“It was that bad. I have pretty severe stage fright. I’ve had it ever since I was a kid.”
“Oh.” I stop in my tracks. Drew stops too and turns to look at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of that. I wouldn’t had I known . . .”
“It’s okay, Alia. If people were to watch my tape and see how I froze up and stared wide-eyed into the camera for almost a solid minute, they’d probably have a good laugh. I mean, I spent weeks memorizing those lines. Hosting was something I’d wanted to break into since I started out in this business. But one look at that camera, all those producers and the casting director staring right at me, and poof. I forgot everything. I just stuttered, then ran out of the room.” He groans and rubs a hand over his face. “Kind of embarrassing to suck at something you wanted so badly.”
He starts to walk ahead, but I grab his hand, stopping him.
“Drew, no decent person would laugh at that. That was an incredibly high-stress moment. I mean, would you laugh at a person having a nervous breakdown or bursting into tears? You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Instead of answering me, he looks down at our joined hands. I immediately let go. “Sorry,” I mumble, my face fiery. Why did I think it would be okay to grab him?
But when I glance up, a small smile tugs at his lips. “No worries, Dunn.”
I continue walking forward, stopping right where the gigantic sandstone starts to jut up from the earth and form the whale formation.
“I’m sorry to hear how your audition went.”
Drew shrugs. “It was years ago. It just goes to show I’m not meant to be a host. I should have known given what a hard time I have controlling my nerves sometimes.”
The urge to argue with him hits my tongue. I’ve been on countless shoots, with more hosts than I can remember, and none of them possess the natural ease and charm that Drew has.
“I hope you change your mind someday,” I say. “I think you’d be amazing at it.”
Drew’s stubbly cheeks flush red as his mouth curves up. He gestures to my pack. “Here, let me carry that. It’ll be easier for you to scramble up the rock without it weighing you down.”
I thank him, quietly giddy at how he gestures for me to go first after explaining how much safer it is for him to be behind me.
And then he taps the small of my back and I get a flashback to that night at the Brazen Head when he pulled the same move as he walked me out, right before we shared that knee-wobbling kiss on the sidewalk.
I swallow as his hand falls away and he gestures to the rock.
“In case you lose your footing, I can break your fall,” he huffs behind me as we scramble up the steepest part of the rock face.
“If anyone’s losing their footing, it’s you in those sneakers,” I tease as I make my way ahead of him.
Behind me Drew’s low, throaty chuckle sounds. The rest of the way up we say nothing, just huffs of air and grunts. When we reach the top of Whale Rock, we stop to catch our breath.
“Damn, that’s pretty,” Drew says through an exhale. Canyons stretch in every direction. Bright green shrubs pop from the orange-red desert surrounding us.
“If we can convince Wyatt and Joe to hike up here with the camera equipment tomorrow, we could get some gorgeous shots to use as online clips,” he says.
“Joe will be all over it, but Wyatt might be a harder sell. I’ll probably have to bribe him.”
We walk along the top of the rock all the way to the other side and stop several feet from the edge.
Drew wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm, then looks at me. “Wanna sit?”
“Sure.”
He lowers himself into a sitting position, then pats the spot next to him. For a long moment, all we do is sit and stare at the endless canyon in front of us.
“Tell me about your grandma,” Drew says.
“I owe my love of Utah, traveling, and nature to her. Both of my parents traveled a ton for work when my brother and I were little, so we stayed with her a lot.”
“What did your parents do for a living?”
“They were both in the military. We moved a lot because of it, so I was used to never staying in one place for very long. But there were a couple times when they were stationed overseas for months at a time, and they didn’t want to take us out of school, so we’d live with our grandma.”
“That must have been hard,” he says softly. It makes goose bumps flash across my skin, how gentle and caring he sounds.
“Saying good-bye was always so hard. I always cried when they left—they did too. But staying with my grandma was the best. She would take us on road trips almost every weekend. One time they were stationed out of the country for an entire summer, so Apong Lita took us on a road trip. We hit up as many national parks as we could in one summer. Utah was my favorite state that we visited.”
I pause, thinking about the first time I ever laid eyes on the Needles.
“It’s like being on a whole new planet,” Drew says while gazing ahead.
“It’s so different from New York. Everything from the landscape to the weather to the lifestyle. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I adore the city and how bustling it is with people from all over the world. And the fact that you can get any type of food at all hours of the day and night. You definitely can’t get that in Moab. But living in a crowded city can feel so stifling. I love being able to travel all over the place for work, and when I get to come to places like this, where it’s all open spaces and the landscape is practically endless, it’s like a reset. Even the air here is different. It smells like shrubbery and dirt . . . but in a good way.” I take a breath. “I get to miss New York for a bit while basking in this openness.” I scrunch my nose. “God, that sounds corny.”
“Not corny in the slightest, Dunn. I totally get what you mean.”
