Page 7 of Christmas with a Chimera (Claw Haven)

“L ook on the bright side,” Jennifer told Arthur as he came out of the back rooms in fresh clothes. “She could’ve got you with hot coffee.”

Arthur forced a laugh. He very badly wanted it to be a real laugh, but no matter how hard he’d tried to talk himself into it while he was getting changed, he couldn’t find the situation funny.

Which was odd. It was a good anecdote. Something to bring up at parties when they’d talk about crazy exes.

But Arthur just kept thinking back to Emma’s outrage.

More than that, she’d looked betrayed . Maybe he’d gone too far with the chin touch.

It was one thing to flirt with her for a scene; it was entirely another to improvise his old move.

He couldn’t help it—it felt so natural. Like he was seventeen again, teasing her between classes.

Trying to make that scowl slip into a smile.

Sometimes it worked. Other times, it backfired horribly. He’d been so eager to get a reaction out of her he’d forgotten how badly it could go.

“So,” Jennifer said, sipping coffee through a straw so she didn’t mess up her lipstick. “ Bad breakup, huh?”

“It happened a long time ago. But yeah, I guess you could say that.” Arthur straightened his collar, scanning the crowded café. Emma was standing in the corner, looking murderous as Rusty bent close to whisper-yell at her.

Arthur grimaced. He had to get in the middle of that before somebody lost an eye.

“—completely unacceptable,” Rusty was saying as Arthur squeezed around the café tables toward them. “I don’t care if he danced with some other girl at prom or didn’t put your photo up in his locker, alright? This is a multimillion-dollar production, and Luna said you were a professional —”

Emma opened her mouth, ready to tear into him.

Arthur pulled up a grin and slid into place next to Rusty. “Rust! I’m pretty again. Are you ready to go?”

Rusty tried to rearrange his pissed-off expression into the usual encouraging look Arthur was used to. He didn’t do a great job. There was a reason he was a director, not an actor.

“Arthur, buddy.” Rusty pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just give me one second. I’m wrapping things up here.”

“I can see that,” Arthur said smoothly. “Mind if I cut in? I wanted to apologize. I got caught up in the scene and forgot it wasn’t a good idea to grab extras when they’re holding coffee. Hope you’re not too mad at her for a spill, Rust. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

They stared at him. Arthur kept smiling. There was no way they bought this—Emma had obviously done it on purpose. But he could see them processing; he’d given them an out. They just had to take it.

“I had an extra who dropped a cream cheese bagel on my face during a monologue,” Arthur said to Emma. “This is small potatoes. They had to scrub cream cheese out of my fur! This time I just had to change my clothes. No harm done. Right, Rust?”

“Right,” Rusty said slowly. He tugged his cap down harder, a nervous tic he usually only did after at least ten hours on set, and looked back at Emma. “Back to makeup. We’re almost finished with the reset.”

Emma shot Arthur a curious look. He smiled wider, hope flaring in his chest. It was the least hostile look she’d given him since he’d arrived back in Claw Haven. He counted that as progress.

Rusty waited for her to get out of earshot before he leaned in. “Whatever you guys have going on—”

“Had,” Arthur corrected.

“Whatever. Make sure this doesn’t happen again, alright?”

“Of course! Hey…” Arthur bent closer, lowering his voice and hoping that there weren’t any werewolves or vampires listening in from across the room. Super-hearing monsters usually tried not to eavesdrop, but he was famous. He wouldn’t blame them for wanting movie star drama.

“It was a good move, right? Like, it worked. For the scene.”

Rusty hesitated. For a moment, Arthur thought he might’ve actually screwed up.

“It worked,” Rusty said. “You’re doing great, man. Your ex is just crazy.”

Arthur fought down an involuntary wave of annoyance at hearing someone call Emma crazy. He had the strangest urge to tell Rusty to shut his face. Rusty didn’t know Emma. He didn’t get to call her anything.

“Right,” Arthur said. “Great. I’ll just…”

He hooked a thumb behind him at his mark. Rusty nodded, waving him over. Arthur made his way between the tables to where Jennifer was already sitting, her hair perfect and her makeup untouched.

