Page 13 of Christmas with a Chimera (Claw Haven)

A rthur did not slump .

It was trained in him at a very young age that presentation was everything.

His parents even gave him etiquette training, which would have gotten him teased if he was anyone else.

Fortunately, Arthur had enough charisma to make telling the other small-town kids about the proper way to use a shrimp fork look cool.

The point was that he didn’t slump. But he was coming pretty damn close as he leaned against the bar at Sour Claw, which was one of the only places that hadn’t changed since he left.

Granted, he’d only been in here a few times.

He’d even brought a fake ID as a teen, which was utterly useless since everybody knew him.

The bartender let him drink anyway. They hadn’t been too strict with carding back then.

“I just can’t believe she’s still not over it,” Arthur complained as he nursed his second whiskey of the night. “She isn’t answering my texts. She hasn’t even been at the shoot for days!”

Rusty shook his head, tapping away at his phone. “Like I said, man. Crazy.”

“Ha ha,” Arthur said, ignoring the itch of irritation that rose every time Rusty said something like that about Emma. “She’s not crazy . She’s just…dramatic. She feels things really deeply.”

He took another drink, wincing at the subpar taste. He hadn’t had whiskey this cheap in almost a decade. He thought he’d been misremembering how crappy it was. Apparently not.

He sighed, wings drooping. “I don’t know. I thought we had something. But then she throws that in my face! I was nineteen—what was I supposed to do, not go? And, hello, it worked out great! I just… ugh . She’s always yelling!”

“Yell back for once,” Rusty suggested, still tapping away. “I’d pay to see that. The closest I’ve come to seeing you yell is that time Henry Roarson kept spilling wine in your best car.”

“He was doing it on purpose,” Arthur reminded him. “It’s not my fault he felt snubbed by the awards people.”

“Not your fault you’re the better actor,” Rusty agreed.

Arthur clinked their drinks together. Rusty had been the one to suggest they head to a bar after Arthur admitted he was off his game today, and Arthur was grateful for it.

He didn’t have a lot of people who he could confide in nowadays.

Rusty was a rare example of a genuine friend, which was the only reason Arthur kept talking.

With anyone else, he’d change the subject, get them talking about the movie or a future holiday or something fun that happened at a party last year.

But Rusty was his friend, a real friend, and Arthur needed that right now.

“I just…” Arthur sighed. “She keeps getting mad, like that’s gonna hide all the crap behind it. I need to fix this.”

“Why?” Rusty muttered. Then he looked up, seemingly surprised that he’d said it out loud. “I mean, sure. Whatever it is, you can fix it.”

Arthur nodded distractedly. Any other day, it would’ve been about making her like him so he could stop feeling bad.

But somehow the idea had lost its luster.

He wanted to make her happy so she was happy.

No strings, no ulterior motives. Hell, he’d even be fine with her being pissed off at him if it made her happy, which was…

a surprise. But he could see how much hurt she hid behind all that anger.

He had another week before they headed back to LA on Christmas Eve. That would have to be enough time.

A throat cleared behind him.

Arthur turned.

Nick Wicker waved at him. The orc looked almost exactly the same as he had when Arthur last saw him: blunt fangs sticking up from his bottom lip, messy hair, and green skin stained with motor oil. Jasper Dawn stood beside him, pale as ever, his vampire fangs out.

Arthur beamed. “The Terrible Two! Still getting up to trouble at Sour Claw, huh?”

“Always,” Jasper said wryly. He was smirking, which wasn’t uncommon.

Most of the memories Arthur had of him were of Jasper smirking or looking deeply bored.

They’d been in different years at high school, but Arthur had seen him around at parties or slouching through the halls, twisting that long black hair around his white fingers.

“We love your stuff,” Nick said, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “Well. Some of it. Just Kitten Around was a fart in a jar, but everybody has flops.”

“We were wondering if we could get an autograph from the great big movie star,” Jasper drawled. “Care to oblige?”

“Love to.” Arthur took the napkin Nick shoved at him and scribbled his name. “Want one each?”

“Sure,” Nick gushed. “Want to play a game of pool? I still suck, so it’s an easy win.”

“He does suck,” Jasper agrees. “He doesn’t come here often enough.”

Nick snorted, digging his big green elbow into Jasper’s narrow waist. “Sorry I don’t have the stress of a big-shot hospital job forcing me to come here and drown my sorrows.”

