Something tickled Emma’s nose.
She pried her eyes open. Feathers clouded her vision, a sea of black and white. For just a moment, the sight relaxed her more. She’d woken up like this so many times. Arthur had practically lived at her house for those last few years of high school.
Then reality set in, and Emma’s relaxation was replaced by panic. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. She was thirty-two goddamn years old, she owned a business, she hadn’t talked to Arthur in years, and yet she was cocooned in his wings on the couch of his stupidly cozy cabin.
His arms were tight and solid around her, his tail still wrapped around her legs. She winced, trying to detangle herself. How could she be so stupid? She needed to get out of here—now. No matter how good it felt to be in his arms again.
She pulled his arm carefully off her torso.
He let out a sleepy growl, grip tightening. He nuzzled her hair, and she fought down the wave of butterflies that threatened to overwhelm her as she wondered how many models, actresses, and billionaires he’d given the same treatment. If they woke up feeling just as safe and held as she had.
She winced and pulled more determinedly.
He growled louder, disgruntled. Then his eyes slid open. They were blurry for a second, blinking hard. He focused on her, and the surprise in his face made Emma’s hackles go up. She tensed, ready to snap back at whatever stupid thing he was going to hit her with.
Then he grinned, looking so genuinely pleased her guard went down.
“Hello,” he said. He stretched, wings retreating from their squeezing grip. “What time is it?”
She checked her phone, which was in the pocket of her discarded jeans. “Almost nine in the morning.”
The smile dropped off his face. “Really? Shit. We have to be on set in ten minutes.”
He lifted her off his lap and stood, grimacing as he noticed the dried come in his chest fur.
“I’m going to take the world’s shortest shower,” he announced. “Time me.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Emma scrounged for her bra and tried not to react as he looked over her nakedness. It had been a long time since a guy had seen her this naked. The last guy she slept with didn’t even get her pants off, they just did hand stuff in the back of a car like they weren’t fully grown adults with mortgages.
He put a hand on his hip, flashing her a toothy grin. “Want to conserve water and hop in the shower with me?”
Emma gathered up her jeans, pretending to think about it. “No.”
She balled her clothes up against her stomach and waited for him to argue. But he just stood there, looking at her. Emma squirmed, fighting the urge to cover up her chest. It wasn’t that she didn’tlikehim looking at her; it just made her aware of how brazen she’d felt last night and how stupid she felt now.
Too fast for her to react, Arthur leaned in and plucked something off her cheek.
“Feather,” he explained softly. He cleared his throat, dusting the fluffy down from his fingers. He was still smiling, but it was oddly bashful in a way that she hadn’t seen since high school—which made zero sense. He probably picked feathers off people’s cheeks all the time after rolling around with them on a yacht or a grand piano or sheets with a thread count she’d never heard of. Was he acting? He didn’t seem like it, but maybe she’d gotten worse at reading him over the years.
“Anyway,” he said. “I’m gonna…”
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. Emma watched him go, then flopped back against the annoyingly comfortable couch, her clothes in her lap.
One night. She’d let herself haveonenight of something stupid and brilliant. She wouldn’t do it again. He’d be gone in a week and a half, and she’d never have to see him again. The butterflies would fade, and so would the regret.
Life would go back to normal.
* * *
She took the world’s second shortest shower after him, throwing on her clothes and shoving her damp hair under a hat. After taking a second to sigh at her reflection, she decided she didn’t care if she looked like crap and marched into the kitchen where the noise was coming from.
Arthur looked up. He was easing lids onto plastic take-out containers, which had been filled with last night’s risotto. The leftovers from the fridge, not the bowls they’d left out all night. The bread was wrapped in a dish towel, tied in a clumsy knot.
“Hey,” Arthur said brightly. “Here’s today’s lunch.”
He tossed it at her. She caught it, bewildered. She’d been expecting to get hit on some more and rushed out the door, not…leftovers. She tucked them in her handbag.
“I know you hate wasting food,” he continued, sucking a speck of risotto off his finger. “Come on, we gotta go.”
