Page 4 of Curvy Girl and the Single Dad Dragon (Cedar Falls: Fated Mates #2)

"Can I show you my room now?" she asks, looking up at me with those remarkable golden eyes so like her father's.

"Absolutely," I smile down at her. "Lead the way."

Ember's room is exactly what you'd expect from a six-year-old girl with a dragon obsession. The walls are painted a soft lavender, but dragons are everywhere. Stuffed dragons on the bed, dragon posters on the walls, dragon figurines on shelves.

"You really do love dragons," I observe as she proudly shows me her collection.

"They're the best," she says matter-of-factly. "They're strong and magical and can protect the people they love."

"That's true," I agree, picking up a beautifully crafted glass dragon from her shelf. "This one is gorgeous."

"Daddy made that one," she says proudly. "He makes things with fire."

"You mean like glassblowing?" I ask, examining the intricate details of the dragon's scales.

"Something like that," she answers vaguely, then quickly changes the subject. "Want to see my school books? They're in Daddy's study."

The rest of the morning passes in a pleasant routine of lessons.

Ember is indeed advanced in reading, currently working her way through chapter books meant for children several years older, and she has an incredible grasp of science concepts.

Math, as Damon warned, requires more patience, but we make it through her assigned problems with only minimal frustration.

After lunch (sandwiches with an impressive amount of turkey for such a small child), we head outside to enjoy the beautiful spring day. The property backs up to woods, with a cleared area containing a playset complete with swings, slide, and a small climbing wall I hadn’t noticed before.

"Daddy built this for me when we moved here," Ember tells me as she scrambles up the climbing wall with surprising strength and agility. "He said every dragon needs a place to spread their wings."

I smile at her imagination. "Your daddy really encourages your love of dragons, doesn't he?"

"It's because we're—" She stops suddenly, her eyes widening as if she's said something wrong. "It's because he knows I love them," she finishes, less convincingly.

As she plays, I notice how careful she is with certain toys, particularly anything plush or fabric. When I suggest a game of tag, she seems momentarily panicked.

"We can't play chase games," she says quickly. "It makes me too excited and then accidents happen."

"What kind of accidents?" I ask gently.

She looks down at her shoes. "I'm not supposed to talk about it."

Remembering Damon's mention of anxiety episodes, I don't press the issue. "That's okay. How about we collect some pretty rocks instead? I noticed some interesting ones in the garden yesterday."

Her face brightens immediately. "Yes! I can show you my special collection!"

We spend the afternoon exploring the property, with Ember pointing out her favorite spots.

The hollow tree where rabbits sometimes hide, the patch of wild strawberries just beginning to flower, the large flat rock at the edge of the woods that gets warm in the sun "perfect for a dragon to bask on," according to Ember.

By the time we head inside for her afternoon snack, I've almost forgotten the strange moments from earlier. Ember is simply a bright, imaginative child with a dragon fixation. Nothing unusual about that.

Until, that is, I'm preparing her snack—apple slices and peanut butter with a side of beef jerky, per Damon's instructions about protein—and I hear a crash from the living room followed by a small cry.

I rush in to find Ember standing by the coffee table, looking in horror at a broken picture frame on the floor. It's the only family photo I'd noticed yesterday, the one with the blonde woman I assume is her mother.

"I didn't mean to," she says, her voice trembling. "I was just looking at Mommy and it fell."

"It's okay, sweetheart. Accidents happen." I move to comfort her but stop when I notice something alarming. Is that... smoke coming from her nostrils?

"Ember?" I step closer, concerned. "Are you feeling alright?"

Her eyes are wide with panic.

"I need Daddy," she whispers, backing away from me. "I can't stop it."

"Can't stop what?" I ask, reaching for her just as I notice her cheeks glowing with an internal light, like embers in a fire, and then I understand her name with sudden clarity as a small puff of flame escapes her lips.

I freeze, unable to process what I've just seen.

"Don't be scared," she pleads, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "Please don't run away like Mommy did."

The rational part of my brain is screaming that this is impossible, that children don't breathe fire. But the evidence is right in front of me. The singed carpet where the tiny flame landed, the wisps of smoke still curling from her mouth, the unnatural heat radiating from her small body.

And suddenly, all the strange comments and behaviors make sense. The "special secret." The warnings about "accidents." Damon's vetting of potential nannies. The obsession with dragons.

My mind races back to yesterday—*"This is me and Daddy," she had explained, then pointed to another drawing showing the same two figures, but with what looked like red and orange flames coming from their mouths. "And this is our special secret."*

They weren't pretending to be dragons. They *are* dragons. Or... something impossible that breathes fire.

I should be terrified. I should be running for the door. But all I can see is a frightened little girl who thinks I'm going to abandon her just like her mother did. So instead of running, I kneel down to her level and do what Damon instructed. I help her focus on her breathing.

"In through your nose," I say calmly, demonstrating. "Out through your mouth."

Her eyes widen in surprise, but she follows my lead, taking a shaky breath in through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. No flames this time.

"That's it," I encourage her. "Again. In... and out."

We breathe together for several minutes until the glow in her cheeks subsides and her body temperature seems to cool slightly.

"Better?" I ask softly.

She nods, still watching me warily. "You're not running away."

"No, I'm not running away." I reach out slowly and take her small hand in mine. It's still unnaturally warm but no longer burning hot. "I promised your dad I would take care of you, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Even though you know I'm a dragon?" she asks in a whisper.

I take a deep breath, trying to reconcile what I've seen with what I thought I knew about the world. "Even though you can breathe fire," I say. "We can talk about... the dragon part... when your dad gets home."

Relief floods her features. "You're not going to leave us?"

"No, Ember. I'm not going to leave." The words come out with more certainty than I feel, but seeing her small face brighten makes me determined to keep that promise, regardless of how impossible the situation seems.

"Can we not tell Daddy I had an accident?" she asks hopefully. "He'll be so upset."

I consider this for a moment. "I think we need to tell him, sweetheart. But I'll make sure he knows it wasn't your fault and that everything is okay now."

She sighs dramatically. "He's going to do his smoke-from-the-ears thing. That means he's really trying not to be mad."

Smoke from the ears. Of course. Because why not?

"Let's clean this up," I suggest, gesturing to the broken frame. "Then we'll have our snack and finish your lessons for the day. Your dad will be home in a few hours, and we can all talk then."

As we pick up the broken glass and salvage the photograph, I can feel Ember watching me closely, as if waiting for delayed panic to set in.

But strangely, I'm calm. Maybe I'm in shock.

Or maybe... maybe I'm exactly where I'm meant to be, with this extraordinary little girl who breathes fire when she's upset and her father who apparently does the same.

Damon Thorne has a lot of explaining to do when he gets home. But for now, I have a job to do: keeping his daughter safe, even from her own fiery nature.

And somehow, impossibly, I'm okay with that.