Arthur sat down, relieved to sink back into character. It was one of his favorite things about acting; everything else fell away. He didn’t have to worry about anything but the script in front of him.

“Ready,” Rusty called. “And…action!”

Arthur started in on his lines. Jennifer tossed hers back. They bounced off each other easily, the chemistry they’d discovered in the screen test blooming to life just like it did with everyone Arthur got paired with.

“There’s an art to it,” Arthur said, trying not to seem too aware of the woman who was heading toward them. “I can prove it.”

He looked at Emma. She was sliding plates of food onto the table, not meeting their eyes. She looked distracted, just like she was directed to.

Arthur leaned into her space. He meant to say it cool and confident like last time. But something changed as the words made their way up his throat.

“Hey, beautiful. I hope that coffee’s as sweet as you.”

Emma froze. On the other side of the table, Jennifer’s brows rose almost imperceptibly.

Shit , Arthur thought. That was not the tone he’d been aiming for.

Those words had come out so soft and sweet he was shocked to hear them come from him.

That wasn’t his “flirting with a waitress” voice.

That was his “love confession scene” voice—-humbled and stripped bare.

The voice he didn’t bring out until the last third of the movie. Where the hell had that come from?

Arthur was about to sit up and call for another try. But Emma was still staring at him. There was no rage in her face this time. Instead, she looked…flustered. Her cheeks went red and her eyelids fluttered prettily. Then she jerked up and turned away, walking off toward the camera crew.

“And cut,” Rusty called. “Okay! That’s a wrap on that scene. Let’s move on.”

Emma pushed through the crew and disappeared into the back rooms.

Arthur watched her go, heart in his throat. He had the sinking feeling he’d just screwed up— properly screwed up, no excuses to make it better. No matter how much Rusty or Jennifer would tell him she was being crazy, it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t feel better until she absolved him.

Jennifer giggled across from him. “Wow. She was actually pretty good. Why didn’t you do that the first time?”

Arthur laughed woodenly, still watching the doors. She was leaving, he was sure of it. He had to catch her.

“Okay,” Rusty continued. “Let’s keep going from that last line.”

Arthur stood, hardly aware he was doing it. “Two minutes! I need to use the bathroom.”

Annoyance flickered over Rusty’s face, then it was gone.

“Two minutes,” he said.

* * *

Emma was pulling on her handbag when he found her.

“Hey,” he said from her office doorway. “Can we talk?”

“Nope. Tell the director I’m not in any more scenes.” She jerked her head for him to move. “Come on, get out of the doorway.”

His hands flexed against the flimsy wood, and he was shocked to hear it creak. He let go fast. It had been a while since he’d misjudged his own strength.

“I just wanted you to know I’m suing you,” he tried. “You damaged some priceless equipment with that little stunt back there.”

No dice. He tensed, waiting for another knotty barb. But it didn’t come. She simply glared at him, shoulders up near her ears.

“Just get out of the way,” she hissed. “I will scream.”

He didn’t doubt it. He moved aside, barely resisting the urge to reach out and grab her shoulder. She was heading for the door, ready to walk back into the café and past all those people. If he didn’t say it now, he was never going to say it.

“I shouldn’t have touched you,” he said in a rush.

Emma stopped.

“It was out of line. I was thinking about what would be good for the scene, not for—” Arthur swallowed, uncharacteristically nervous. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

He smiled harder, sweat pricking his fur.

He hadn’t genuinely apologized in a long time.

He preferred empty platitudes, whatever he had to say to make things right.

No guilt, no mess, everybody came out of it happy.

He wasn’t used to this churning in his gut.

He thought he’d escaped it with Claw Haven.

Emma turned. Her handbag dangled near her hip. It was very similar to the one she’d worn when they dated. Maybe it even was. The leather sure looked a decade old.

“You actually sounded like you believed that,” she told him.

“I did—I do,” Arthur said, surprised. Now he was thinking about it, blindsiding his ex with a romantic touch during a movie scene she didn’t want to be in did sound like a pretty stupid move.

“Look,” he tried. “I want to make things right. If you’re going to be hanging around set, we can’t have you throwing coffee in my face—”

“I didn’t throw anything at your face,” she said icily. “Yet.”

