13. Nicholas

I'm a little nervous.

I read and reread Damon's text he sent before he and George left home. They were coming here for lunch, but instead of being in the house, my house, which might've been intimidating for the kid, we decided they'd pick me up and we'd continue to a small town to eat.

There weren't as many choices as in the city, but a restaurant in Creekville did the best barbecue I'd ever tasted. We could eat outside, and they had a small enclosed playground for kids. I chuckled thinking of the barbecue place as a restaurant. It was more of a convenience store that sold great food from a door around the side and had a few tables scattered over the laneway.

Me too, I sent back but smacked a hand on my brow because Damon was driving and couldn't read it. What if he asked his son to read the text on the display? Or worse, George unlocked the phone and read the conversation. His most obvious question would be, "Why are you both nervous?"

I supposed it might launch an honest conversation about having George meet me. It might turn out okay, but I should stop imagining worst case scenarios and try to enjoy the day.

After inspecting myself in the mirror. I was dressed casually in jeans and a button-down, but had thrown a blazer over the top because I was thinking ahead. If Damon looked at me a certain way or brushed his hand over mine and I got a boner, I wanted to be able to place the jacket in my lap or over my arm to hide my crotch. Kids George's age tended to blurt out things, and I wanted to avoid, "Why do you have a bulge in your pants?"

Him seeing my dragon was also a topic I'd prefer to avoid on our first proper meet-up. He'd been woozy from the operation in the hospital and might not bring it up again. But other than steering the conversation away from his accident and to animals and fantasy novels or movies, there wasn't a surefire way of dodging that bullet.

After taking a deep breath and gargling with mouthwash, making sure I was minty fresh, I grabbed keys and phone. I recalled the dilemma when Damon first came here, but this was worse. If George didn't like me, Damon would put his son first, and rightly so. He might get over the heartbreak of us not being together and go on to find love again, but I never would.

Stop. My dragon was tired of me imagining the worst. He was all for showing George my beast, certain he'd be enthralled. What human kid doesn't dream of dragons being real?

I locked the house, not that I needed to but it was a habit from years of living in an urban area, and waited at the gate. They could come into the house after lunch or not, but I wanted to get the meet-and-greet over with first before George ran around the garden, playing hide-and-seek or whatever kids his age played. Maybe video games.

Damon beeped and slowed, and I waved. I got in, and he introduced me to George. Damon hadn't shared his dating history with me after his mate pissed off—and I didn't expect him to if he preferred to keep that to himself.

George greeted me politely and didn't mention the incident at the hospital. With luck it was fuzzy or had been forgotten.

"What's that?" he asked from the back seat.

I held up the present in a brightly colored gift bag. "It's for you."

"Me! Can I have it now?"

Damon studied his son in the rearview mirror. "Wait until we get to the restaurant."

George grumbled, "But why?" and kicked the back of my seat until his dad told him to stop.

"Okay, sorry, Nicholas."

Damon and I shared a glance. George appeared to be a pretty normal kid. I always wanted to open my presents straight away and hated seeing them under the Christmas tree, tagged with names, my name especially.

My mate pulled into a parking space opposite the store.

"This is the place."

Damon's raised brows suggested he wasn't convinced.

"Goodie, can I have a chocolate bar?"

His dad assured him he would get a treat after lunch.

"How did you find this place?" Damon asked as I took them around the side of the building and a multitude of aromas wafted over us; smoky, sweet, salty, and my eyes watered and a sneeze threatened.

"What's that smell?" George plugged his nose and coughed.

Damon laughed and took his son's hand. "That's the barbeque."

His son made a face, but we scanned the menu board, and George ordered a pulled pork sandwich while Damon and I planned to share ribs. For the sides we got coleslaw and potato salad, along with lemonade.

We grabbed the only spare table, and George sat on his hands and swung his feet, eyeing the gift bag I'd placed on the spare seat. Damon nodded at his son, and the young boy grinned.

"May I have it now, please, Nicholas?"

I handed him the bag, and he peered inside. "Dad, it's art supplies. Wow! Thank you. How did you know I wanted these?"

He spread everything on the spare seat and was engrossed in the brushes and oil paints while we waited for our food.

"Thank you," Damon mouthed.

I said under my breath, "Have there been any mentions of dragons?"

He shook his head. Not that I wanted to lie to George; his dad had met my beast, but a human child with an active imagination might cause chaos at school when describing how I shifted and my dragon hunted and flamed old trees.

The food arrived, and Damon said he was sorry he'd ever doubted me. "Best barbeque I've ever had."

George nodded, his mouth full, but his eyes kept sliding to the art supplies.

We bought pie to eat at my place, and as soon as we arrived, George brought his gift into the house, but his eyes registered surprise as they widened and his mouth gaped as he looked at the back garden. He asked permission of his dad and me if he could venture out, and he took his gift and dessert, and we didn't hear from him for thirty minutes as we sat on the back deck.

"I'd say your place, or the outside anyway, is a big hit, along with the present." Damon reached out and took my hand. We hadn't made any overt displays of affection, wanting to ease George into the changes that lay ahead.

At one point, he raced back to the house, his lips blue from pie or paint or both, yelling if we could visit here next weekend.

"Better than I'd hoped." Damon sipped coffee, and we sat in silence enjoying the view and George's enthusiasm for the great outdoors.

I had invited the pair to stay the night—I had space, and Damon could sleep in his own room—but he'd decided before they came that a meet-and-greet was the best first step.

"Do we have to go home today?" George strolled back to the house saying he was hungry, and Damon gave him leftovers from lunch.

I stayed quiet, as it wasn't my decision to make.

"We don't have our PJs or toothbrushes," Damon told him.

I nudged him and mouthed, "You can stay."

"Okay," he whispered.

"I have toothbrushes and PJs for your dad."

"And I have a spare pair of shorts and T-shirt in the car," George piped up. "Can we stay, Daddy, please? I can paint the garden and the mountains."

Damon raised his hands in surrender, and he and George helped me get out fresh towels and sheets. We made fried rice with leftovers for dinner and sat up late watching an animated movie that was the young boy's favorite. Damon fell asleep during the film, and while I watched the screen with George, I relished the family atmosphere with the man I loved and his son.

I hoped the three of us would become a family.

The next morning I got up early and stumbled into the bathroom, but a shout from Damon had me racing into the living room.

"I couldn't find George." Damon was standing at the open sliding doors looking adorable in my PJs. "But he's out there already pretending he's hunting wild animals."

That's what I do,my beast huffed.

And you will after they leave.

Damon and I walked over the wet grass and his hand brushed over mine. He grabbed my fingers, and I studied him. He returned my gaze with a tiny smile, and we continued toward George.

"Morning."

"Who are you pretending to be?" Damon tried hugging his son, but George snorted and said, "Not pretending," while swooping and flapping his hands. "A fire-breathing dragon. They're real, Daddy."

He paused and glanced out our clasped hands.

"Are you two going to kiss?"