Emma had to give it to him: He was committed to the bit.
She pointed her gingerbread spice latte at a nearby store. “And what’s that?”
“That,” Arthur said after a pause, “is obviously a…craft store.”
She hummed into the plastic lid. “Close! Pottery.”
“Pottery?” He squinted. “Huh. Cute. As I was saying, yet another wonder that is Main Street. And up on these lampposts, we have the ye olde Christmas decorations, which have apparently changed in the last twelve years.”
“Not so old anymore,” Emma agreed, eyeing the green tinsel. The street was less crowded now, most of the shoppers and holiday-goers having retreated to the inn for the evening. Emma was grateful. They could walk without bumping into anyone, and only one person had asked Arthur for an autograph so far.
“And here we have the bakery,” Arthur continued, gesturing with his wing. “Now run by one Heath Astarot, who once puked fire after one too many Jägerbombs at my sixteenth birthday party.”
“And burned a hole in the hallway room carpet,” Emma laughed. “I forgot about that! I have to bring that up next time I go in for a muffin.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” Arthur said. He grinned at her. Every time he made her laugh, he gave her this look that made it hard to stop smiling. And she wastrying. The problem was the more he talked to her, the harder it got to remember why she was trying so damn hard.
It was…fun. He was witty and bright and delightful, and he was so obviously trying to get on her level. Letting her make fun of him, being wrong on purpose so she could correct him. Making her feel at ease.
“And the bookshop,” Arthur announced, pointing with another wing flourish. “Still run by that old one-winged dragon whose name I can never remember and who once yelled at me for picking up an art book off a tall shelf. And a chocolate shop run by Joshua’s hedgehog cousin! She seems lovely when she gets past the stuttering.”
A dragon soared overhead with a whooping human strapped to his belly.
“And, of course, we can’t forget the dragon tours,” Arthur continued, craning his head to watch the dragon swoop down toward the tour offices. “I have to say, I didnotexpect to run into those guys during my morning fly the first day I was here.Thatwas a fun midair conversation.”
Emma chewed her cheek to stop a smile. She took another sip of the gingerbread spice latte he’d brought her from Creature Comforts at the start of this “tour.” She needed to teach her girls how to do more holiday specials. Daisy only knew a couple, and these tourists kept coming up with the wildest shit they insisted was all the rage back home. And she’d be happy if Hazel masteredanydrink, let alone a holiday special. Maybe by this time next year, she’d have a handle on a basic latte.
“And,” Arthur continued, pointing both wings for extra emphasis. “The movie theater, which now shows—”
“More than two movies a year,” Emma finished. “We were very excited when they expanded.”
“I bet.” Arthur stared up at the poster, which showed his own face beaming at him. It was the comedyJust Kitten Around, which Emma privately thought he wasn’t too proud of. Every time someone brought it up, it took him that extra moment to smile, like he was bracing himself against an onslaught of embarrassment. He always got like that over roles he thought he hadn’t done well—mostly plays, back when she knew him. Once in middle school, she’d congratulated him on being the lead in the Christmas play, and he’d told her that his performance was terrible and that he’d do better next year.
He flexed his wings as if shaking off a thought. Then he turned, taking in Main Street with a surprisingly genuine smile.
“You still can’t get an Uber,” he said. “Or noodles after 8:00 p.m. Or nightlife. Or museums. But it’s a hell of a lot less boring than it was twelve years ago.”
“It was fine back then,” Emma defended, tugging her scarf tighter. “It’s just better now. Except for all the tourists.”
“Aren’t they the only reason your café didn’t go under?”
“Yes,” Emma admitted grudgingly. “But they’re so annoying. And they’reeverywhere.”
He shrugged. “Think of them like fans! You’d be nowhere without them. Even if they do sometimes make you want to find a dark corner to hide in.”
“Oh?”
“One of them mailed me a voodoo doll of myself.”
She shuddered.
“I don’t open the fan mail anymore,” he said happily. He started leading her past Main Street, the shops thinning back out into neighborhoods. “So! What are you doing for Christmas? I haven’t seen your parents anywhere.”
“They’re on a cruise. Sailing around the Mediterranean, stopping to sunbathe on beaches. So I’m doing Christmas solo.” She kicked a rock, watching it roll into the snow at the side of the cleared road. “What about yours? Cruise? Ski trip?”
“Norway,” he replied. “And I find it hard to believe you have to bealone. Luna said she invited you up to the inn. Not in the mood for a big wolfy Christmas?”
“Sounds a bit loud for me,” she admitted. “I have a lot of invites, but… I don’t know. Might just stay home and watch movies.”
