Page 10 of Hiss and Tell (Harmony Glen #2)

Chapter Ten

A spen

Wednesday evening, and I’m standing in front of my closet like it holds the secrets of the universe. This is ridiculous. It’s a fake date with Sebastian to establish our “relationship” for the library board. I shouldn’t be this nervous about what to wear.

The black dress mocks me from its hanger, along with the other four outfit options spread across my bed. Who knew agreeing to a fake date could cause such a real crisis?

“You look worried, Mama,” Milo observes from his dinosaur sheets, watching me hold up dress after dress in the mirror propped against his wall—the only full-length one in our apartment. “Are you nervous about your date with Mr. Sebastian?”

“It’s not exactly a date, Bug. More like… helping each other out.”

“But you’re wearing your pretty dress,” he points out with four-year-old logic. “And you put on the lipstick that smells like flowers.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “I want to look nice. It’s important for… for the library situation.”

“Will Mr. Sebastian think you’re pretty?”

The innocent question makes my stomach flutter in ways that have nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the memory of the way my body responds like it’s full of static electricity when that handsome Gorgon comes close. “I hope he thinks I look… appropriate.”

“He already thinks you’re pretty,” Milo says with the confidence of someone who’s never questioned adult feelings. “I didn’t think snakes could smile, but they do when they see you.”

A soft knock at the door sends my heart racing. “That’s Miss Clair!”

“Yay! She promised to make pizza bagels!” Milo races for the door, previous interest in my wardrobe crisis forgotten.

My friend Clair sweeps in with her usual warm energy, a canvas bag of craft supplies swinging from one arm. “Go on, get ready,” she says, shooing me toward my room. “We’ve got this covered, right, Milo?”

“Right! And Mama?” His serious face appears in my doorway. “Mr. Sebastian likes green. He told us at storytime when we read about the chameleon.”

My hands freeze over the green sweater dress I’d dismissed earlier. Of course, my son would remember that detail.

Twenty minutes later, I’m walking into The Lucky Goat Farm to Table Restaurant wearing said green dress, trying not to smooth it over my hips for the tenth time. Sebastian’s already there, his massive frame making the vintage chair look positively delicate.

He stands when he sees me, and for a moment our eyes lock. The intensity in his gaze makes my stomach flip before he knocks his water glass over in the process. A blush creeps up his neck, and I find myself charmed by how someone so imposing can be so endearingly awkward.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t… the chair… you look…” His snakes writhe in apparent embarrassment as he tries to mop up the spill with tiny cocktail napkins.

“Here.” Grabbing my own napkin, I help contain the flood. “Though really, you’re doing me a favor by breaking the ice. I was worried I’d be the first one to spill something.”

His laugh comes out strangled, but it’s a start. We settle into an awkward silence as the waiter brings menus and a fresh water glass.

The candlelight flickers across his features, softening them. Each time our eyes meet over the menus, my pulse does a funny little skip. His snakes, wearing crisp red bow ties, seem determined to behave, arranging themselves in an elegant pattern that draws my eye more than I’d like to admit.

The Lucky Goat is one of the businesses that thrived after the supernatural beings “came out” five years ago on Revelation Day.

Supernatural beings tend to tip well and appreciate restaurants where staff don’t stare.

Half the servers here are some variety of non-human, and the kitchen runs with the efficiency that only comes from employing a few time-manipulation pixies during rush hours.

“So,” I venture, lowering my menu slightly, “when you’re not rescuing banned library patrons or fending off matchmaking neighbors, what does Sebastian Fangborn do for fun?”

His smile emerges, transforming his entire face. “I read, obviously. Hazard of the profession.” Oh, that nonchalant shrug! Those self-deprecating shoulders look sooo good with his eager snakes bobbing above them.

“Let me guess—scholarly tomes about library science?” I tease.

“Actually…” His snakes shift in what appears to be embarrassment. “I have a weakness for fantasy novels. The more dragons, the better.”

“Really?” I lean forward, genuinely surprised. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Something about worlds where magic is normal.” His voice drops lower, more intimate, which makes all my lady bits sit up and take notice. “Where being different isn’t something to hide.”

The vulnerability of his admission catches me off guard. I find myself sharing in return. “I read romance novels. The happy-ever-after kind that everyone makes fun of.”

