Page 16 of Hiss and Tell (Harmony Glen #2)
Chapter Fifteen
S ebastian
Monday evening, and I’m standing at Aspen’s door with a carefully selected stack of dinosaur books and a heart full of nervous energy.
After Saturday’s dinner party success, this feels like the natural next step—spending time with both of them in their space, seeing how we fit together as a… whatever we’re becoming.
As I climb the stairs above the Serenity Wellness Center, my snakes reflect my anxiety, coiling and uncoiling in an uncoordinated dance. The ancient steps creak under my weight, and I have to duck to avoid hitting my head on a low-hanging pipe.
The sound of Milo’s laughter guides me to their door. Taking a deep breath, I knock.
“Mr. Sebastian!” Milo’s excited voice carries through the wood. “Mama, Mr. Sebastian is here!”
Aspen opens the door, and the sight of her in worn jeans and a faded t-shirt with “Aspenly Yours” printed across the front makes my heart do something complicated. “This is a surprise.”
“I, um, have news.” My snakes perk up as Milo bounces near his mother’s hip, Super Steggy clutched in one arm. Despite her crazy-busy schedule, it appears she had time to buy some Superman fabric and sew it to the dino’s shoulders in a good facsimile of a superhero cape. “Good news, actually.”
My snakes have already begun their excited dance at being in her space, tasting the air with barely perceptible flicks of their tongues. Her scent is everywhere—on the furniture, in the air, mixed with the warm domesticity of home-cooked meals and childhood joy.
The creature beneath my human facade responds with a satisfaction so deep it’s almost possessive. This place, these people—my instincts recognize them as mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to claim in ways that have nothing to do with fake dating arrangements.
The scent of their domestic life—crayons and juice boxes, Milo’s favorite dinosaur shampoo, the faint residue of Aspen’s perfume—activates something deeper than human attraction.
My enhanced senses catalog every detail: the way afternoon light filters through their windows, the careful organization that speaks of a mother doing her best with limited resources, the tiny handprints on the refrigerator that mark this as home.
My snakes taste the air with subtle flicks, reading the emotional temperature of the space, and finding only warmth, safety, and love.
This is what sanctuary feels like—not the isolated peace of my childhood treehouse, but the chaotic, beautiful mess of a life fully lived.
“Come in!” Milo grabs my hand with his free one, trying to tug me into their cozy apartment. Toys create an obstacle course across the floor, and a laptop surrounded by papers claims one end of their small kitchen table. The whole space feels lived-in, warm.
“Sorry about the mess,” Aspen starts, but I wave it off.
As I step inside, I can’t help but notice how the apartment reflects Aspen herself—vibrant and full of life, organized chaos with purpose hidden beneath.
Dinosaur books line a small shelf, meticulously arranged by size rather than by author.
A hand-painted mug on the counter reads “World’s Okayest Mom,” making me smile.
A bulletin board above her workspace overflows with Milo’s artwork, each piece carefully dated in Aspen’s neat handwriting.
“I like your home,” I tell her honestly. “It feels… real.”
Something in her expression softens at the simple compliment. “It’s not much, but—”
“But it’s ours!” Milo finishes proudly. “And we have the best view of the street for parades!”
“An essential quality in any residence,” I agree solemnly, making him giggle.
Aspen gestures toward the kitchen table. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? A machete to hack through the paperwork jungle?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” My snakes survey the space with interest, and I notice Evangeline focusing on a half-hidden photo tucked beneath a magnet on the refrigerator—a younger Aspen, carefree and laughing. Something about that glimpse of her before life complicated things makes my chest tighten.
“Actually,” I say, settling my book bag carefully on a clear section of counter, “I wanted to talk to you about Milo’s library situation. I have good news.”
Both Aspen and Milo lean forward with interest.
“The board met this morning. I explained our… relationship status… and they’ve agreed to reduce the ban significantly. Milo can return to storytime next Saturday, provided there’s appropriate supervision.”
“Really?” Aspen’s relief is palpable. “Just like that?”
“Well, there was some discussion about ‘family of staff’ provisions in the library bylaws. Since we’re dating…” I let the implication hang, surprised by how easily the word dating comes out.