“Much appreciated.” Arthur tried another grin. It fell flat in a way that his smiles rarely did anymore. He thought he’d gotten them down to an art. He had gotten them down to an art. Except when Emma Curt was around, apparently.

“We don’t have to be friends,” he continued. “We just have to play nice. Let me take you to dinner. We’ll find some way to have a civil conversation.”

She narrowed her eyes. It used to drive him crazy when she did that. It meant she was scrutinizing him, sizing him up. So many people got flustered or giddy, too busy falling over his charm to look past it. But not Emma.

“Why,” she began slowly, “would I let you do that?”

A strand of hair fell out of her pixie cut, hanging over her eyes. Arthur itched with a shockingly powerful urge to brush it out of her face. He clenched his hand. He’d just experienced the consequences of touching her once. He didn’t want to do it again before he’d won her over.

“I know you like being angry,” he said. “It’s relaxing for you. But this …”

He made a coffee-throwing gesture toward his lap. Which, watching her face crease up, could understandably be taken as another gesture entirely.

“This isn’t the kind of anger you like,” he continued. “You like being annoyed . You don’t like this…volcanic crap.”

“Yeah, well. It comes with having you around.”

Arthur decided not to be hurt by that. He pulled his shoulders back, realizing they’d been slinking inward during this conversation.

“Let me fix it,” he offered. “I promise by tomorrow night, you’ll want to murder me a little less.”

Her eyes narrowed even farther. Her mouth opened, and his heart sank as he realized what her reply was going to be. He wanted her to say yes. He needed her to say yes. He needed to fix this; he needed it with a narrow-mindedness that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Please,” he said, letting some genuine desperation creep into his voice. She always liked it when he made himself small for her.

Half my size and you can still undo me , he’d told her.

She’d liked to quote it back to him, once upon a time.

Nobody had undone him like that since. It was a relief.

Relationships were easier when they didn’t make you talk about difficult crap.

Especially your difficult crap. And yet some part of him, a strange, murky part he didn’t let himself look at very often, missed it.

The aftermath, anyway. He had never known himself better than when he was with her—had never felt so close to another person.

His relationships since had always been committed to having a good time and not much else.

No digging, no calling each other out. Just easy fun until it inevitably fizzled out.

Emma sighed, dragging him back to the present.

“You’re paying,” she told him.

* * *

Arthur rode that high all the way back to the Musgrove Inn after filming shut down for the day.

The lobby was full. A mer looked bored in the corner, and an orc bent down to fix her wheelchair. A gargoyle grabbed his scarf from a coat rack with a scowl.

At the end of it sat a long, empty reception desk.

Arthur rang the bell. A minute later, Luna emerged from the back room.

Her hand was locked in a broad man’s shirt, pulling him out into the lobby with a playful grin.

The man was watching her with eyes so dark Arthur almost felt he was intruding.

He was obviously the husband—even if he didn’t stink like an alpha werewolf, him bending in to nuzzle her neck was proof enough.

Her eyebrows shot up as she noticed Arthur standing at the counter. “Arthur! What are you doing here? We really need to find more people for the reception desk. Oh, this is my husband, Oliver. Ollie, tell him about that movie you liked.”

Oliver shot her a wry look and held out a hand toward Arthur. “Good to meet you. I liked your spy character in Mane Suspect. ”

“That was a fun one,” Arthur said cheerily, pumping his hand. “Thanks for getting the inn back up and working again. Bet you guys get more business than the last owners.”

He gestured behind them at the lobby. He’d never actually set foot in the inn when he was growing up, but he’d seen it looking sad and decrepit on Cliff Street as he walked to school. He’d be surprised if they got even a third of their rooms filled at any one time.

“Thanks to Luna,” Oliver agreed. They looked at each other softly, and Arthur was given the repeated impression that he was intruding.

Then Luna tore her gaze away, blinking rapidly. “Right! What can I do for you? Is there something wrong with the cabin?”

“The cabin’s fine. I was wondering if you could help me out with something.” He leaned over the desk. “I’m looking to take a girl out to dinner. But she’s a local, so she already knows every place in town. Any suggestions?”

Luna smirked. “I got you covered.”