The bookshop has that dust and old paper smell you can’t really pick up anywhere else. In the weeks following my intended mate’s death, I spent a lot of time in bookshops. I spent a lot of my time traveling too. I liked to remind myself of the things money could buy. I went to Scotland, where there are libraries so old the books are chained to the walls, and to Washington DC, where I had to lie to an old librarian about a fake research project I was doing to be allowed inside the reading room at the Library of Congress. I traveled near and far to every destination I’d ever wanted to see, but it didn’t fill the emptiness inside.
The owner of the bookshop sorts through inventory behind her desk. Other than that, there isn’t another soul in the shop. A lot of the bookshops I’ve been to are empty like this. I wonder if eventually they’ll become a relic.
I walk over to Timber’s corner. He looks up at me and opens his arms as if to say Come sit in my lap.
Here? Does he mean it?
He gives me that glare I’m starting to grow fond of.
I glance back at the register. I can’t see the cashier from this part of the shop, so I perch myself on Timber’s knee. He gathers me into his arms until I can rest my head on his shoulder.
“Did you find a book for yourself?” he asks.
“Yes. This copy of Wuthering Heights is nice, don’t you think?”
He kisses the top of my head. I close my eyes, savoring the feeling. This has become so much more than just getting to know each other. He’s so affectionate, so tender.
“It looks very quaint. Would you like to read here for a while? I wouldn’t mind hanging out for a bit before we buy our books.”
Does he mean like this? While sitting in his lap?
As if to answer my question, he lifts his book up again and starts reading. I open to the first page of Wuthering Heights and read for a while too. Before long, I realize we’ve been reading together for over an hour, but Timber doesn’t seem to mind. He’s content to just sit here with me.
Eventually, we purchase our books and head back into the sunshine. A block farther down we find an ice cream shop. Timber probably doesn’t want ice cream. It’s more of an ice dragon shifter thing. Whenever there’s warm weather, my dragon wants popsicles, ice cream, and shakes. When I was little, my omega dad used to take me to this ice cream shop that had something called “playdough” ice cream. It was this yellow, red, and blue mixture, that got its name for its resemblance to playdough. That shop closed a long time ago, but I like searching for playdough ice cream in my travels.
Timber smiles. “You want ice cream.”
“I didn’t say—”
“You’ve been staring at the sign. It’s okay.” He opens the door to the shop and gestures for me to step inside.
It’s an old-fashioned shop with a wide glass panel that displays a dozen different barrels of ice cream. A young girl stands despondently behind them holding an ice cream scoop.
In the corner, I find playdough ice cream, only they’ve labeled it Superman. I grin before remembering that Timber’s here. Will he think I’m silly for ordering it? Especially after the books and Frankie.
Timber brushes his thumb along my lip. “Why are you biting this lovely lip of yours? You nervous about something, baby boy?” He whispers the words gently. Patiently. It’s hard to imagine that he’d look down on me right now.
“What if I like Superman ice cream?” I say as off-handedly as I can manage.
He glances over at the glass display and smiles when his eyes reach the red and blue ice cream in the corner. He kisses the top of my head right in front of the ice cream shop employee.
“You can relax with me, you know. Be yourself.”
Does he really mean that?
“I can order something else—”
“Nonsense. Do you want a cone? They have one with sprinkles.” He’s serious. He’d sit next to me while I eat Superman ice cream in a sprinkle cone.
“Yeah. If that’s okay.”
He steps up to the counter and orders a child-size cone of Superman ice cream for me and some sorbet for himself. I try to offer him money before the girl rings us up, but he either doesn’t see me or he doesn’t want my money. He doesn’t turn around until there’s an ice cream cone in his hand.
He said I could be myself, right? I jump with excitement and allow myself to grin as wide as I want. “Thank you, Daddy.”
He smiles at me with a sweet, wistful look in his eyes. Almost as if… as if he likes this side of me. That can’t be true, can it?
We walk toward the plastic tables and chairs at the other end of the shop. I lick at my ice cream as we sit down. It’s not exactly the same as the stuff I ate as a child, but it’s close, and the sprinkle cone makes it even better.
Timber watches me closely as I eat my ice cream, so I get an idea. I hold out my tongue and take a long, slow lick, swirling my tongue along the top.
He gives me that stern, reproachful look like I’ve just been naughty. My stomach flips.
I slide my foot forward until it pushes against his underneath the table. Most ice dragon shifters get to have this when they’re teenagers. They date just like humans. But my alpha father wanted to magically tie me to an alpha from a wealthy family, so once I found my hoard and was capable of recognizing my fated mate, he made me stay inside.
Timber lifts his foot and presses it on top of mine. I close my eyes and remind myself that the next time we see each other, it will only be sex. I have to savor these moments.
“Did you eat ice cream with your omega father?” Timber asks.
How did he know? I shrug.
“Can I ask how he died?”
I take another lick of my ice cream. It isn’t that I mind telling Timber, I just don’t know how. If he was a dragon shifter, all I’d need to say is that the Ice took my father for its own.
“The oldest ice dragon shifter families are haunted by a plague. Some of us freeze from the inside out. It’s the reason they call us ‘Blue Bloods.’ Doctors don’t know why. Even warlocks can’t stop it.”
Timber reaches out and grasps my hand. “Your omega father died from this plague?”
I nod. It was the summer of my eighth birthday when I’d cuddled close to my father, only to feel the chill of his chest against my cheek. My omega father told me that most people didn’t get a warning that they were going to die or have time to say goodbye to those they loved. He said he was lucky.
But the Ice claims someone slowly. It often takes months for it to spread, and there isn’t anything lucky about a slow death. Watching my omega father die like that was what drove my alpha father to drink.
“Yes. It destroyed my alpha father too. He loved my omega father so much. After he died, my alpha father would drink until he got angry.” This part of the story is harder, somehow. But I want to tell him. I want to tell someone. “There was this spot in the attic of our house where I hid with my bear.”
Timber squeezes my fingers. “I’m so sorry.”
There are so many memories I don’t want to allow to the surface but pushing them down is exhausting. I’ve never told Marjorie. I knew if I did, it would upset her. Timber is different.
I thought I wanted him as a Daddy while we had sex—Daddy Doms have always appealed to me—but now I’m not sure that’s enough. This feels like having a Daddy too. Only this isn’t sexual. Not at all.