Chapter Forty Nine #2
The beauty in question drifts ahead of me, her eyes moving from one machine to the next, her lips parted slightly as lights flicker over her face in pink and electric blue.
There’s a childlike joy in her features, one that I’m thoroughly enjoying.
I bet it’s something she doesn’t get to experience and others don’t get to witness often.
This thought brings me back to what I know of her past, both through her own admission and a digital deep dive.
With her mom being a therapist, Meg naturally matured quickly.
She probably learned to mask her emotions at a young age, even more so when she met her adoptive sister at the age of ten.
Avery’s past was rougher than her own, so Meg’s focus shifted to helping her.
By showing up emotionally, by always being a shoulder to lean on.
As commendable as it is, such a feat takes a toll on a person, which is why I understand Meg’s misplaced anger at her kidnapping.
She gave Avery everything, and then their biological father decided she should give more.
The shrill ring of someone hitting the jackpot slicing through my drifting thoughts, returning me to the vintage arcade.
To the left, a gamer’s area hosting all of the best fighter machines from the eighties beckons me with a withered finger, but I stay beside Meg.
Just about. Following her curious wander, we end up where I knew we would. At the row of gleaming claw machines.
“Pick one,” I say, stepping up beside her and gesturing to all of the glass cabinets. Meg glances at me, then at the heaps of squashed animals.
“Pick one, what?”
“A teddy. Pick the one you want. Whatever your heart desires, Amorzinha.” Her expression turns quickly from suspicion to humor, a dark of laughter escaping her.
“No one ever wins on these.”
“I do. Every. Single. Time.” Raising a brow, I push my hand into my pocket and pull out a few quarters I’d stashed there.
Only a few, as I didn’t know how many teddies she’d like, but we’re good for at least four.
At Meg’s hesitation, I wind my arm around her and drag her a step closer to the machines.
“You forget you’re dating a man whose entire skillset is built around extraction and life hacks.
Surely, you should be getting used to it by now. ”
“We’re not officially dating,” she points out with a lopsided smile. I gasp, holding a hand over my heart where her metaphorical arrow just plunged into my chest. Meg laughs, soothing some of the pain away.
“Fine then. You are unofficially being courted by a man with excellent claw machine credentials. Pick the damn teddy.”
Her eyes narrow at me before she looks back at the machines.
Her gaze passes over sparkly unicorns, lopsided frogs, terrifying giraffes with one eye sewn slightly too high, and lands on a machine in the corner that holds small reddish-brown bears.
Each one has a red bow around its neck and a deeply tragic expression stitched into its furry face. Naturally, Meg points at it.
“That one,” she walks over and presses her hand to the glass. “Specifically, the one over there with a wonky ear. He looks like he needs rescuing.”
“Then rescue it we shall,” I promise. Pushing the coins into the slot, I use the joystick to do a useless pass first, deliberately dropping the claw too far left so it skims over the bear’s ear and comes up empty. Meg makes a smug sound beside me.
“See? No one wins.”
“Give me a second. There was merely a sacrificial round,” I state, keeping my concentration.
On the second round, I go for the edge of the bear’s body, not to win but to shift it.
The claw closes weakly, exactly as expected, but the prong catches the red bow and nudges the bear a crucial inch toward freedom before giving up.
Meg leans closer despite herself, shoulder brushing mine as her awareness kicks in.
“Wait. Did you do that on purpose?” I don’t respond, my tongue pushing between my lips as I concentrate.
On my last turn, I line the claw up just behind the bear’s shifted body and hit the button, watching the prongs descend with the grace of a drunk metal spider.
They close around the bear just tight enough to make my pulse kick.
For one suspended moment, Meg goes completely still beside me, as if her breathing against the glass might be enough to tip the bear out of the claw’s grip.
The bear rises, swinging wildly as it travels across the machine before the claw opens above the winner’s chute.
Meg’s entire face lights up with joy, and my heart almost explodes in my chest.
