I shook my head and counted the tiles. Counting always helped.
Could I do something physical without anything else?
The answer came faster than I expected.
Yes. I would very much like to jump him. Enthusiastically. With planning. Possibly a checklist.
But could I do it and not care?
No.
That one was clear. Painfully clear.
I liked Arthur. Not just his body or the way he moved or the way he listened like the world narrowed when I spoke. I liked how he obeyed when I told him to lie down. I liked how he trusted my hands. I liked how he thanked me. I liked how hesawme.
That was the dangerous part.
If this turned physical and stopped there, I would pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I would replay everything. I would catalog moments and wonder what I’d done wrong. I would internalize everything.
I adjusted the water until it wasn’t as hot anymore, then rinsed my hair. This line of thinking needed a cool head.
I wanted to ask him questions, but historically, asking questions had led to me being labeled intense and overbearing.
Annoyance shot through me.
I could ask questions. Wanting clarity wasn’t a personality flaw. Either he wanted me or he didn’t. Me asking for clarification should not change that.
I nodded to myself. Later. I would ask him later.
I shut off the water and grabbed a towel. It was warm. I paused, fingers curling into the fabric. I touched the robe hanging on the hook.
Also warm.
I stared at both items, damp hair dripping onto the tile, my brain short-circuiting in a way that felt suspiciously like happiness.
He’d warmed my towel and my robe with his crazy dragon magic.Again.
There was no logical reason for that, except to give comfort.
I dried off and wrapped myself in the robe, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The gesture of comfort didn’t answer my questions. If anything, it made them more important.
And instead of feeling afraid of what that meant, I felt steady enough to believe I could ask and survive the answers.
I stepped into my pajama shorts, my skin humming, my brain doing that thing where it wanted to rewind the last twenty minutes and analyze every second of it until I ruinedit for myself.
Now was not the time to overthink.
I finished getting dressed, tugging on clean clothes with hands that were weirdly steady, then I grabbed my phone.
I needed to call Eloise. I’m sure she was worried about me.
I hit FaceTime, and she answered on the second ring. Her glasses were perched on her nose, hair pulled back like she had been interrupted mid-monologue.
“Artie,” she said. “Please tell me you are calling because you are in a castle.”
“I am in a very cute cottage,” I said. “In Edinburgh.”
Her face lit up. “Oh. Oh, that is unacceptable. Turn the camera. Immediately.”
