Christmas with a Chimera, page 11
Maybe that was what had happened. She’d seen him and decided he wasn’t worth it.
“Arthur. Arthur!”
Arthur jolted. He looked up to find Rusty waving his cap in front of his face expectantly.
“It is not cold enough for you to be spacey in here,” Rusty announced, shoving his cap back on his balding head. “Hey. So. Wanted to talk to you about something, bud.”
He inched his chair over. Arthur did the same, eyeing a fairy fluttering at the end of the bar with a dishcloth. She’d gotten Arthur to sign her boobs that first night, and she looked like she was going to do her damnedest to listen in before an elderly minotaur hobbled over and pointed toward a broken glass near the toilets.
The fairy fluttered toward where he was pointing, a broom in her hand.
Arthur turned back to Rusty, satisfied no one was going to spill their secrets to the closest tabloid. “What’s up?”
“We think it’d be a good idea for you and Jen to start something before the movie comes out next year.”
Arthur felt his tail flick behind him. He stilled it immediately. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been asked to start something up with a costar for publicity purposes. Sometimes it was just a few candids, other times it was a genuine relationship. It depended on how far they wanted to take it.
“Right,” Arthur said, straightening his shirt collar. “Of course. Real or fake?”
“Whatever you want.” Rusty took another slug of whiskey. “But between you and me, she’s all for it. Really for it—and you’d have to be an idiot to turn that down.”
Arthur laughed. It felt stale, but he was good at his job. Nobody would’ve been able to tell it was bullshit. Nobody except one human who wouldn’t text him back.
“I’m totally with you,” he said.
“Great.” Rusty dug in his jeans pocket. “I’ll let her know. And your agent, she helped me set it up, tell her I said thanks. Now—”
Arthur cut him off. “Actually, can we hold off on that?”
Rusty paused, fingers hovering over the screen. “On telling your agent?”
“On the whole thing.” Arthur beamed, channeling every bit of charm he had into it. “I need to check on something first.”
Irritation flickered over Rusty’s tired face. Then he took a drink and it was replaced by a tight smile.
“Sure,” he said. “Let me know by tomorrow, alright, bud? We need to get photos before filming shuts down. Makeup chair shots, and you two eating together between takes, goofing off. All that fun shit. We’ll have to say it started pretty late in the game since there are those photos of you and your ex making out. Have any paparazzi been bothering you?”
“No.” Most of the photos that had ended up online, including the ones of him and Emma kissing during the tour, had been taken by opportunistic tourists. Claw Haven was a long way to travel for most paparazzi.
Rusty clapped his shoulder. “Glad to hear it, bud.”
Arthur watched him finish off his glass. He’d heard Rusty talking to paparazzi on the phone earlier today, trying to make them come up to Claw Haven. Arthur wasn’t mad—it was good for Rusty’s career, for both their careers. But it made Arthur think back to that time Rusty had admitted he was surprised Arthur didn’t like paparazzi since he got along with them so well.
I thought you thrived on the attention, Rusty had told him over his at-home bar. Sure, they’re pushy. But I thought you didn’t care about that. Anything for a spotlight, or whatever.
Arthur had smiled and laughed and said all the right things. But it had rankled him in some deep-down place he tried not to look at. Anything for a spotlight. Was that what people thought of him? Was that still what Rusty thought?
He watched Rusty texting away and tried to think of a conversation they’d had that didn’t eventually circle back to work. He couldn’t. Which was…fine. Arthur liked talking about work. He enjoyed it. He didn’t talk about personal stuff very much, anyway. Neither did Rusty. Actually, Arthur couldn’t come up with much about Rusty’s personal life. He had a wife, he didn’t work out, he’d failed out of boarding school…and that was it.
Arthur’s tail flicked again. He stilled it. It had been happening too much since he came to Claw Haven; he’d have to sort that out before he went back to LA. He couldn’t walk around telegraphing what he was feeling all the time.
