavy sigh, I laugh. “Okay, never mind. I guess I just wanted to see if we were good.”
“I don’t know you well enough to have an opinion of you.
If that makes us ‘good,’ then we’re good.
” He moves to the side, and I have to take a quick step backward to avoid him bumping into me.
I’m floored that this is the guy Shiloh spent the past couple of years with.
He’s got more attitude than me, and frankly, that’s saying something.
“I didn’t come back home with the intention of messing anything up between you and Shiloh.”
“Cute that you think you have that much power over anything I do,” he replies silkily. I nod. Fair enough.
“Well…” I trail off, not really sure what, if any, reply could be given to that. Maybe I should just do what the man so clearly wishes and leave. “Okay. That’s all I wanted to say, I guess. I’m sorry if—”
“Buddy”—Dryden’s gaze is disdainful when it meets mine—“I think you might be mistaking me for someone who gives a shit.”
“You’re really a delight to be around,” I tell him warmly, making it sound as though I’m bestowing some great compliment on him. He snorts, because he doesn’t give a damn what I think. I kind of like the fucker. I know one thing, though: there is no way he acted like this around Shiloh.
“Listen, I get where you’re coming from, but this”—he gestures between us—“is unnecessary. I’m not the guy for Loh, and I wasn’t the guy for him when we met either. I was just keeping the bed warm.”
He straightens after he says this, turning to face me, crossing his arms casually over his chest and leaning back against the stack of traps. The smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly how much I want to hit him after that pronouncement.
“Seems like you might have something you want to say after all,” I grit out through clenched teeth. Dryden shrugs, nonchalant.
“Consider me a curious bystander, watching the train derail and waiting for the crash.”
“Poetic,” I deadpan. “And somehow, meaningless.”
“I think you’re trash,” he says mildly, voice so calm and even he could have been giving me a compliment. “I think you’re a selfish piece of shit who feels so secure in Shiloh’s love that you can do whatever you want with it.”