“Why,” she began slowly, “would I let you do that?”
A strand of hair fell out of her pixie cut, hanging over her eyes. Arthur itched with a shockingly powerful urge to brush it out of her face. He clenched his hand. He’d just experienced the consequences of touching her once. He didn’t want to do it again before he’d won her over.
“I know you like being angry,” he said. “It’s relaxing for you. Butthis…”
He made a coffee-throwing gesture toward his lap. Which, watching her face crease up, could understandably be taken as another gesture entirely.
“This isn’t the kind of anger you like,” he continued. “You like beingannoyed. You don’t like this…volcanic crap.”
“Yeah, well. It comes with having you around.”
Arthur decided not to be hurt by that. He pulled his shoulders back, realizing they’d been slinking inward during this conversation.
“Let me fix it,” he offered. “I promise by tomorrow night, you’ll want to murder me a little less.”
Her eyes narrowed even farther. Her mouth opened, and his heart sank as he realized what her reply was going to be. He wanted her to say yes. He needed her to say yes. Heneededto fix this; he needed it with a narrow-mindedness that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Please,” he said, letting some genuine desperation creep into his voice. She always liked it when he made himself small for her.
Half my size and you can still undo me,he’d told her. She’d liked to quote it back to him, once upon a time. Nobody had undone him like that since. It was a relief. Relationships were easier when they didn’t make you talk about difficult crap. Especiallyyourdifficult crap. And yet some part of him, a strange, murky part he didn’t let himself look at very often, missed it. The aftermath, anyway. He had never known himself better than when he was with her—had never felt so close to another person. His relationships since had always been committed to having a good time and not much else. No digging, no calling each other out. Just easy fun until it inevitably fizzled out.
Emma sighed, dragging him back to the present.
“You’re paying,” she told him.
* * *
Arthur rode that high all the way back to the Musgrove Inn after filming shut down for the day.
The lobby was full. A mer looked bored in the corner, and an orc bent down to fix her wheelchair. A gargoyle grabbed his scarf from a coat rack with a scowl.
At the end of it sat a long, empty reception desk.
Arthur rang the bell. A minute later, Luna emerged from the back room. Her hand was locked in a broad man’s shirt, pulling him out into the lobby with a playful grin. The man was watching her with eyes so dark Arthur almost felt he was intruding. He was obviously the husband—even if he didn’t stink like an alpha werewolf, him bending in to nuzzle her neck was proof enough.
Her eyebrows shot up as she noticed Arthur standing at the counter. “Arthur! What are you doing here? We really need to find more people for the reception desk. Oh, this is my husband, Oliver. Ollie, tell him about that movie you liked.”
Oliver shot her a wry look and held out a hand toward Arthur. “Good to meet you. I liked your spy character inMane Suspect.”
“That was a fun one,” Arthur said cheerily, pumping his hand. “Thanks for getting the inn back up and working again. Bet you guys get more business than the last owners.”
He gestured behind them at the lobby. He’d never actually set foot in the inn when he was growing up, but he’d seen it looking sad and decrepit on Cliff Street as he walked to school. He’d be surprised if they got even a third of their rooms filled at any one time.
“Thanks to Luna,” Oliver agreed. They looked at each other softly, and Arthur was given the repeated impression that he was intruding.
Then Luna tore her gaze away, blinking rapidly. “Right! What can I do for you? Is there something wrong with the cabin?”
“The cabin’s fine. I was wondering if you could help me out with something.” He leaned over the desk. “I’m looking to take a girl out to dinner. But she’s a local, so she already knows every place in town. Any suggestions?”
Luna smirked. “I got you covered.”
CHAPTERSIX
“Well,” Emma said as she opened the door the following night. “At least you’re not wearing sunglasses.”
Arthur beamed at her. He was dressed in a sleek gray suit, the collar unbuttoned to show off the thin fur over his stupidly defined collarbones.
She herded him out onto the ramp, closing the door behind her. “Where are we going?”