Was Rusty a friend or a coworker? Scratch that. Was everyone in Arthur’s life—his agent, his LA flying crew, his gym instructor, the old coworkers he got brunch with every eight months that never ended without a photo op—were they all just coworkers? He couldn’t think of a truly personal conversation he’d had with any of them. Nor with his parents. The only genuine connection he had was with Emma Curt.
He almost wanted to laugh. It would be better than bursting into tears, which was feeling horrifyingly like a real option as he sat there at the bar, ignored by his coworker, stared at by bar patrons and fairy waitresses who wanted an autograph, and ignored by the one person who truly saw him.
Arthur stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the barstool with his wings.
“I have to go,” he announced.
Rusty watched him, bewildered. “You’re gonna get back to me about that thing we talked about, right?”
“On it,” Arthur called back. He stumbled out of the bar, heart thumping, the future warping in front of him in a way it hadn’t done in a long, long time.
* * *
He dug his blunt claws into his hands, tail twitching as he waited on her ramp. He should’ve brought flowers. He should’ve shown up at her house days ago, no matter what Joshua said about letting things lie. He should’ve done a lot of things.
The door creaked warily open, revealing Emma in all her sweatpants and sleep-shirt glory. Her hair was oily like it hadn’t been washed in a few days, and she was wearing fuzzy socks as slippers. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“They want me to date my costar,” Arthur said, too loud. Then he stopped. “Is that my shirt?”
For a second, Arthur thought she would slam the door in his face, or maybe take the wreath off the door and throw it at him. She seemed like she was considering it.
“I found it in my parents’ garage a few years ago,” Emma said slowly, like she had to force it out. “It’s comfy.”
“Looks comfy,” Arthur said determinedly. “I mean, good. It looks really good on you.”
Emma’s lips tightened. Arthur braced himself for a snarky comment, Emma’s go-to defense when she felt like the other person had the upper hand.
“I threw it in the trash,” she admitted. “Then, um, dug it out. What were you saying about Jennifer?”
“Nothing is happening,” Arthur hurried to say. “I swear. They just want me to date her for the publicity.”
He glanced around, trying to spot any werewolves or vampires who might be lingering down the street with their super hearing. The street was empty, and he couldn’t smell anyone hiding in the bushes. Just snow and Emma’s berry deodorant buried under dried sweat. It made him want to follow her inside and lick it off her. Wrap her in a blanket when they were done. He’d never seen the inside of her house, and he wanted to know how she lived. If she still organized her bookshelf by color, kept DVDs, or left the cupboard doors hanging open even though she always dinged her head on them. He knew her to her bones, but he didn’t know what her bedroom looked like. He wanted to.
Emma waited. “And?”
“It would be fake,” Arthur continued, forcing his thoughts back on track. “At least while we’re in Claw Haven. Like I said, I don’t date coworkers until after shooting wraps. Maybe after. I wanted to run it by you first.”
Emma’s jaw ticked. She folded her arms, and his heart sank.
“Again, why would I care?” she asked.
He blinked. It actually sounded like a question this time, not the accusation she’d slung at him at the cabin.
“Because I thought we had something the other day. Before you ran out into the snow.” Arthur could feel the desperation in his smile. He knew she could see it, she always could. And yet he couldn’t stop. If he stopped, he didn’t know what terrifyingly honest expression would take over his face, but he didn’t want anyone to witness it.
“It had stopped snowing,” Emma said defensively. She shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. But not yelling. Why wasn’t she yelling?
“We did have something,” Emma admitted in a rush, staring at her socked feet. “But you’re—you’re leaving. So let’s just stop whatever this is before one of us does something stupid.”
He’d never seen her this quiet when she was upset. It was eerie. It made him want to take her face and tilt it up, make her look at him. He dug his claws into his hands, forcing them to still.
“You really aren’t going to yell?” he asked hopefully.
