Chapter 9
Jewel
The city plaza is magical.
The lights on the massive tree twinkle like stars, and the air smells like sugar cookies and pine.
Myrran and I lace up our skates next to the rink, the cold biting at my nose and cheeks as I steal glances at him.
His smile, sharp and wicked but warm enough to melt snow, has me feeling like I’ve won at lotería.
Like I didn’t do anything to earn it, but I’m so happy, I don’t care.
“Have you done this before?” I ask as we step onto the slick ice, trying to recall the six months of figure skating lessons I took when I was ten. “Do dragons skate?”
“How hard can it be? You slide your feet. I have a tail for balance.” His confidence borders on cockiness, given that his feet barely fit in the largest size of skates and there are literally no other dragons out on the ice.
I hide my smile. “Okay, let me know if you need any pointers.”
“Deal.”
Of course, he’s as steady as a glacier while I flail around like a baby deer.
Every time I let go of the wall, my feet go out from under me, usually in opposite directions.
After one spectacular, full-splits moment, I even hear my tired pair of leggings give way at the seam.
At least my sweater is long enough to cover the hole.
I struggle to my feet, clutching the wall and feeling humiliated. Myrran pauses, offering his hand, his expression concerned. “Need help?”
I hesitate—pride is a thing—but then my legs wobble, and I latch onto him. His hand is warm even through my thin gloves, and he steadies me effortlessly. He even skates backward, pulling me along easily, the show-off.
“You’re obnoxiously good at this,” I say, laughing in spite of myself.
“I’m good at everything,” he says, leaning close enough for me to catch a faint whiff of smoke and cedar. “Well, except kissing. Still learning there, but I’ve gotten good feedback so far.”
I twine my fingers through his so we can skate side-by-side. “I’ll tell you a secret, but don’t let it go to your head. You’re obnoxiously good at that, too.”
After a dozen more exhilarating laps (and a handful of ungraceful falls on my part), we ditch the skates in favor walking around the city.
It’s much easier to talk on foot than on skates, for one, and it’s fun exploring a part of the city I don’t usually frequent.
Myrran seems like he’s been here before, though, because he keeps pointing out landmarks and commenting on the restaurants we pass.
“Is your hive in this neighborhood?” I ask.
He squeezes my hand. “Yeah! You want to see it? Everyone would love to meet you. They were really excited when I told them about you.”
“Really excited about your first date with the department-store-giftwrap girl?” I giggle.
He’s obviously exaggerating to be sweet.
I can’t help feeling a little intimidated by the thought of meeting a whole hive of dragons when I barely know Myrran.
Especially with damp knees from falling on the ice and a giant hole in the crotch of my pants.
A little worry slips into my voice. “Did you tell them that I’m human? ”
“Hey.” He pulls me into an embrace, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk and forcing the other pedestrians to detour around us.
“They don’t care what species you are. We don’t have to go right now if you’re not ready, though.
It was just an idea. I have a better one, anyway.
I saw a place nearby you’re really going to like. ”
He leads me on a zig-zag path through the city to a little churrería a few blocks away.
The scent of chocolate and cinnamon greets us, and we slide into a booth near the frosted window.
Snowflakes swirl outside, but inside it it’s warm and cozy.
The scraps of Spanish slipping out of the kitchen make me feel even more at home.
“You’re right, I do really like it here,” I tell him as I scan the menu packed full of my most coveted childhood treats.
“What do you recommend?” he asks, frowning at his copy of the menu. “I’m not sure what all this stuff is, to be honest.”
“I got you.” Remembering his gluten allergy, I skip the churros and order us both Mexican hot chocolate. Our mugs arrive complete with an obscene amount of whipped cream and a drizzle of chili-caramel sauce. Myrran sips his, eyes widening at the complex, spicy flavor.
“Oh wow,” he says, eyes lighting up above his new whipped-cream mustache. “I wasn’t expecting something so interesting when you handed me a hot chocolate. This is fantastic. Sweet, spicy, lots of depth.”
“Kind of like me,” I crack.
He nods slowly. “Just what I was thinking. People probably assume you’re just a pretty face, running around to modeling jobs and tying bows, but you’re a lot more than that.”
“Aw, thanks.” I sip my chocolate, enjoying the warm, comforting slide down my throat. “Wait a minute. How did you know I model?”
He freezes, looking slightly panicked. Oh no…poor guy. He got caught. I stifle a giggle. “Did you google me?”
His shoulders sag, and he rubs the base of one of his horns. “Yeah. I saw your portfolio on your agency’s website. Is that okay?”
“I definitely looked you up as soon as I found out your name. Not too many dragons named Myrran in this city.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Oh really? What’d you find out?”
“Let’s see.” I tick off items I found on social media on my fingers. “You’re one of the best flame grillers in the city. Won a few awards, got featured in the newspaper. Attended what I think was a dragon bachelor party that involved getting arrested after passing out on the beach.”
He grimaces. “Don’t judge me. That was a few years ago. I was still learning to control my shift while under the influence.”
I giggle. “No worries. Been there, done that when it comes to bachelorette parties. What else…you take a lot of pictures of your food. Oh yeah, and you’re a proud uncle of twin nieces who do aerial gymnastics.”
“They’re really good,” he enthuses, his whole face brightening. “I take them to practice on Thursday afternoons, rain or shine. We all kind of take turns with the kids at the hive to give their parents a break. I love hanging out with them on my days off.”
My heart squeezes. That reminds me of life back home.
My mom and dad own the walnut orchard, but my aunts and uncles have homes dotted around the huge property.
All of us cousins were always at one house or another so our parents could work or relax.
I like that Myrran is so involved with his family and community.
Not everybody understands how important that is.
“So,” he says, propping his elbows on the table. “What do you usually do on your days off?”
I snort. Between modeling go-sees and Hoardstrom’s shifts, I don’t have much free time. “Laundry?”
“Nothing fun?”
“Not unless you count sitting on my couch and watching Netflix as fun.”
Under the table, his tail curls around my ankle and squeezes, raising goosebumps on my skin. “It’d be fun if it was with you.”
“It would be,” I say, biting my lip as my cheeks heat up, imagining what it’d be like to snuggle with him. His big, clawed hands on me. “Too bad you can’t kiss me right now.”
His smile fades into something more serious, his gaze holding mine. “I would really like that.”
There’s a weight to his words that makes my heart skip a beat. The silence between us stretches until I break it with a teasing grin. “My place or yours?”
His mouth quirks up. “Yours has more privacy—if your roommate doesn’t mind.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No worries, she’s out of town for the holidays. Plus,” I add, taking draining the rest of my mug of chocolate, “this way you can meet the cat.”
Myrran smirks. “Ah yes, the real test: Does the cat approve?”
“You joke, but Mr. Whiskers is a better judge of character than most people.”
His smirk widens into a grin. “Then I’d better be on my best behavior.”
“I’m kind of hoping you’ll be on your worst.” I’m in the mood for a whole lot more than kissing.