I rub a hand down my cheek, shaking my head. “Glad I can provide the entertainment. You have Ember to thank for that.”
Chief’s gaze flicks past me, towards Ember at the stall, her stalk bobbing as she leans over another kid. His smile reaches his eyes. “You let my sister do that to you?”
“I was railroaded into it by my daughter and her teacher.”
He chuckles again, deep and dry. “My sister did a number on you.”
The lads howl even louder, banging their cups against the table like a drumroll.
I mutter under my breath, “Keep laughing, lads. Dragon breath’s got reach.”
But my eyes betray me, sliding back to Ember. She’s laughing at something, her entire face lit up under the string lights. And I think Chief might be right.
His sister has done a number on me, and I don’t mind one bit.
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 decorationof 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” byRadiohead. “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?”