Arthur looked up. “Oh? You’re a doctor?”

“Janitor,” Jasper corrected, fangs flashing once again. “Nick’s just being a dick.”

Nick coughed into a meaty fist. “Anyway. Pool?”

Arthur paused, pen trailing off at the end of the second autograph on another napkin. He could play pool. Or he could go and follow an idea that had just popped into his mind upon seeing his old classmates: There was another old classmate he could hit up.

“Some other time,” he said, handing the napkins over with a smile. He patted Rusty on the back and eased off his chair, flexing his wings in preparation. He’d done a lot of flying since he arrived in town, so he might as well keep the streak going.

Rusty turned. “Where are you off to?”

“I gotta go see a guy about some flowers,” Arthur called back and strode out into the chilly parking lot.

* * *

Joshua Haberdash was closing up the shop when he landed.

“Whoa,” Joshua said, jumping. The keys clattered to the sidewalk next to Arthur’s polished boots. “Damn.”

“Sorry about that,” Arthur said, stooping.

“No, I got it.” Joshua lunged, grabbing them before Arthur could touch them. “Hiya.”

“Hiya,” Arthur echoed. He eyed the shop hopefully. The lights were off, but he’d talked people into closing late for him even before he got his face on billboards. “Do you get a lot of business for apology flowers?”

Joshua pushed that annoying bit of hanging fur out of his eyes. “Yes. Other than birthdays and dates, apology flowers are my most popular kind of sale.”

“Great!” Arthur fluffed up his mane pointedly, hoping that Joshua would take the hint and invite him inside. “Are you good at getting girls to forgive you?”

Joshua’s wet nose twitched. He looked confused. Arthur doubted he’d ever done anything bad enough to warrant a serious apology.

“No?” Joshua said, sounding uncertain. Then, as Arthur was about to try something else, he added, “But I’m good at listening. In the warmth, though. My fur isn’t that thick.”

* * *

Arthur sighed in thanks as Joshua closed the shop door behind them. It was practically toasty in here—as toasty as a flower shop could be, anyway. It was possible Arthur had been out in the cold too long.

“Okay,” Joshua said, adjusting a display of roses. “What happened?”

Arthur started in on his explanation. Joshua nodded attentively, and Arthur realized he was flattered.

He was used to people going above and beyond for him, but he was pretty sure he didn’t need to charm Joshua into anything.

He was just a sweet guy. Even in high school, Joshua had been known for being outrageously kind.

Stupidly so, one might argue. He got made fun of for it.

But Arthur couldn’t help but admire him a little, even if he did occasionally join in on the teasing.

“So,” Arthur said when he finished. “What do you think I should do?”

He expected the minotaur to repeat that he didn’t have much experience in this. But Joshua replied immediately.

“Leave her alone,” Joshua said. “That’s what she asked. Right?”

“But I don’t want to,” Arthur protested. He couldn’t stop himself from wincing as he said it. It sounded perfectly sensible until it came out of his mouth. He started to try again, to tell Joshua he genuinely wanted Emma to be happy, but Joshua was already talking.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “What do you want?”

“I want…” Arthur said before hesitating. He could feel a growl deep in his chest. He did it so rarely that it felt foreign to feel the growl surface outside of a scene where someone had told him to do it or when he was too out of his head to notice. But here it was, ripping out of him.

“I want her to stop fighting me on this,” he snarled, pacing. “I want her to let me make her happy. I know I could do it if she just let me. I could air out all that shit she’s been keeping locked up. I could make her like me again.”

“So tell her that,” Joshua said simply, surprisingly undeterred by the growling. Arthur remembered him being freaked out when anybody growled in school.

“And if she still wants you to leave her alone, then put up with it,” Joshua continued. “Can’t make someone like you.”

Arthur laughed, narrowly missing knocking over a vase of lilies as he whirled to pace another length of the floor.

“Yes, I can! I was voted the most likable man in Hollywood last year! Directors love me. My costars love me. The paparazzi love me. Do you know how hard it is to keep smiling when they’re in your face, asking the rudest goddamn questions?

Everyone likes me except her. She just—”

He flexed his flat claws, fangs gnashing. “She scrapes all of my charming away! And if she doesn’t like what she sees under that, then—”