His mouth twists. “You would stay with me, and I would never know how much of that choice was influenced by this secret. You are very important to me, Cary. More than you could possibly know, and I need to be sure that when…” He hesitates. “…thatifyou come back to me, then I will know it is real for you too.”
I cup his beautiful, sad face in my hands and stare into his eyes. “Iwillcome back,” I say steadily. “Is there a time limit on how long I must stay away?”
“Nay. Just when you are sure how you feel. I will always be waiting.”
I slowly rest my face against his, hugging him. “I wish I could stay.”
“But you will do this for me? Look on it as your Christmas gift to me.”
I pull back. “Oh, I wish I had a gift for you. I hate to think of you on your own on Christmas morning without a present to open.”
“You are enough. You are always enough.” My mouth drops open as he unfastens his watch and fastens it on my wrist next to the bracelet. “I want you to have this,elskling.”
“Oh no, I can’t,” I say immediately. “It’s too valuable.”
“Nothing is that, apart from you. But this is special because it has something to do with you.”
“What? How?”
He smiles. “I was unduly pleased with it when I got it. I may have boasted and strutted like a silly cockerel. An older cousin who I looked up to told me that one day I would give that watch to a man who would mean more to me than all the gold and precious jewels in this odd world.” He looks up, his eyes holding mine, and I see tiny fires burning in them. “And he was right. I want you to have something to remember me by,” he says, almost sadly.
“Don’t you know?” I say fiercely. “I couldneverforget you.”
“Ah, Cary, never is a long time. If you do not come back, I would hope you do forget me.” He fastens the watch on my wrist. “I would have you move on and find love.”
“With someone else?”
He nods. “If you are not mine, I would have you be someone else’s rather than alone.”
“Why?”
“Because I would have you be happy,” he says simply. “That is my one desire.”
I stir my coffee again, the spoon tapping against the side of the thick mug. If I look out of the window, I’ll see the hire car parkedrather sloppily. It was nice of Sigurd to think the powerful car suits me, but it displayed a woeful exaggeration of my driving abilities on his part. I’ve nearly crashed three times just getting this far. It doesn’t help that it’s a miserable foggy day. Even now I can’t see farther than a few yards across the car park.
Nearby, a child lets out a piercing scream, and I grimace. A service station is not the place for introspection. Not with children running everywhere, their Christmas excitement at fever pitch. Greg Lake sings on the speakers about believing in Father Christmas, and the smell of grease and meat reaches me from the nearby burger restaurant. It makes my stomach churn.
The feeling of wrongness is growing in me more and more as I sit here. I shouldn’t be here. I should be with him. With Sigurd—my Sig, my dragon.
It’s incredible to think that I didn’t know him a week ago, and now I can hardly imagine a day without seeing him. Is that love?
I consider the notion. If Sigurd wants me to be sure, then that’s what I should be. Previous me would have immediately decried instant love. He would have said no one falls in love that quickly. It’s infatuation. Not real feelings.
But the previous me had never met a dragon, never spent days with him listening to his deep voice and feeling that pull between us that was as strong as it was indescribable.
I sigh. Nevertheless, I know he was right to insist. I do need to be away from him to think about us. With him, I’m swept along in delight.
“Oh dear. People who sigh like that should consider the feelings of the important members of the piskey community. I nearly took a tumble. It was like being at Land’s End when the sea winds blow.”
I gasp and knock over my cup. “Wilfred,” I say, cursing and grabbing a napkin to mop up the mess. “What are you doing here?”
A woman at a table nearby looks up, and I immediately manoeuvre my body so that she can’t see me talking to myself.
The little piskey is seated on the table, his legs crossed. He’s wearing similar clothes to before but has chosen to pair the outfit with a Santa hat. The white, fluffy bobble bobs as he rests his chin on his steepled hands. His eyes are as bright as a new penny.
“’Tis good to see you, Cary.”
“What are you doing here?”