“No judgment here,” he says, his eyes warming. “We all need to believe in possibilities.”

“Even impossible ones?” The question slips out before I can catch it.

His gaze holds mine steadily. “Especially those.”

Something shifts between us, the air suddenly feeling charged. My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for my water glass, and Sebastian notices.

“Cold?” he asks, concern evident.

“No, I…” How do I explain that his presence affects me physically? That something about his gentle attentiveness makes my nervous system misfire in the best possible way?

“The carbonara looks good,” he offers, then immediately knocks his fork off the table as he reaches for it. When we both bend to retrieve it, our heads nearly bump. His snakes shift back just in time, one accidentally brushing my cheek in a touch so soft I might have imagined it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but I’m caught by how the candlelight reflects in his amber eyes. This close, I notice a faint scar near his temple, probably from learning to manage his unusual hair. The urge to trace it with my fingertips takes me by surprise.

“How did you get that scar?” I ask before thinking.

His hand rises self-consciously to his temple. “Ah, that. Learning curve, quite literally. Male Gorgons are rare enough that there’s no handbook for managing the snakes during adolescence.”

“That must have been difficult,” I say, imagining a teenage Sebastian suddenly developing living hair.

“It was… isolating.” He straightens the napkin on his lap. “My brother Thaddeus was younger than me, so he hadn’t gone through it yet and was no help. But the library saved me. Books don’t judge. They just offer worlds to escape into.”

“Is that why you became a children’s librarian? To help other kids feel less alone?”

His expression softens. “Perhaps. There’s something powerful about showing a child they belong somewhere, that their differences are strengths, not weaknesses.” His snakes bob in agreement.

The way he talks about his work with children with pride and joy in his voice makes warmth pool in my belly. I forget everything except how his hands move when he’s excited, how his snakes mirror his enthusiasm, and how his whole being radiates a warmth that has nothing to do with good circulation.

“What about you?” he asks. “Did you always want to be a virtual assistant entrepreneur?”

I laugh. “Hardly. I wanted to be a forest ranger, actually. Loved the idea of wide open spaces, protecting something important.” My smile turns wistful. “Life had other plans.”

“Do you regret it? The path not taken?”

The question feels weightier than small talk should. “Sometimes. But then…” My eyes drift to the window, thinking of Milo. “Some detours lead to destinations worth every difficult step.”

“I think that’s beautiful,” he says, voice carrying such sincerity that warmth floods my chest. “Finding purpose in unexpected places.”

His understanding makes me brave enough to ask, “Do you ever wish things were different? That you weren’t…” I gesture vaguely toward his snakes.

“That I wasn’t a Gorgon?” His smile turns thoughtful. “Less now than before. It took me years to realize that the problem wasn’t my nature, but how I’d been taught to hide it.”

The depth of his self-awareness impresses me. Sebastian isn’t just gentle and kind—he’s genuinely thoughtful in ways that make my usual wariness around men feel unnecessary.

We both shift to get more comfortable, which causes our water glasses to rattle.

A drop splashes onto my hand, and without thinking, Sebastian tries to catch it with his napkin.

His fingers dwarf mine, but their touch is impossibly gentle.

The moment stretches, neither of us quite willing to pull away.

“Your hands are so warm,” I blurt out, then want to sink through the floor. But his smile transforms his face, and his snakes do that happy little dance that I’m starting to find hopelessly endearing.

Evangeline practically melts toward me with obvious approval, while Nelson maintains a more dignified posture, though I catch him swaying slightly. The scholarly one—who I’m mentally calling Archie, short for Archibald—tilts his head as if analyzing this new development with academic interest.

“Gorgon thing,” he explains, reluctantly releasing my hand. “Good circulation.”

The waiter’s discreet cough breaks the moment. We both start rattling off orders, talking over each other, then laughing at our mutual awkwardness. The tension eases as something warmer takes its place.

“So,” I say, desperate for normal conversation after the waiter retreats, “do your snakes have favorite foods?”

“Evangeline loves pasta,” he admits, and the snake in question perks up hopefully while practically batting her eyelashes. If snakes could do such things. “But she’s supposed to be professional tonight.”

Nelson, clearly the responsible one, gives her a reproachful look while Archie seems torn between propriety and curiosity about the other patrons. My attention is torn from Sebastian’s snakes’ personalities to his lush lips as I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.