“Are you impressed?” I ask, bending to retrieve her prize. Meg clutches the bear against her chest, making me instantly jealous.
“Well, I kinda expected you to rig the machine so the door popped open and I could just reach in to grab it.” The smile on my face falls, my gaze travelling over the keyhole beside the coin slot. Shit, I probably could have done that. “But yeah, I’m still impressed.”
She hugs the bear tightly, her blue eyes gleaming with delight causing me to melt into a useless puddle on the ugly carpet. That’s it. I’m part of the décor now. Somebody tell James to forward my mail to the sad bear claw machine.
“He’ll need a name,” I clear my throat to say, despite wanting to declare, I would rig every machine in the world if it made you look like that again. Meg looks at his miserable little face, twisting her lips this way and that.
“Autumn. Kinda suits, right?”
“It’s perfect , Amorzinha,” I smile. “Just like you.” Meg blushes all shades of red as she nudges my shoulder, gearing us to safer territory.
The air hockey machine. Even with Autumn the Bear tucked under her arm, she beats me every single time.
This leads onto a battle on Dance Crush, which again, she absolutely annihilates me at.
I blame all that lacrosse toning and coordination.
However, with each win, Meg’s smile grows and her laughter comes easier, warming all the way through my soul. I never want her to stop smiling.
“Thi, you’re actually terrible at this!” Meg chuckles, stepping off the machine flustered and breathless. “I thought being Brazilian meant rhythm was stamped onto your birth certificate.” My mouth opens, indignation running through me.
“This isn’t real dancing!” I protest, also hopping off the machine’s mini stage. Dragging Meg into my arms, I tug her into a gentle sway. My hands settle at her waist, my mouth dropping to her ear. “This is dancing.”
I shift my weight, coaxing one of her feet back with mine, turning her just enough for her hip to brush mine and her breath to catch on a surprised laugh.
It’s not really a samba, not with sticky carpet under our shoes and neon lights flashing over our faces, but I give her a little hint of it in the roll of my shoulders, the subtle push and pull of each step.
Her eyes remain on mine, absolute trust radiating from her until we draw to a stop.
Tilting her head, Meg’s mouth is a breath away from mine, coaxing me to close the distance until she speaks.
“I thought there was supposed to be snacks involved?” My grin is instantaneous. Taking a step back, my touch lingers as I take her hand and press a kiss to the back of it.
“Ahh, phase two. Come on then, Amorzinha, I won’t keep you waiting any longer.”
Once Autumn has been collected from her nearby perch, we spill out of the arcade, the coolness of the evening air a welcome balm.
Luckily, our next destination is right next door, the smell of the bakery reaching us before we’ve stepped inside.
Cinnamon, butter, sugar, coffee. All of Meg’s favorite things, which is exactly why a tiny sound of pleasure emanates from her parted lips.
“Holy shit. You brought me to heaven.” Meg breathes as we enter.
She looks around at the glass cases filled with pastries, the loaves stacked on shelves, the little tables crowded with couples, night workers and a very serious old man reading a newspaper upside down.
The woman at the counter spots me and gives a tiny nod toward the back, which is excellent service and also proof that money always buys discretion.
I take Meg’s hand, guiding her past the main seating area and through a narrow arch strung with dried orange slices and tiny lights. The little alcove is barely big enough for one table, tucked beneath a window that faces the alley, shrouded in the neon glow from the arcade’s signage.
As per my specifications, two candles flicker in the center of the table, throwing golden shadows over mismatched plates and folded napkins.
There’s a small jar of wild stems in orange, cream and deep red.
Waiting on the plates are two cinnamon rolls so big, they look like building bricks drowning in icing.
Meg’s hand raises, her fingertips brushing her lips.
“Thi,” she says quietly, awe dancing between her eyes.
She steps into the alcove, taking in the scene before fishing out her phone to take a photo.
For once, I don’t make a stupid joke. I want to, badly.
Humor is my favorite shield, my backup generator, my emergency exit, but sometimes, it’s best to stay silent and be brave. So instead, I pull out her chair.