“If you want the shovel,” she said as she opened it, “you’ll have to get it yourself. I’m not putting shoes…”
She trailed off.
Arthur waved. He was wearing a scarf and a deeply ugly Christmas sweater, and he was very notablynotin LA like he should’ve been.
“What are you doing here?” Emma whispered.
Arthur pulled at his awful Christmas sweater. He was so close Emma could reach out and touch him.Here, her mind kept screaming. He washerein Claw Haven, standing on her ramp with his wings pulled tight and his tail swishing harder than she’d ever seen it.
“I was kind of hoping to start with Merry Christmas.” Arthur smiled rakishly. It lasted maybe a second before fading into something so real and nervous that Emma’s heart skipped a beat.
“I want to show you something,” he continued. “Come with me.”
“What?” Emma stumbled back, unable to stop an incredulous laugh. “No! Why are you here?”
His wings twitched. His tail wound around his own leg like he was a little kid. Then his tail jerked away and his wings loosened. Emma watched him try to pull the mask back up and then…stop. His wings stayed tense. His tail kept fidgeting.
“I didn’t want you to spend Christmas alone,” he said in a rush.
Emma’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard. “I’m… I’m going to the Musgrove Inn later. You didn’t—I—what about your flight?”
He shrugged. “Missed it.”
“When’s your new one?”
“Haven’t booked one,” Arthur said simply. “Can I please show you something?”
Do not read into this, Emma told herself. But it was pretty hard not to read too much into your movie star ex missing his flight back home to show up on Christmas Day. Hope was filling her to her fingertips even as she stubbornly fought it back.
He gazed down at her, eyes so soft and golden she had to stop herself from swaying forward into his arms and his truly godawful sweater. It hadbaubles.
“Give me a second,” she said. “I have to go hang up on my parents.”
“Oh,” Arthur said. “Damn. I didn’t mean to—”
Emma closed the door and ran back to her room, where her parents were arguing idly about who would win in a fight, cavemen or astronauts, an argument that had started when Emma was twelve and had never been won.
“Gotta go, sorry, love you, talk later,” she hissed, ending the call.
She got dressed in a hurry and ran back to the door, throwing it open to find Arthur pulling up another hasty smile.
“You can keep talking to them if you want,” he said.
She shook her head. “Do you remember calling them a few years ago on New Year’s?”
He blinked at her, baffled. “Did I?”
“Tell you later.” She stepped out onto the ramp. “Are we walking?”
He paused. Then he held out his arms. He didn’t look smug and expectant like last time. His open arms were a question rather than a statement.
Emma wound her arms around his neck. He slid one arm under her knee and the other behind her shoulders. There was an incredible, heart-wrenching moment where she was just lying there in his warm grip, his wings shielding her from the snow. Then his wings flared open, and they took off.
* * *
The wind was freezing. Emma barely felt it.
She buried her face in Arthur’s fur, inhaling his heady scent. Less fur cream, more plain Arthur. He’d even let his mane get a little frizzy, she noticed as he flew them toward the middle of town. She toyed with the strands, marveling. What the hell had changed last night to make him ditch his flight?
