He landed in the middle of a snowy street.
“It’s not perfect,” he said. “But it’s a start.”
Emma stared. She stepped onto the icy concrete, eyes filling as she took it in.
It was the house.Theirhouse, the snow piled prettily over the porch railing, which was painted the exact shade of white that they’d agreed on when they were teenagers. The walls of the actual house were still chipped and the yard would need a freshening-up. But it was recognizably theirs.
Emma turned to him. “How?”
“Jackson helped.” Arthur laughed nervously. “I paid him alot. Good ol’ birdhouse guy. Luckily, dragons can see in the dark.Ihad to get a flashlight.”
Emma gaped at him. “Arthur. What thehell?”
She didn’t mean for it to come out as pissed off. But she was so dazed with shock, a hundred possibilities running through her mind at once.
“I bought it,” Arthur said. “Last night. The mayor was happy to let me take it off his hands and start fixing it up for real.”
“Why?” Emma whispered.
“Because—” Arthur started. His tail swished anxiously. “Because I’ve never been so complete until I saw you again. LA is bright, it’s fun, I still want to visit for work! But no one sees me there. Not like you do.”
Emma felt a tear spill down her cheek. She scrubbed at it, fighting against a sob and a cheek-burning smile.
“How many visits are we talking, Mr. Movie Star?”
“Not many,” he replied immediately. “Maybe three months a year, at most.”
“And the rest of the time?’
“I’d learn how to make coffee,” Arthur tried. “I’d carry drinks, work in sales.”
“Youwant to work in sales?”
Arthur grinned, his smile wobbling. “Sure. I’ve heard I can be very convincing.”
Emma shivered. She’d only grabbed two layers on her way out.
Arthur hesitated. Then he wrapped her up in his wings, pulling her devastatingly close.
“I love you,” he said. “I never stopped. You didn’t hold me back, you just—youheldme, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize that’s what I needed before I ruined everything. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”
Emma heard herself giggle, another tear dripping down her cheek. “I feel like I’m in a movie.”
His wings tightened, pressing them tighter together.
“You’re not. This isn’t—” Arthur growled. “I’m not bullshitting, Emma. There’s no script. Just me.”
He stopped, panting. Gone was the movie star who had swaggered into town two weeks before Christmas. His ears were flat against his head, his wings stiff, and his blunt claws dug into his hands. His mane was scruffy and he didn’t smell like anything but himself.
“Emma,” he said again.
She reached up. There was something wet on his furry cheek.
“I’ve never seen you cry before,” Emma said. “Not for real.”
He huffed a wet laugh. “I can do it on command! Want to know how?”
She nodded.