She huffed. “I’m trying something new. I’m still mad, I’m just… I don’t know. I’m trying to be done with yelling. I’m trying to be done with this.”
She waved between them. Then she added something he didn’t expect.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
She started closing the door.
Arthur panicked, shoving his wing in the way.
“I wanted you to come with me,” he tried. “I thought about you all the time. I tried not to, but I did. You can still come with me!”
Emma snorted, his old shirt falling off her shoulder and exposing her collarbone in a way that made him breathless.
“Right,” she said. “I’m going to be the next girl on your arm, huh? All prettied up and smiling, going to parties and red carpets and laughing at everyone’s jokes. That’s who I’m gonna be?”
“You can fake it,” he said. “It’s not that hard! I can teach you!”
Emma nudged his wing out of the way, so gently he was too dumbfounded to do anything but let her.
He grabbed the door. “Please! I need—nobody’s ever—please. You can trust me, I swear. I’ll never walk away from you again. I’ll never say you don’t matter—you do matter, we were something. We were everything.”
Emma finally met his gaze. Her beautiful brown eyes were shining, goose bumps already rising on the exposed flesh of her shoulder. She sucked in a deep breath like he’d always told her to do when they were in high school, one bit of advice she had never followed. She’d always steamrollered ahead, not taking the time to pause and cool down before she started screaming.
Except now. She’d finally started doing it. It just took him breaking her heart for a second time.
“We had something good,” she said, her voice almost even. “And it ended. And that’s…fine. It’s fine! I’ve moved on. You’ve moved on. And now we go back to our lives.”
She paused and smiled at him, small and tremulous.
“I’m glad you came back to visit,” she admitted quietly. “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”
She closed the door. No slamming, no screaming. Just a soft snick of the lock clicking into place and the not-so-soft sound of Arthur trying to stop the heartbroken roar building in his throat.
THIRTEEN
Emma avoided the café during the last day of the shoot.
In her defense, she had shit to organize. Social media posts to queue up for the Instagram account Luna had insisted she start, which would tell everyone that normal business hours would resume the day after Christmas. Last-minute presents to buy for her employees. A tree to put up. And most importantly, a wrap party to emotionally prepare for.
Luna called her as she was wrapping presents. “Hey, Em! You still coming? Everything’s all set up at the inn, and it’s party time! Christmas Eve party and wrap party all in one!”
Emma propped the phone up on a roll of wrapping paper and went back to badly wrapping a mug she’d gotten for Hazel.
“I’ll be late,” she warned. “I have a call with my parents, and we’re putting up a tree.”
Luna cooed. “Aw! Cute! We love a family call at Christmas. How are you feeling?”
Emma bit her cheek. Her knee-jerk response was to change the subject. But she was earnestly trying this whole opening up crap, and Luna had been good about it. Hadn’t made fun of her once.
“I’ve been better,” Emma said warily. “I’m getting a punching bag. Late Christmas present to myself. It’ll be here by New Year’s.”
“Yay!” Luna said. “I’m so proud of you. It’s hard telling people what’s really going on. God knows I suck at it! Anyway, see you at the party. I’ll save you some eggnog.”
Emma barely had time to hang up before a video call came in.
Her parents’ faces flickered into view, both of them leaning in so close to the screen she could see their pores. They looked exhausted but happy, and Emma’s heart clenched.
“Hi,” they chorused as one.
Emma waved. “Hey! One second, I have this one last thing to wrap.”
She eased another raggedy piece of wrapping paper over the mug. It was shoddily done, but she doubted Hazel would mind. She placed it to the side and shuffled over to the plastic Christmas tree they’d bought her when she first moved out.
“Okay,” she said, slapping the box of decorations she’d dragged out from the garage. “Ready. Where’s yours?”
Glen held up a tiny plastic tree they must’ve bought at a gift shop the last time they docked. It was barely the size of his forearm.
“We had trouble finding decorations small enough,” Bitsey explained. “But we have some!”
