Page 8 of Dragon, Actually
At Hoardstrom’s, I browse under the security guard’s watchful eye until the giftwrapping station empties, then quickly make my purchase. This time, it’s very deliberate: a red velvet cat toy shaped like a stocking.
Jewel glances up, and her face lights up when she sees me. “Christmas shopping again? Someone’s feeling generous this year.”
I set the catnip-stuffed toy on the counter, trying not to smile too wide. “Yep. It’s for my future wife.”
“Your future wife is a cat?” Her laughter at her own joke sends warmth flooding through me.
“A cat lover like you,” I tease right back.
She grins. “How did you know I’ve always wanted a cat?”
I blink. “You don’t...have one?”
She shakes her head. “My roommate does. If you noticed cat hair on me, that’s why.” She frowns down at herself, brushing nonexistent hair from the front of her sweater.
My stomach twists with the realization that I almost slipped up. I shouldn’t know anything about her situation at home. I let my enthusiasm get the better of me. Jewel doesn’t seem suspicious, but my mouth suddenly feels dry.
“I just thought you’d make a good cat mom,” I say, grasping for anything.
“Careful,” she teases, her brown eyes sparkling. “That kind of flattery will get you everywhere.”
I chuckle, but inwardly, I’m reeling. I was seconds away from ruining everything. Thank gods she supplied the cat hair excuse.
She finishes wrapping the toy and hands it back with a playful smile. “So, is the lucky lady getting this anytime soon?”
“Maybe. But first, I’d like to take her on a date. Say, on her next day off?”
Her cheeks flush faintly, and she nods. “Tuesday.”
“Tuesday it is.” The head chef at the restaurant won’t be happy that I’m missing another shift, but he’ll understand. Dragons get a lot of leeway when they’re courting their alokoi.
I scribble down my number on a scrap of wrapping paper. As I walk away, my heart races in anticipation of the date. It’s almost time to tell her the truth—about everything.
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 warmenough to melt snow, has me feeling like I’ve won atlotería. 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.”
