"Mason moved his whole schedule around so you wouldn't have to call an Uber," he continues.
I didn't know that. I assumed it was logistics, convenience.
"He won't tell you," Arthur adds. "He'd rather eat drywall than say he rearranged his day for you. But he did."
Something tight in my chest loosens. Not all the way, but a fraction.
"And Knox?" I ask.
"Knox made you that lemon cake yesterday," he says.
"That was for everyone," I say.
Arthur raises an eyebrow.
"That was forme?" I ask.
"A three-layer lemon cake on a Monday night." He looks at me. "Who do you think that was really for?"
I press my face into my knees and laugh. "I feel a bit relieved knowing this, since I ate like half of it."
He bumps his shoulder against mine. "It's good that you did. He'd be devastated if you hadn't."
I lift my head. The wind pushes my hair across my face. I can't smell Arthur now, not really. Not the way I could that night.
But I don't even mind. He's here with me, right now, and that's all that matters.
"Beth."
"Yeah?"
"Can I tell you something?" Arthur says, after a long quiet.
"Of course," I say.
He picks up a pebble, turns it over between his thumb and forefinger. "My dad bailed when I was eleven. Not dramatically, mind you. He just stopped coming home on time, then stopped coming home on weekdays, and then one morning his closet was half-empty and my mom told us he'd gotten an apartment closer to work." He flicks the pebble over the edge. "Took me aboutthree years to figure out that 'closer to work' meant closer to someone else."
My hand finds his shoulder instinctively.
"And my mom, she just powered through. Picked up more shifts. Smiled at church. Made sure we never looked like anything was wrong." His voice is steady, but there's something underneath it. "And I took my cue from her. Smiled at church. Didn't talk about it. Got good at being the easy kid."
"Arthur," I say quietly.
"I'm fine." He glances at me, a quick half-smile that doesn't quite reach. "I mean, I am. It's been a long time. But the thing is, I got so good at being low-maintenance that I just... kept doing it."
The wind pushes his hair across his forehead.
"But that night after the stag and doe," he says, and his voice changes, dropping into something more careful, "when I smelled you. And you smelled us... Something shifted in me. I don't—I'm not saying I believe in the whole fated-mates, scent-match-means-destiny thing that solves all issues. I don't think it's that simple." He looks at me. "And I want the best for you, Beth. Really. But—"
"Arthur, I—"
"But what are you going to do, Beth?" He holds my gaze. "I need to know because the uncertainty is driving me crazy."
My throat aches. I realize I've never seen Arthur so unprotected, and it makes me want to reach across and tell him I want him, even without his true scent reaching me.
My face must express my thoughts, because his hand comes up to my jaw and I lean into it... then into him. His mouth is warm and a little tentative, and I answer by curling my fingers into the front of his shirt and pulling him closer.
He makes a low sound against my lips, surprised almost, and then his hand slides to the back of my neck and the kiss deepens.His other hand finds my waist, and I feel the heat of his palm through my flannel. For a few seconds the world is just this: sunlight and Arthur's heartbeat against my chest.
