Page 9 of The Dragon’s Accidental Manny

“No, you can’t.” Bea didn’t look up.

“I will.” He put on a pouty face. “When I’m bigger.”

I held both his hands and kneeled in front of him. “We don’t stand on the stools or the kitchen counters. Do you know why?”

Jack looked at Bea, but she shrugged. “No.”

I rubbed his head. “Because you might hurt yourself or someone else.”

“Oh. And you don’t want me to?” His eyes grew wide.

“Nope.” Damn, this little boy was winding his way into my heart.

He hugged me, and the wings slapped my cheeks. I was going on a mission to replace them with non-mechanical ones, but not today.

“Also your feet are gross.” Isla was poking her pile of discarded blueberries with a fork.

Jack’s face crumpled. “No. Daddy, tell Isla my feet are not stinky.” He flung his arms around Price’s legs.

“When you remember to take a bath they’re not smelly.” Price kissed the top of his son’s head. It was such an affectionate gesture that I got teary, so I grabbed the plates and rinsed them before putting them in the dishwasher.

“Everyone in the car in fifteen minutes.” Price added that I should come with them this morning and he’d drop me back at the house before continuing on to work.

I took Jack’s hand and asked him to show me his bathroom. Price had sent me the layout of the house last night and everyone had their own bedroom and attached bathroom.

“Let’s get your teeth brushed.”

He made what I assumed was a scary face, showing his front teeth, and skipped down the corridor.

The girls were in the car and Price was in the entryway when we were done, and he made me memorize the code for the front door. He closed the door and told me to unlock it. But I made a mistake, pressing a one instead of a seven, just as I had yesterday. My boss put his hand over mine and warmth rippled through me.

But not just temperature heat. Sweat trickled down my spine as I concentrated on the door, but it was the man behind me that held my attention.

FIVE

PRICE

I'd left this house for work every morning for three years and never once had to make myself do it.

But this morning, I sat at the end of my own drive with the engine running, watching Cam let himself back inside with the door code I'd taught him, and I wanted to forget about work for the day and stay home.

Don’t.

Huh, that made no sense. My beast wanted me to leave? Don't what?

Don't go. Stay home because he’s here.

I put the car in drive and clicked the remote. The gate opened slowly as if it were deciding whether to let me out.

That gate agrees with me.

As I drove to the studio, I had that niggling feeling that I’d left something behind. My dragon did his best inside-me version of an eye roll but didn’t say anything.

The studio, a low brick building I’d bought when work outgrew the house where I lived before I became a father, was twenty minutes away. It was on the outskirts of town and set on a huge lot surrounded by trees. I needed the solitude so I could concentrate. My assistants were human—you couldn’t advertise for dragon glassblowers—so I only used my beast’s fire when they weren’t there.

By the time I'd let myself in and brought the furnace up to heat, the reluctance to be away from my mate had given way to distraction, and that was worse. Distraction and molten glass didn’t belong together.

Glass was my life’s work. I mostly made vessels, vases, and bowls. But the big commissions were installations that paid for the mortgage and upkeep of a house with five bathrooms. My clients were often private collectors who’d fly me out to hang what I’d made. When I was interviewed about my work, there were always questions about how I worked the heat and how long I kept the glass molten on the end of a pipe. People were particularly interested in how close I stood to the furnace without flinching.