There was a pause as they both arranged their cameras in front of their trees. Emma strung tinsel around her tree, grinning as she listened to her parents squabble over the proper way to hang a car air freshener on their minuscule tree. Apparently, the air freshener was one of the only decorations they could find that was small enough, as well as a Santa head bauble, a mini candy cane, and pipe cleaners instead of tinsel.
“I love it,” Bitsey declared. “I think this might be our best tree ever.”
Emma laughed. “Hello?”
“Yours is okay, I guess,” Bitsey amended, leaning into the frame to see it. “Oh, that’s lovely. Glen, look, she put up that one she made in grade school. I thought you’d thrown it out.”
“I thought about it,” Emma said. “But… I don’t know. Seemed like the time to bring it back out. Been thinking a lot about the past recently.”
Bitsey traded a look with Glen, who abruptly appeared in the frame.
“We were just talking about that last Christmas we spent together,” Glen admitted. “Us and Arthur, I mean. We’d just finished the tree, then Arthur took you on a walk. Then you came back and he was gone.”
Emma gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to do this right before she had to go to the party and see him schmoozing with his costar who he may or may not be dating. Especially if he was going to try to talk to her again, all sad and vulnerable like last time. Of course, he’d finally let his mask drop when it was too late.
“We were so surprised,” Glen continued. “We really thought you two kids were going to last.”
Emma cut him off. “Yeah, can we not talk about that? Bit of a buzzkill.”
“Oh.” Glen paused. “Sorry. You made all that noise about talking more about, um, your feelings—”
“But we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to,” Bitsey said, fixing Glen with another pointed look. She readjusted the phone, the camera swinging to the cabin carpet and the ceiling before focusing again on their faces.
“Great,” Emma said, shoulders sagging. “So, how are things on the boat?”
“He did call me a few years ago,” Bitsey added. “Asked how you were doing.”
Glen gave her a look that clearly meant, why am I not allowed to talk about it, but you are? But he didn’t look surprised. How long had they been sitting on this?
Emma swallowed. “What do you mean? He never called.”
“He did,” Bitsey said. “This was New Year’s morning… What was it, five years back?”
“Four,” Glen corrected.
“Four or five,” Bitsey said. “He was very drunk. He said he was dating a lot, and that they were fun, but you were the only real thing in his life. The only person who really loved him.”
“Why—” Emma forced her voice to lower. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He begged us not to. And then when we did try to tell you, you yelled at us.”
Emma grimaced. “Yeah, that—that sounds like me.”
She sat down on the carpet, mind reeling. Four or five years ago. She’d had no idea. She thought about his desperate expression the last time he came to her house, his wing stopping the door from closing.
Please, he’d said, voice rawer than she’d ever heard it. I need—please. We were everything.
“He said he missed us, too,” Bitsey continued. “Me and your father. It was very sweet. He even started crying.”
Emma laughed shakily. “Are you sure? He never cries. I’m surprised he can squeeze out a tear for a movie.”
“Well, he did.” Bitsey reached out of the screen, coming back with the tiny Christmas tree and holding it between her and Glen. “Anyway, how are you doing? Are you going to that party?”
Emma swallowed. She couldn’t stop imagining Arthur in an empty mansion on New Year’s morning, maybe slumped in a bathtub, maybe on a bed, tears rolling into his fur. Why the hell didn’t he call her? Would she have picked up? She liked to think she would, even just to yell at him for daring to do it.
“Emma?”
“Yeah,” Emma said, voice only wavering a little bit. “I’m—I’m gonna go.”
“Oh, good,” Glen said. Then, after yet another pointed look from Bitsey, “And how are you feeling about that?”
“Fine,” Emma said. Then she sighed. “I mean, not fine. But I’m not dreading it. I just need to get through tonight.”
One more night with this strange new version of Arthur at arm’s reach. Then he’d go back to his life, and she’d go back to hers. And neither of them was going to do anything stupid to jeopardize that.
