Page 9 of Curvy Girl and the Single Dad Dragon (Cedar Falls: Fated Mates #2)

"You keep surprising me, Luna Hayes." He smirks.

"Hardly," I chuckle. "Just a normal human who happened to stumble into something magical."

He gestures toward the couch. "Would you like to sit for a while longer? Or are you tired? It's been quite a day."

I should be exhausted. By all rights, discovering the existence of dragons and completely recalibrating my understanding of reality should have left me drained. Instead, I feel oddly energized, my mind buzzing with questions and curiosity.

"I'm not tired yet," I admit. "If you don't mind the company."

"I don't mind."

We return to the couch, sitting at opposite ends this time. Without Ember between us, I'm more aware of Damon's presence—his size, the subtle heat radiating from him, the way his golden eyes catch the dim lamplight.

"So," I begin, tucking my legs up underneath me, "you've lived through six centuries of human history. That's... mind-boggling, honestly."

A small smile plays at his lips. "When you live through it day by day, it doesn't feel quite so dramatic."

"Were you in Europe during the Renaissance? Did you meet anyone famous?"

He leans back, considering. "I was, yes. And define 'famous.' History remembers some who were unremarkable in person and forgets others who were truly extraordinary."

"Fair point," I concede. "But I'm still curious."

"I knew a few artists and inventors. Had a brief conversation with Leonardo da Vinci once. Brilliant man, asked too many questions." His tone is light, but I detect something guarded beneath it.

"And you've been a metalworker most of that time? Until recently?"

He nods. "In various capacities. Blacksmith, jeweler, artisan. Dragon fire allows for precision work impossible with traditional forges."

"That sounds fulfilling," I observe. "Why the change to construction?"

"After Jenny left... We decided to move, and I needed work that would keep my hands busy but not require the same creative focus. Construction is physical, demanding, but in a different way. And as I said, it's practical for our situation."

"My dad was in construction too," I tell him. "Residential carpentry, mostly. He could look at a piece of wood and see exactly what it was meant to be. I used to love watching him work."

"Is that where your love of children came from? Your father?"

"I never made that connection, but maybe. He approached everything with such wonder and patience. Always said the most important things take time to build properly." I smile at the memory. "He'd build elaborate dollhouses and miniature furniture for me, all with working parts."

"He sounds like a remarkable man."

"He was." I blink back unexpected tears. "Sorry, it's still fresh sometimes."

"No need to apologize," Damon says quietly. "Grief doesn't follow a timetable."

"No, it doesn't." I take a deep breath. "Anyway, my mom took his death especially hard. They were completely devoted to each other. When he died, it was like the ground disappeared beneath her feet."

"And beneath yours," he observes gently.

I nod, grateful for his perception. "Yes. But I had to be strong for her. She just... collapsed. Barely left her room for weeks. I moved back home to help her through it, put my career plans on hold."

"That must have been difficult."

"It was the right thing to do," I say simply. "She's doing better now, going to grief counseling, even joined a community garden group recently. But she's still finding her way."

"As are you," he notes.

I look up, meeting his gaze. "I suppose I am. This job—coming here—it feels like a fresh start. Even before I knew about the dragons," I add with a small smile.

"And now that you do know?"

"Now it feels like something more." I pause, trying to articulate the feeling. "Like I've been given a glimpse behind the curtain of reality. Everything looks the same, but it's all different now."

He nods in understanding. "That feeling never entirely goes away. Even for those of us born into this dual world."

"Do you ever wish you could just be... normal?" I ask, curious. "Not have to hide what you are?"

His expression grows thoughtful. "There have been moments, yes. But what is 'normal,' really? Even among dragons, I'm somewhat unusual. Most don't live among humans as completely as I do. Most maintain closer ties to dragon communities, live more isolated lives."

"Why did you choose differently?"

He's quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if I've pushed too far. Just as I'm about to apologize, he speaks.

"Curiosity, initially. Humans change so rapidly. Your art, your technologies, your societies. It's fascinating to witness. And then..." He hesitates. "There was Jenny. I met her when I wasn't looking for connection, wasn't planning to stay in one place long. But she changed everything."

The sadness in his voice when he mentions his ex-wife makes my heart ache for him. "You really loved her."

"I did," he confirms. "Still do, in many ways. Not romantically anymore, but as Ember's mother, as someone who shared part of my journey."

"Do you resent her for leaving?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "I'm sorry, that's too personal—"

"It's alright," he interrupts gently. "And no, I don't resent her. I understand her fear. Loving someone is one thing; accepting that they and your child are from a species thought to be mythological is quite another. She tried, for years. That counts for something."

His compassion toward the woman who left him and his daughter is both surprising and touching. "That's very generous of you."

He shrugs slightly. "Six centuries gives you perspective on human emotions. They're intense but often fleeting. Fear, though... fear can override everything else."

"Is that what you expect from most humans? Fear?"

"History has taught us to be cautious," he threads lightly. "There have been times when dragons lived more openly among humans. Those times rarely ended well for us."

I consider this, trying to imagine how it would feel to be constantly vigilant, always hiding an essential part of yourself. "That sounds exhausting."

"It can be," he admits. "Which is why having a place like this, a home where Ember can be herself, at least within these walls, is so important."

"And now I'm part of that safe space," I realize aloud. "That's a big responsibility."

