Page 20 of Pucking the Grump

“No judgment here.” I select two mismatched buttons—one blue, one green. Solid dragon eyes. “Fun night is a no judgment zone, remember? I also loved Kermit, but Gonzo was my favorite.”

“Love Gonzo!” Stone hesitates, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Now, I feel like maybe I should do a monster, instead? Is that what Gonzo was?”

I laugh. “I have no idea. But maybe you’ll have time to make both.”

Stone grins. “Excellent idea.” He reaches for a pair of big googly eyes. “So why a dragon? Because your family’s from Scotland? Isn’t the dragon their national animal?”

“No, it’s the unicorn,” I say, gathering red and orange felt. “I think Wales is the dragon, but don’t quote me. I haven’t been to the UK since I was tiny.” I frown, a memory emerging from the primordial soup. “But actually, I think my parents bought Scorcher for me when we were in Edinburgh visiting Dad’s grandma before she passed.”

“Scorcher?”

“My stuffed dragon,” I say. “He was bright green with yellow teeth and flaming red eyes, and I blamed him every time I got into trouble for not doing my chores.”

“Aw, cute. Did your dad buy it?”

I snort. “Of course, not. You know he’s anti-shirking. Even for four-year-olds.”

Stone pauses, a googly eye hovering above his sock. “You had chores when you were four? Seriously?”

Something in his tone makes me glance up. I bristle a little at the pity in his gaze.

“It wasn’t like child labor,” I say, with a defensive shrug. “My dad wasn’t a monster for wanting me to learn how to help out. It was just little things like cleaning up my toys and helping load the dishes after dinner. Things that are good for a kid to learn.”

He studies me for a moment longer than feels necessary…or comfortable.

“I mean, kids in China learn how to make their own meals starting in kindergarten,” I add. “They have little fire pits outside in their playgrounds and everything. Kids can do a lot more than we give them credit for, and self-sufficiency builds character.”

“You’re right,” he says, but his tone says he isn’t sure that I am. “I didn’t have chores until sixth grade, and then only little things. Benefit of being the baby of the family. My sisters are still pissed at me for not being forced to do my own laundry when I turned twelve.”

“Slacker,” I tease, making him laugh.

“Totally,” he agrees, nodding toward the yarn on the far side of the table. “Can you hook me up with the green and yellow? I want to give my frog hair.”

“As you should.” I pass the yarn before grabbing some yellow felt for myself. I cut and curl the fabric into horn shapes that I stick together with glue before attaching them to my dragon’s forehead with needle and thread.

“Look!” I hold up my puppet when I’m done. “Horns! And I only stabbed myself twice, and I’m barely bleeding at all.”

“Awesome,” Stone says. “He’s looking good.”

“Thank you,” I preen. “Now I’m going to give him a rainbow mane. If a frog can have hair, a dragon can have a mane like a pony, right?”

“Hell, yeah,” he agrees.

The conversation continues to flow easily as our puppets take shape. Stone’s frog grows increasingly adorable, with bulging felt-backed googly eyes, blond hair with green highlights, and a wide pink mouth that looks ready to catch flies. My dragon is fun, too, though the rainbow mane turns out to be a little more work than I bargained for. I’m still stitching chunks into place as Stone finishes with Steve.

“Steve?” I ask, glancing up from my puppet with an arched brow. “Why Steve?”

“Why not Steve?” Stone counters, making his frog hop across the table to inspect my creation. He pitches his voice high and squeaky as he adds, “My, Mr. Dragon, what big horns you have.”

“That’s what all the girls say, Steve,” I brag in a deep, dragon voice.

Piper chooses that moment to swing by our table, inspecting our creations with almost theatrical appreciation. “Wow. These are magnificent! The hair on that frog and the dragon’s mane are inspired.” She glances between us, her expression softening. “What a beautiful couple you are. Such lovely, accepting energy in the air between you.”

My lips part to explain that we’re just friends, but Stone beats me to the punch.

“Thank you,” he says simply. “We’re having a great time. Thanks for putting together such a fun night.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” I echo, my cheeks heating for reasons I can’t completely explain.

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