He turns his head to me, a sweet half smile tugging at his mouth.
“It’s probably weird that I dreamed up an entire travel series because of one vacation with my grandma.”
“It’s not. At all,” Drew says. “Honestly, I get so sick of working on shows where the only objective is to appease advertisers or executives. This series actually has sentiment and meaning.”
His words settle at the center of my chest, like a warm hug. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
“Just speaking the truth.”
“Well, truthfully, I wanted to pitch something else entirely—something a lot more ambitious.”
“Which was?”
“An international series in the Philippines.” Excitement bubbles in my stomach at the mention of the idea. “When I was little, my grandma would show me pictures of Palawan. She and my mom are originally from Northern Luzon, but their family loved vacationing on Palawan Island. The white-sand beaches there look so gorgeous. And there are all these rocky cliffs covered in this lush, vibrant greenery. She would talk about how growing up she had a blast exploring all these hidden coves and lagoons. When I was little I’d ask her to tell me about her adventures there over and over. We always said we’d go there for a family vacation, but we never got around to it. My parents were always busy with work and traveling. And then my grandma passed away when I was in high school.”
“I’m sorry,” Drew says quietly, his eyes fixed on me.
“That’s life. You don’t always get to do what you plan.” I clear my throat. “Producing a travel show in the Philippines would be another dream come true. Actually, having a travel series where I can highlight lesser-known vacation spots there and around the world would be the ultimate dream.”
Drew frowns. “So why didn’t you pitch that?”
“International travel shows are expensive. The network wasn’t going to give me, a producer who’s never been in charge of a series before, a generous budget and just let me have at it. They tend to only do that if yo
u’ve proven yourself. And this Utah series is how I’ll hopefully prove myself.”
That excitement in my stomach turns to anxiety. If only I had a different host, I’d be one thousand percent confident of producing a killer series and blowing away the network execs. But Blaine is such a wild card. We’re not even two weeks into shooting and he’s already derailed so much. So far we’ve all been able to contain it . . . but can I really do damage control for almost five more weeks?
I push the thought aside just as Drew speaks.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, because I think what you’re doing with this Utah series is brilliant. Not only will the national parks in Utah get a boost from this show, but I think all the national parks across the country will too.” Drew pauses to clear his throat. “But you shouldn’t sell yourself short. You should have pitched your international idea to the network. I think they would have gone for it.”
“You don’t know the network execs.”
I think back on the patronizing lecture that Byron gave me the day I pitched Discovering Utah on the importance of taking risks.
“You’ll never know what will work out if you don’t try, Alia.”
“That’s nice advice in theory. But when your ideas constantly get shot down, you start to pick up on what will work for you and what won’t. But that’s par for the course in this business. The network executives—the people who say yes or no to everyone’s pitches—are all old white dudes who don’t seem to want to try anything different. They almost always say yes to the male producers’ pitches, though—more often than they do to female producers’ pitches.”
I mention the reality TV series that a male colleague pitched where a dozen people signed up to work at a horse-racing stable, then competed to see who was the best at breeding horses.
Drew squints at me. “Wait, what?”
“There were multiple episodes filmed where the contestants had to collect sperm from stallions and then inseminate the mares. That was the whole hook of the show.”
He stammers, then shakes his head when he gives up on trying to say anything.
“And then there was the documentary that another producer pitched about squirrels. Like, just following around squirrels all day, every day, for weeks. That was a snoozefest. And a ratings bomb. But he got another series idea green-lit because the execs thought he deserved another chance.” I swallow, trying hard not to sound too bitter. “Brooke has had to fight for almost every series she’s pitched. She’s won awards for her work and still her ideas get rejected a lot of the time. And she’s not the only woman at Expedition who goes through that. I’ll have to go through that too if I want to keep producing my own shows. I accept that. I mean, I’m not happy about it, but I’m not surprised that I have to do it either.”
Drew looks at me. “I’m sorry they’ve stifled you and made you feel like your ideas aren’t good enough. But believe me when I tell you that this series is one of the best I’ve worked on. The script is tight and well written. The ideas you come up with for opening and closing shots are brilliant. You have an artist’s eye. And the crew loves working with you.”
I stammer as I try to say thank you, blown away at the caliber of his compliments.
“It’s upsetting that you haven’t been given the opportunity to showcase your skills before this,” he says. “I know we haven’t worked together for very long, but I could tell right away how talented you are. You’re one of the best I’ve ever worked with. And when you finally get to make your international series, I’m certain people will love it.”
It takes a second for me to process his words. But when they finally register, I feel heartened in a way I haven’t before whenever I’ve chatted with guys about the frustrations of being a woman in this industry.
“Thank you,” I say. “That means . . . honestly, it’s hard to put into words how much that means.”
He flashes the most beautiful smile. For a minute we share another comfortable silence while taking in the scenery. Then we decide to hike back.
