Arthur didn’t reply. He was still staring at her, his distracted smile getting smaller and smaller until his face was all desperation.
He stepped closer, so close that she could hear his intake of breath over the din. The world fell away. The uncomfortable press of the crowd, the laughter and conversation, and the dreaded warmth of everyone’s bodies filling the same space narrowed down into Arthur standing in front of her, gazing down at her like he’d never wanted anything else.
Which, of course, was a lie. But he made it hard to remember that. Made it hard to think about anything but how good he would feel pressed against her, holding her close.
“Emma,” Arthur began. “I—”
His next word was cut off as Rusty appeared at his side, waving his phone.
“Arthur!” he said, cheeks red with excitement and eggnog. “Come and get a photo. Your lady awaits.”
That was Emma’s cue.
“I’m going to go,” she said, turning toward the doorway.
Arthur made a lost sound in the back of his throat. Half growl, half whimper. She’d never heard it before.
“Wait,” he said.
“Have a good flight, Arthur.” Emma squeezed through the crowd. She didn’t look back until she was at the doorway.
Arthur was standing with Jennifer, his arm around her waist. She was leaning into him, giggling at something Rusty was saying as he aimed his phone camera at them. She said something to Arthur, who nodded.
He was smiling. He looked perfectly normal if you didn’t know what to look for.
But Emma did. She saw it all: the spasming tail he kept trying to still, those beautiful laugh lines turning hard before he forced them to soften.
Emma swallowed. She’d been an idiot to think he had been unaffected by their breakup. She’d bought into his bullshit for once, too blinded by anger to look past it.
The camera light flashed. Arthur’s smile widened, strained.
I might never see him again, Emma thought.
Then she left, resolutely ignoring her heart as it cracked open in her chest.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Everyone at the goddamn party wanted to say goodbye to Arthur before they left.
Arthur stuck it out. Smiled through every handshake and photo and autograph until Musgrove Inn was almost empty and it was time to go.
“The photo’s doing rounds on socials,” Rusty told him as he finished his last eggnog. “Everybody’s speculating about you two. I know I tell you this all the time, but you’re thebestwhen it comes to looking at your leading lady.”
“Thanks,” Arthur said, making sure his voice was extra peppy to make up for the deep pit that had formed in him when he had watched Emma leave. Was this how she’d felt, watching him walk off after their last Christmas walk? Especially after the crap that he’d said to her about holding him back. She hadn’t even raised her voice. If he felt this shitty when she’d left him on okay terms, he couldn’t imagine how she had felt all those years ago.
Rusty was still talking. Arthur tuned in just in time to hear him say, “If they gave out awards for this shit, you’d get the gold. Hey, before we head off, I wanted to ask you something.”
Arthur tore his eyes away from the door, where the last party stragglers were heading off with their Arthur autographs and mourning that they hadn’t been able to catch Jennifer before she ducked out. She was on an early flight tomorrow morning, and she wanted to be rested for it.
“Shoot,” Arthur said.
Rusty pointed at him. His cheeks were ruddy, his cap was twisted backward for the third time tonight, and his hair was a mess underneath it. A slight slur in his voice betrayed how much eggnog he’d had.
“I’m not meant to be telling you about this yet,” he said. “But I’m gonna anyway. I signed up to shoot another rom-com, and I want you in on it. It’s fake dating—everybody’s frothing at the mouth for that. You’d be in New York for four months. What do you say?”
Arthur hesitated. Two weeks ago, he would’ve said yes. Would’ve saidhellyes. He liked working with Rusty, he liked doing rom-coms, and his agent would be happy with him, even if it wasn’t one of the dramatic roles she’d been pushing him toward. New York would be another fun city in a string of fun locations he was shooting in, film after film, year after year. A constant string of parties and lights and noise, people all around, gushing at him, squeezing his biceps, asking for photos. Watching him on big screens and streaming sites and billboards. Everyone looking at him, but no one seeing him.
“Arthur,” Rusty said. “Hey. You in there?”
