“Lucky you,” Emma said dryly. But she couldn’t keep a stubborn hint of awe out of her voice. She hadn’t seen the town from up above since…shit. Since the last time that he flew her up the mountain. He used to take her up here sometimes in the summer for picnics. She’d never seen it in the dark before. It really was beautiful—a small, gleaming jewel in the darkness.
Arthur cleared his throat. “So! You were talking about dinner? It’s in the kitchen.”
She snorted, following him. “Oh, god. Don’t tell me you cooked.”
“I wouldn’t subject you to that,” he said. “You know Heath Astarot? He owns the bakery now.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah, and it turns out he isn’t just good at baking.”
“Yeah. He’s also good at bitching.” Emma’s laugh was cut short when Arthur pulled a tray out of the oven—two steaming bowls of risotto, with a warm loaf cut into thick, fluffy slices.
“I hope you still like mushroom risotto,” Arthur said, carrying the tray back toward the living room. “I told him to make it extra creamy.”
There were peas dotted alongside the mushrooms. Emma wondered if he’d asked for that, as well. Silky risotto with peas and mushrooms, a pat of butter melted in the middle—just the way she liked it.
Arthur paused at the doorway. “Are you coming?”
“What?” Emma swallowed around a mortifyingly thick throat. “Yeah. Coming.”
She followed him back into the living room, sitting on her knees at the coffee table across from him. He kept talking as he pulled the oven mitts off and set up the cutlery, but Emma couldn’t stop staring at the damn risotto, trying to stop her eyes from stinging. What the hell did he think he was doing? What wasshedoing, agreeing to this?
Arthur ate a spoonful of risotto. “Mmm. That’s wonderful. Try some.”
Emma picked up her spoon and considered throwing it at his nose. She dunked it in the risotto instead, telling herself she could always leave. She’d threaten to walk down the mountain if she had to, and he’d give in and fly her down. She was pretty sure. He liked pissing her off, but he never wanted toreallyupset her. Not unless he had to, anyway. He hated it when people were mad at him—her especially. Apparently, that still mattered to him.
She took a grudging mouthful of risotto. It was warm and earthy and comforting, and she couldn’t stop herself from letting out an appreciative hum.
“Right?” Arthur said. “Not as good as your mom makes it, but still pretty damn good.”
He ate another spoonful. His tail flicked happily. He looked sorelaxed, with his collar open and wings fanning out against the couch behind him. It made Emma think back to one of the first insults she’d ever paid him, back in freshman year. He’d been asking her why she was annoyed with him when everybody else in school loved him. She’d snapped back at him. She couldn’t remember the exact words, but it was something like,You look like the kind of guy who takes “fake it till you make it” too seriously.
He still did. Every genuine emotion got hastily covered up by a picture-perfect smile and a line tailored to suit whatever he thought people wanted to hear. There was nothing true there unless you yanked it back, exposing all those normal insecurities and a deep-seated belief that nobody would like him if he wasn’tonall the time. Charming and charismatic anddreamy24-7. Was all that still there? Or had he glued that switch down so it never turned off?
She dropped her spoon into her risotto with a clatter. “You can’t impress me, you know.”
Arthur made a questioning noise, his mouth full. There was a smudge of risotto on his furry chin, which Emma refused to find adorable.
“All this,” she said, gesturing at the incredible view, the cabin, and the food. “I know who you are under all this crap.”
Arthur’s ears twitched. He swallowed his risotto, wiping his mouth neatly.
“And who am I?” he asked, shooting her a bright smile like this was an interview, not a tense chat between two exes.
For a second, Emma felt…sadfor him. She wrestled it down as soon as it appeared, but she still felt it. She wondered if he let any of his other girlfriends hold him while he cried at the end ofMermaid and Me, or if he’d vented to them after a particularly empty phone call with his parents. If he ever told them about his recurring nightmare of walking through a crowd, shouting and waving his arms, but nobody ever seeing him.
Maybe he did. But she doubted it.
It didn’t matter anyway. The chimera she’d fallen in love with was long gone. He’d left on Christmas Eve a million years ago, and he wasn’t coming back. Even if he was sitting across from her, his gaze getting oddly desperate the longer she didn’t reply.
Emma took a deep breath. “You’re a self-seeking, fame-hungry jackass.”
“Again with the jackass,” Arthur said quietly and sighed. “Look—”
“I’m not finished,” Emma barked. “You’re that same asshole who walked away from your entire life to chase a dream. YouknewI’d never come with you, and you did it anyway. It was more important because it involvedyou. Youalwayscome first. Nothing matters more to Arthur Pineclaw than Arthur Pineclaw.”
“Emma—”
