“Acting is great,” Arthur said. He grinned, eyes creasing. “You know me, I’m an attention whore. The riches aren’t bad, either. Or the awards. The travel, the cities. I really think you’d like LA if you gave it a chance.”
Emma snorted, remembering that city. The trash, the dumb stores, the weird fashion, and the crowds she still had nightmares about.
“I did give it a chance, remember?”
“For one week!”
“That doesn’t matter! I hate that place and it hates me.”
“Emma. Come on—”
“My home is here,” she insisted, staring out the glass at Claw Haven gleaming below. It looked so small from up here. There were no towering monuments, no glamor. The crowds were condensed into one tiny street. She’d grown up here. She never wanted to leave.
“I love it here,” she said. “I know you think it’s boring, even with the updates. But I just… Iloveit. It’s part of me. Even when there’s nowhere to get food after 10:00 p.m., and it doesn’t get many movies, and there are no museums. I like the people, even if they piss me off almost as much as the tourists. I wake up every morning, and I walk through the streets I’ve been walking down my whole life, and I look over at the mountains, and the ocean, and the forest, and I feel… I don’t know. Like I belong. Like I’m at peace.”
Arthur was quiet. Emma looked up and found him gazing out the window with her, his expression unreadable.
She dragged her fingers through his chest fur. “Is it peaceful in LA?”
“No,” he replied. She expected him to shoot her a rakish grin and say that was what he liked about it. Finally, a place big enough for Arthur Pineclaw. But he just lay there, stroking her naked back absentmindedly, staring out over their hometown.
“I did miss you,” he said finally. “There hasn’t been anyone else like you.”
“I bet not,” she said flatly. She propped herself up on her elbows, clasping her hands under her chin like Luna had done to her at the café days ago. “Oh, Mr. Pineclaw, you’re so dreamy! Can I get a photo? Can I touch your mane? You’re soooo amazing.”
“Alright, they’re notalllike that,” he said, jostling her. “Seriously, though. Nobody takes me to task like you. Maybe I—”
His phone rang in his pocket, his jeans still stuck halfway down his thighs.
They stared at each other.
“I can ignore it,” Arthur said quickly.
“No, no. Might be something important, Mr. Bigshot. I need to shower anyway.” Emma shifted, testing the knot. It wasn’t gone, but it had gone down enough for her to slip it out. She eased herself off gently, both of them wincing as the widest part slid out of her with a slick pop.
* * *
He was still on the phone when she headed out of the bathroom, half dressed, toweling her hair dry. She could hear his voice from the hallway.
“No,” he was saying as he paced the kitchen. He sounded like he was throwing something in the air—maybe an orange, he always used to mess around with the fruit bowl when he was bored as a teenager.
“Tell them no comment, then,” he said. There was a pause. “Everybodysaysno commentsometimes. Just because I have a good relationship with a lot of those vultures doesn’t mean I owe them a quote.”
Another pause. Arthur let out a very un-Arthur-like sigh before his tone went back to light and confident. “Fine. Tell them she’s a wonderful costar, and we have fun together.”
Emma’s grip tightened on the towel in her hair.We have fun together.She knew what she would assume if she read that in a gossip magazine. What was Arthur saying?
“They can take it however they want!” Arthur laughed. Then he paused, the laughter leaving his voice. “Right, uh. No. Emma was… We happened a million years ago. Ancient history. I’ll be back in LA by Christmas. And good luck to anyone who tries to harass her. She’ll chew themrightout.”
Somebody said something on the other end of the line. Arthur laughed again, and the noise only made the fire building in Emma’s veins burn hotter.
Ancient history. I’ll be back in LA by Christmas. We have fun together.What kind of idiot was she, thinking she actuallymatteredto him? Even if he really hadn’t knotted anybody else but her, even if she was the only person who ever saw him vulnerable. That wasn’t enough for him to stay.
Emma charged into the kitchen dressed in only her underwear, a damp towel hanging from her hand.
“Gotta go. Talk later.” Arthur beamed, dropping his phone on the counter. He was dressed in a pair of boxers and nothing else, tossing an orange up in the air and catching it easily in one large hand. “Hey, you. My turn?”
Emma glared at him. “Who was that?”