"It is," he agrees. "But you've already shown you're equal to it."

He’s incredible. Not just a single father, not just my employer, but a being who has lived through centuries of history, who carries wisdom and experiences I can barely comprehend.

"What about you?" he asks, breaking the silence. "Beyond your parents and your career choice. What should I know about Luna Hayes?"

I laugh softly. "After hearing about your six-hundred-year lifespan, my twenty-four years seem rather insignificant."

"Not at all," he counters seriously. "Every life has its own significance, regardless of length."

His sincerity encourages me to open up. "Well, let's see.

I grew up here in Cedar Falls, actually.

Left for college, came back when Dad got sick.

I have a small group of close friends, though I've been somewhat disconnected since moving back in with Mom.

I love to read, especially fantasy, which is ironic now that I think about it. "

"Perhaps you sensed there was more to the world than most people realize," he suggests with a hint of a smile.

"Maybe," I smile back. "I also play the piano. Not professionally or anything, just for myself. My dad built custom furniture, but he also restored antiques, including a beautiful upright piano that he gave me for my sixteenth birthday. It's still at Mom's house. I miss playing it."

"There's a piano in the study," Damon mentions. "It needs tuning, but you're welcome to use it anytime."

"You play?" I ask, surprised.

He shakes his head. "I bought it for Ember. I want her to have opportunities to explore different interests. Music, art, whatever speaks to her."

"That's thoughtful," I say, touched by his consideration for his daughter's development. "Most parents focus narrowly on academics these days."

"Dragons take a longer view of education," he explains. "We have time to master many skills throughout our lives. Childhood is for exploration and discovery."

"How long will Ember be considered a child by dragon standards?"

"Our development matches humans fairly closely until puberty," he explains. "Then it slows considerably. She'll be physically mature around thirty, but won't be considered a full adult in dragon society until she's at least a century old."

"A century," I repeat, trying to wrap my mind around the timescale. "And you're what, middle-aged in dragon terms?"

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. "Something like that, though we don't categorize age quite the same way. Dragons can live to be well over a thousand years old, so I'm still in my prime."

"That's incredible," I murmur, a sudden shiver running through me as the implications of such a lifespan sink in. The temperature in the room seems to have dropped while we've been talking.

Damon notices immediately. "You're cold."

Before I can deny it, he's reaching for a soft throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and offering it to me. "Dragon senses," he explains at my surprised look. "We notice things very quickly."

"Thank you." I wrap the blanket around my shoulders, immediately feeling warmer. "That's a useful ability."

"It has its advantages," he agrees. "Though it makes weather extremes more uncomfortable for us. We regulate our internal temperature to compensate, but it requires energy."

I pull the blanket tighter, still feeling a slight chill. "Is that why the house is so warm? For Ember's comfort?"

He nods. "And mine, though I'm better at adapting than she is. Cold is particularly challenging for young dragons."

"But you can generate your own heat," I point out. "With the whole fire-breathing thing."

A smile tugs at his lips. "Yes, but it's not quite as simple as turning on an internal furnace. Using our fire requires focus and energy. It's not something we do casually, especially around flammable objects."

My curiosity piques. "So, you can control it completely? The fire?"

"With practice and discipline, yes. Ember is still learning, but I have centuries of control."

"What does it feel like?" I ask, genuinely interested. "When you breathe fire?"

"It's difficult to describe to someone who hasn't experienced it.

There's a heat that builds here," he touches his sternum, "a pressure that rises up through the chest and throat.

When it's released, there's a moment of intense heat followed by a sense of.

.. liberation, I suppose. It's natural, like breathing or blinking, but also powerful. "

I try to imagine the sensation but can't quite grasp it. Another shiver runs through me despite the blanket.

Damon leans forward slightly. "Would you like to see something?" he asks, his voice lower than before.

"See what?"

"A demonstration," he says. "Something small, controlled. It might help you understand."

My heart rate picks up with excitement and a touch of nervousness. "Yes, I'd like that."

He holds out his palm, flat and open between us. "Watch."

I lean forward, eyes fixed on his hand. For a moment, nothing happens. Then I notice a subtle change in his breathing—deeper, more rhythmic. His golden eyes seem to brighten, an inner light kindling behind them.

A small flame appears in the center of his palm, no larger than a candle flame but brighter, more intense. It doesn't burn his skin or flicker like a normal fire would. Instead, it holds its shape, glowing with a golden-orange light that pulses gently, almost like a heartbeat.

"Oh," I breathe, mesmerized by the beautiful, impossible flame dancing in his hand.

"Dragon fire is different from ordinary fire," he explains softly. "We can control its heat, its intensity, even its duration."

As he speaks, I notice something even more remarkable. Tiny embers rise from the flame, floating upward like sparks, but they don't extinguish. Instead, they hover around his head like a constellation of miniature stars, some settling briefly in his dark hair without burning it.

"It's beautiful," I whisper, transfixed by the display.

The flame in his palm pulses once more, then gradually diminishes until it's gone, though the floating embers remain for several seconds longer, casting a warm glow across his features before they too fade away.

In that moment, with the last golden lights reflecting in his eyes, Damon Thorne doesn't look human at all. He looks ancient and powerful and utterly magnificent.

And I realize, with a certainty that should frighten me but somehow doesn't, that I'm in serious danger of falling for a 639-year-old dragon.