Page 45 of Something Handsome This Way Comes

Milo was about to argue when the smell hit him. Apples. Cinnamon. Cloves. Warm caramel.

Parked beside the fountain was an enormous copper wagon with THE HOT CIDER CAULDRON painted across its side in curling orange letters. Steam billowed from a chimney on top while a gigantic enchanted apple rolled back and forth across the roof.

The line wrapped halfway around the square.

“Oh, I need me some of that,” Milo said, working away some of the ache in his neck. Grievance caught the moment and frowned. “Because it’s festive and delicious,” Milo insisted.

No other reason. And definitely not because I have some Soothewort powder I plan to put in my cider to help with the inflammation in my back.

They joined the queue and stood in silence. Grievance had been quiet all morning. Brooding in that way, he insisted, was completely different from pouting, but Milo knew better.

Every few minutes, Grievance’s eyes wandered toward him. Toward his neck. His wrists. Any visible evidence of the previous night. And every time, his expression tightened.

Milo slid his cold hand into Grievance’s and squeezed. His mate squeezed back.

But the sadness remained.

Fine. If words aren’t sinking in, I’ll try something else.

“Stay here.”

Grievance frowned. “Why?”

“I need to check something.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.” Milo pointed toward the cider wagon. “You are currently twenty minutes away from obtaining apple cider that I desperately need right now. Do not abandon your post,” Milo said with mock authority.

“Milo—”

“I’ll be right back!” he waved, and before his overly protective mate could object, Milo disappeared into the crowd.

He knew exactly where he was going.

A little shop had opened near the end of Main Street sometime during the summer. Milo had passed its window dozens of times with Grievance. And every single time—Grievance looked inside.

Apparently, Milo’s massive monster had an eye for jewelry. Rings. Chains. Bracelets. Brooches. Anything polished, sparkling, or set with stones inevitably caught the Chimera’s attention.

He’d amassed quite the collection in their year together, including Milo’s old cufflinks—which he’d never had much use for until now—and a peridot pendant Milo had gifted him last year that he hardly ever took off.

Grievance was adorably shy about his collection, careful not to fuss over it when he knew Milo was watching. But every once in a while, Milo caught him arranging and rearranging his jewelry on the vanity, searching for the perfect way to display his treasures. He’d center each piece carefully on its own little velvet pillow, angling the gems this way and that until they caught the light just right.

It was fucking adorable.

Milo had a theory about it too. Grievance had lived countless lives over countless centuries, and more than a few had been spent in the bodies of dragons. Perhaps some treasure-hoarding instincts never completely disappeared.

He slipped into the shop, and less than five minutes later, emerged with a tiny velvet pouch tucked safely inside his coat.

Grievance had moved approximately three feet; apparently, the caramel gun was jammed, holding up the line.

“I’m back.”

His mate turned, his eyes immediately sweeping over Milo from head to toe as though to check for injury.

“You were gone seven minutes.”

“Were you counting?”