Drew pops up, offering his hand to help me up.
“Such a gentleman, even in the wilderness,” I joke as we walk back down to the other edge of the rock to meet up with the trail.
“I think it’s fitting that the subway gentleman be a wilderness gentleman too.”
I stop dead in my tracks and turn to look at him. He wears a smug grin.
“Wait, you . . . you saw that photo?”
“Yup.”
“Shit.” I cover my face with my hands and groan.
Just then I feel Drew’s hands on my wrists. He gently pulls my hands down. “It’s okay, Dunn. I was flattered.”
“That’s a relief. But still . . . kind of embarrassing for you to see it.”
“Is it?”
He offers me his hand again as I make my way down the side of Whale Rock to the trail on the ground.
“Well, yeah,” I say after my feet hit the dirt and we head back to the parking lot. “When I took that photo, I didn’t think anything would come of it. I didn’t even know your name.”
“I saw it the night after we met up,” he says.
“You did?”
He nods. “When I saw the original tweet, I figured that was you. I was psyched. I thought I’d be able to message you, but your DMs were closed. So then I thought if I tagged you in a post, you’d see it and then I could get ahold of you . . .”
“You did?”
“Yeah, but you never responded. I’m guessing your notifications were blowing up.”
“Um, yeah, actually. I turned off the notifications on my phone and stopped checking my Twitter account because there were so many.”
“I figured. When I never heard from you, I was pretty crushed.” His expression turns sheepish.
“Why didn’t you mention this when we saw each other at the hotel again?”
“I was going to, but you seemed kind of upset about it still. I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it more than you had to.”
“Right.” I glance down at the ground. “I was crushed too,” I say softly. “I had such a great time with you. I was eager to pick up where we left off.”
I’m blown away at how candid we’re both being with each other right now. But that’s the beauty of hiking with someone. You’re either walking side by side or one person in front of the other. You don’t have to make direct, unnerving eye contact. It’s like being in a makeshift confessional out in nature. It’s so much easier to be honest when you don’t have to look someone in the eye.
“It was the biggest letdown when you never called,” I admit.
I pick up the pace, walking ahead of him. We reach Drew’s truck, he unlocks it, and we climb in without another word. We’re on the highway when he finally speaks.
“You don’t believe that I actually shattered my phone on the subway tracks, do you?” His tone isn’t accusatory. More like inquisitive.
“I didn’t at first,” I say, looking out the passenger window. “I believe you now, though.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“How you acted during the first day of filming. The way you stood up for Rylan and called out Blaine. A truly good person who gives a crap about those kinds of things wouldn’t stand someone up.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
“I guess I’ve just gotten burned one too many times in the dating and relationships department. I always jump to the worst conclusion until proven otherwise.”
It’s weird admitting that out loud to Drew just now. I’ve thought it a million times to myself over the past few years, but I’ve never said it.
I turn my head to look at him; he’s nodding along like he can relate to what I’ve said. Even though our conversation has taken a slightly serious turn, the comfort remains.
The next several miles to Moab pas
s in silence. Then as we pull into town, Drew clears his throat.
“You know, when I walked into the hotel meeting room my first day in Moab, I was shocked to see you. More than shocked, actually . . . I thought that maybe . . .”
I hold my breath, my heart pounding as I wait for him to finish his sentence. He pulls into the hotel parking lot and turns the engine off. He turns to me and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. A long second passes; then he shakes his head and turns away.
I have no idea what to say in this awkward, tension-riddled moment, so I grab my pack from the back seat. “Okay, well . . . thanks for scouting with me. And, um, for the ride too,” I say quietly. I open the door and hop out, but before I can close it, Drew stops me.
“Dunn, wait a sec.”
I stand just outside the passenger seat. He stares at me with a new kind of intensity. The longer I look at him, the more I question it. Intensity doesn’t seem like the right word. Maybe regret?
My stomach does a backflip, and I swallow. Damn. Just his gaze is doing things to me.
“I should have done everything differently the night we met.” The edge of his jaw bulges, and he rasps a breath.
“Like what?”
He’s twisted in his seat to face me, his arm braced on the top of the steering wheel. “I should have said screw it and gone home with you.”
His chest heaves, and he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. I have to bite my lip just to keep myself from diving across the seat and taking his mouth for myself.
My gaze fixes on his eyes and how wild they look when he speaks. “What would you have done when we got to my apartment?”
He swallows, his neck flushing red. “I would have waited until you shut the door behind you. Then I would have pressed your—”
A car honk interrupts us. We turn our heads in the direction of the sound, which is a few spaces away from the spot where Drew’s parked. Rylan waves at us as she hops out of Wyatt’s van. Both of them hold stacks of pizza boxes in their arms.
“Surprise!” she says. “Dinner! Haley’s treat. So nice of her, right?”
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