Milo’s whole face lights up. “Next Saturday?” His excitement is infectious. “And I can show you my new dinosaur book!”
“Absolutely,” I confirm, touched by his enthusiasm.
“How many sleeps until next Saturday?”
I do a quick head calculation. “Twelve sleeps.” His face begins to fall at the unfathomable number to a four-year-old.
I quickly add, “And I brought something special to help with the wait.” I reach into my bag and pull out the carefully selected stack of dinosaur books.
“Library outreach. Completely within the rules.”
I explain gently, “Since we can’t have you at the library quite yet, these should help until then. And I have a special dinosaur story planned for when you return.”
“Could you read one now?” Milo looks up with hopeful eyes. “Please? Just one?”
I glance at Aspen, not wanting to overstep. “That would be up to your mom.”
“After dinner.” As if she’s only now realizing she hasn’t invited me, she hits me with a wide smile that warms something in my chest and asks, “You’ll stay, right?”
“Please, Mr. Sebastian,” Milo pleads, as though I needed a second invitation.
“Absolutely.”
“We’re having pancakes for dinner tonight!” Milo confirms. “With chocolate chips! And you can help me practice my presentation for Daddy!”
The evening flows with surprising ease. Milo gives me a thorough tour of his dinosaur collection, explaining the difference between carnivores and herbivores with the seriousness of a university professor.
Aspen bustles around the kitchen, and I find myself drawn to help despite her protests that I’m a guest.
“You know,” I say as I flip pancakes with more success than my usual cooking attempts, “I’ve been thinking about expanding the library’s community outreach. Maybe partnerships with the preschools, family events, that sort of thing.”
“That sounds amazing,” Aspen says, adding more chocolate chips to the batter. “Milo would love that.”
“All the kids would. And it might help with the board’s concerns about programming value.”
She glances at me with understanding. “Still pressure from Mrs. Randall?”
“Budget season makes everyone nervous, and the meeting at the city council is coming up soon. But after Saturday’s dinner party success, I’m feeling more… confident about taking risks.”
Her smile at that makes my snakes do a little happy dance.
After dinner, Milo eagerly selects one of the library books I brought. “This one! It has a T-Rex AND pterodactyls!”
“Excellent choice,” I tell him solemnly. “Should we read in your room?”
“Yes! I have a special reading corner with all my dinosaurs!”
Milo’s “reading corner” turns out to be a small nest of blankets and pillows surrounded by carefully arranged dinosaur figures. I fold my large frame into the space, trying not to disturb the ecosystem he’s created.
“The big ones go in the back,” he explains, helping rearrange a stegosaurus. “So everyone can see.”
“Very considerate of you,” I say, earning a beaming smile as he settles beside me, Super Steggy clutched close.
Opening the book, I let my voice drop into what Jenny calls my “storyteller cadence.” Milo’s eyes widen as tiny sparkles of light begin to dance above the pages—not a full manifestation, but enough magic to make the story come alive.
“The mighty Tyrannosaurus stepped carefully through the ancient forest…” I begin, and Milo leans closer, completely entranced.
By the third page, tiny spectral dinosaurs hover above the book, acting out the story in miniature. Milo’s gasps of delight make my snakes dance with pride. This is what storytime should be—safe, magical, and filled with wonder.
When I glance up, I catch Aspen watching from the doorway, her expression soft in a way that makes my heart clench.
She looks at us as if we’re something precious, something she never expected to find.
The sanctuary effect ripples outward, wrapping her in its warmth without conscious thought on my part.
“And then,” I continue, letting the story magic swirl brighter, “the little dinosaur realized that being different wasn’t something to hide—it was his greatest strength.”
Milo nods solemnly. “Like how your snakes make you special, Mr. Sebastian?”
“Exactly like that,” I agree, touched by his simple acceptance.
“And like how Mama’s really good at organizing, even when our apartment looks messy?”
“Especially like that.” I meet Aspen’s eyes over his head, seeing her blink back sudden tears.
After the story ends, Milo helps me carefully pack the other books. “Can I take one to show Daddy at breakfast?”
“Of course. Which one do you think he’d like best?”
