Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
EMBER
Itug at the neckline of the padded costume, fanning my face in the bustling town hall. I wasn’t supposed to stay this long.
The deal I made with myself was simple: help with the face-painting while the kids were here, drop a few dollars in the fundraiser tin, then slip home to my cats, a glass of wine, and my dragon-shifter romance where at least the heroine gets the guy.
But since the kids left, I got roped into serving the chili.
The face-painting table turned into a buffet table with cider cups and hot dogs.
Fairy lights glow softer against the wood beams as Hollywood strums his guitar.
Adults linger, laughing, leaning into one another. Couples. People who belong.
And me.
A sweaty pumpkin with glitter on my hands and paint in my hair.
I fan my face again with a cardboard table decoration of Gary the Ghost, wiping the moisture gathered on my top lip and smearing more orange paint onto my hand.
Definitely time to go.
I shuffle towards the door in this ridiculous padded dress, my orange tights rubbing together where my thighs touch. The swish-swish of the nylon loud enough I’m convinced half the room can hear it.
“Going so soon?” a familiar British accent teases behind me.
Goose bumps race over my skin.
I turn, and there he is. Drake Coleman, still painted green, with glittery gold flames curling up his cheek, dragon tail swishing behind him as if he was born to swagger in it. Phoenix elbows him in the ribs, grinning like he’s watching a rom-com play out in real time.
“I was just…” I fumble, hand half on the door. “It’s late.”
“It’s not even nine.” His grin widens. “You trying to ghost me, pumpkin?”
My cheeks heat, partly from the stuffy costume, partly from the way the word “pumpkin” sounds in his accent.
“I wasn’t ghosting anyone,” I mumble, clutching Gary the cardboard ghost tighter as I waft my face. “I’ve been here all evening serving chili, with face paint in my hair, tights welded to my thighs… it’s time I left with what’s left of my dignity.”
“Dignity’s overrated.” He steps closer, dropping his voice so only I can hear. “Besides, you can’t leave yet. You haven’t danced.”
I snort. “In case you haven’t noticed, pumpkins don’t dance. They sit in fields and rot.”
“Not you. You’ve been plucked from the patch.” He holds his hand out to me as Hollywood sings “Creep” by Radiohead. “Come on.” His grin softens, making my knees wobble. “One dance. No rolling required.”
I shake my head, clutching the cardboard ghost decoration tighter. “Absolutely not. I’d look like a wobbling Weeble.”
“You’d look adorable.” His gaze flicks deliberately to the padded costume, then back up to my face. “Besides, you’ve already seen me crawling on the classroom floor pretending to be a dragon. What’s worse than that?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my lips twitching into a laugh despite myself. “This conversation?”
His laugh is low, curling through me like warm smoke. “You’re feisty tonight.”
“I’m tired,” I counter, though it comes out more breathless than firm.
“Then let me wake you up.” He wiggles his painted brows, ridiculous black-painted nostrils flaring. “Come on, pumpkin. One song. I promise not to breathe fire on you.”
I laugh nervously. “In this?” I gesture at my padded orange belly. “You like toasted pumpkin?” I feel like soup right now under his heated stare, my legs barely holding me with weak knees.
His eyes sweep over me, slow and unashamed, before locking back on mine. “I like pumpkin pie.”
My breath catches. “We can’t do this.” I scratch my neck, feeling all eyes on me, including my brother’s.
“Do what?” He leans a shoulder against the wall. “Why are you really sneaking out?”
“Because…” I swallow. Because you’re younger, hotter, and I know how this ends.
“…because I don’t belong here.”
“Funny,” he says, tilting his head. “You’re the only one in the room I can’t stop looking at.” He steps closer, reaches out a hand and swipes my hair from my face. “You belong here.”
I freeze, Gary the Ghost crumpling in my hand.
Drake smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on me.
“You live here. If anyone is a fish out of water, it’s me.”
“A dragon out of the firehouse, you mean.” I huff out a half laugh. “Besides…” I lift my foot in the cast, holding my crutches. “I meant because I’m in my broken ankle era.”
He runs a hand over his face. “Shit, I forgot. I’m sorry.”
“No worries. But I have a glass of wine waiting, and a date with a book. Besides, where’s Sienna?”
“Grandparents took her back to theirs. I’m all yours tonight, pumpkin.”
Flint strides over to me, car keys in hand. “You ready to go?” He gives Drake a knowing look and a smirk, as if they’re exchanging a private joke.
“Hi, Emberrrr,” Seraphina slurs, swaying as she pushes through the door smelling like a cider farm. She hiccups, colliding with Flint’s chest. “Mister Sparkles. Chiefy Flintsy.” She pats his chest as if she’s testing a wall.
Flint grips her arms, scowling. “Sera, are you drunk?”
She hiccups again. “Nooo. Maybe. Half drunk. Quarter drunk. Math’s not my strong point.” A snorting giggle bursts out, and she covers her mouth like that’ll help. “Maybe I just need another drink.”
“Not on my watch. You’re not old enough to drink.” Flint sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Damn it, Sera. I’m taking you home.”
“But—” She wobbles on her toes. “I haven’t had the ch—” Hiccup. “Chili yet. After chili, Pops.” She plants an exaggerated kiss on his cheek, leaving him blinking down at her. “Then you can take me home. Promise.”
Flint’s jaw flexes as he steadies her, as if he’s being pulled in two directions at once. “Maybe some food will sober you up.” He looks over at me, then back to her.
I wave him off, hoisting my crutches. “Don’t worry, I’ll manage. I’m not the one hiccupping cider fumes.”
“You can’t walk, Em.” His tone is firm, but his eyes flick to Seraphina, who’s now trying to balance her tiara on his head.
“I’ll hobble. It’s only a few blocks.”
“Like hell you will,” Flint groans.
Before I can argue, a low British drawl slides in between us. “I’ll take her.”
My head snaps around. Drake stands there, gold flames curling along his cheek. His grin is gone, though, and his eyes are serious.
Flint’s jaw flexes, suspicion flashing across his face. “You?”
“Me.” Drake’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge of challenge in it. “You’ve got your hands full, Chief. Don’t worry, your sister’s safe with me.”
The words roll through me like smoke and heat. Too much heat.
Flint hesitates, Seraphina tugging on his sleeve with another hiccup. With a muttered curse, he steers her towards the kitchen. “Fine. But dragon boy—” His eyes cut back to Drake. “Behave.”
My brother knows me better than anyone. He doesn’t need to challenge any guy to behave around me. I don’t date. I haven’t dated since my husband left me ten years ago. It’s just… too painful.
“Come on, pumpkin.” Drake offers his arm like some kind of cocky green-faced gentleman. “Let’s get you home before you turn into soup.”