Page 20 of Curvy Girl and the Single Dad Dragon
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."