As he deliberates with scientific seriousness, Aspen settles beside us in the small space. The three of us fit together surprisingly well, my snakes occasionally brushing against her hair in gestures of affection that she no longer flinches from.
“Mr. Sebastian?” Milo asks as we settle on the pterodactyl book for Derek. “Do you think Daddy will like this book? And will you be proud of me for working so hard on my presentation?”
“I’m already proud of you,” I tell him honestly. “For working so hard, for being so excited to share what you’ve learned, for being such a good friend to the other kids.”
“Even if I get nervous?”
“Especially then. Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. It means you do important things even when you are scared.”
Aspen’s hand finds mine in the darkness, squeezing gently.
Later, at the door, Aspen touches my arm lightly. “Thank you. Not just for getting our sentence reduced or for bringing the books, but for… everything. For making this feel normal. For being so good with him.”
“Of course.” My snakes lean toward her slightly, and I resist the urge to follow their lead. “He’s a terrific kid.”
We stand close in the doorway, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything—the warmth radiating from her skin, the way her hair catches the hallway light, how her eyes have gone soft and dark in the dim space between us.
“Sebastian,” she says quietly, and just my name on her lips makes my snakes sway with longing.
“I should go,” I manage, but I don’t move. Can’t move. The space between us feels electric, charged with possibilities I shouldn’t be thinking about.
“Should you?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Because I keep thinking about our fake dates. About how they don’t feel fake at all.”
My sanctuary effect pulses around us without conscious thought, turning the narrow hallway into an intimate cocoon. “Aspen…”
“I know this is complicated,” she continues, stepping closer until I can feel the heat of her body as her seductive scent intensifies. “I know we’re supposed to be taking this slow, keeping things professional. But standing here with you, watching you with Milo, feeling this…”
Her hand comes up to rest against my chest, and I swear she can feel my heart racing beneath her palm. My snakes reach toward her desperately, several brushing against her hair in gentle, yearning caresses.
“We should talk about this,” I say, even as every instinct I have screams to close the distance between us.
“Yes,” she agrees, but her gaze drops to my lips. “We should definitely talk. About boundaries, and expectations, and how fake dating is supposed to work.”
“Definitely,” I murmur, leaning closer despite myself. “Very important conversations.”
“Critical,” she breathes, rising on her toes until our faces are inches apart.
For a heartbeat, we stay frozen like that—her hand on my chest, my snakes threading through her hair, the air between us crackling with want and possibility. Then I’m kissing her.
The decision happens without conscious thought—one moment we’re suspended in possibility, the next my mouth is on hers and she’s melting against me with a soft sound of surrender. Her lips are warm and willing, parting under mine as her free hand fists in my shirt.
My snakes respond immediately, several wrapping gently around her arms while others create a shimmering curtain around us. She tastes like wine and want, and when her tongue touches mine, my sanctuary effect pulses so strongly that the very air around us seems to shimmer.
“Sebastian,” she breathes against my lips, and the way she says my name—like it’s prayer and promise and plea all at once—makes me deepen the kiss. My hands find her waist, spanning it completely, and she arches against me with a hunger that matches my own.
She’s perfect in my arms, fitting against me like she was made for this moment. When she nips my lower lip, I can’t help the growl that rumbles through my chest. The sound makes her press closer, her body flush against mine.
Then, from Milo’s room, comes a sleepy call: “Mama? I can’t find Super Steggy’s cape!”
We break apart slowly, both breathing hard, her lips swollen, and my snakes swaying drunkenly with satisfaction.
“Coming, Bug!” Aspen calls, her voice only slightly unsteady. She looks back at me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with something that has nothing to do with our fake arrangement. “We should… we need to…”
“Talk,” I finish, my tone so rough it’s almost a growl. “Soon.”
“Soon,” she agrees, and the promise in her voice makes my sanctuary effect shimmer with anticipation.
Walking home through the quiet streets, I’m not thinking about Derek or father-son breakfasts or library politics. I’m thinking about the way Aspen looked at me in that doorway, the heat in her eyes, the way she said my name like it was the most important three syllables in the world.
And I’m thinking that maybe some fake arrangements are worth making real.