Page 18 of Hiss and Tell (Harmony Glen #2)

Chapter Seventeen

A spen

Derek’s familiar text tone. Every muscle in my body goes on high alert. No. Please no. Not again.

The familiar surge of panic hits before I even read the message.

It’s the same feeling I had three years ago when Derek promised to help with Milo’s first birthday party, then disappeared for a weekend with his friends.

Or when he swore he’d be at Milo’s preschool graduation, then showed up two hours late mumbling about “traffic.” With every broken promise, I became even more convinced that the only person I can count on is myself.

Milo’s voice carries from the living room where he’s arranging his dinosaur timeline poster for the hundredth time. “Mama? That’s Daddy’s tone.” The dread in his voice tells me we both know what’s coming.

Aspen?

My finger hovers over the screen. Three dots appear as Derek types, then disappear and reappear. Like he’s trying to find the right words to shatter his son’s heart.

Something came up. Rain check?

The words blur as fury rises, hot and choking. Four years of this. Four years of “something came up” and “next time for sure” and watching Milo’s face crumble with each broken promise.

“Mama?” Smaller now. Worried. “Is Daddy coming?”

“Bug, I—” But what can I say? What excuse can possibly make this okay?

Another text. Like an afterthought. Like his son is just another canceled appointment. Sorry. Tell him I’ll make it up to him.

“He’s not coming, is he?” Milo’s lower lip trembles as he appears in the bathroom doorway. “But he promised. He said this time for sure.”

“I know, baby.” I gather him close, breathing in his clean-shampoo smell. “Sometimes adults have problems keeping promises. But it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault.”

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice cracks. “Maybe if I was better at T-ball, or if I didn’t talk so much about dinosaurs—”

“No.” The word comes out fierce. “Listen to me, Milo Walker. You are perfect exactly as you are. Daddy’s problems are his problems. Not yours. Never yours.”

But he’s crying now, big gulping sobs that shake his whole body. The carefully pressed dinosaur shirt mocks us from his bedroom. Tomorrow morning, every other child will have their father there, and Milo will have nothing but another broken promise.

“What about the breakfast?” he hiccups. “Everyone else will have their daddies.”

My heart shatters completely. Options race through my mind: calling in sick, keeping him home, anything to avoid him facing that room full of father-son pairs. But I know avoiding the pain only makes it worse.

I get him settled with a warm cup of milk and his favorite picture book, promising we’ll figure out what to do about tomorrow. But first, I need a moment to fall apart.

In the bathroom with the door closed, I allow myself exactly one minute of silent rage at Derek’s selfishness.

Then, I splash cold water on my face and start problem-solving.

Milo needs someone reliable for tomorrow’s presentation.

Someone who understands how important this is.

Someone who actually shows up when they promise to.

After that thought settles, I know exactly who to call.

Sebastian. Who keeps every promise. Who makes Milo feel valued and heard. Who stepped up for our fake relationship without hesitation.

But this feels too big, too personal, too much like crossing a line from pretend to real.

“Mom, can we ask Mr. Sebastian?” Tears are tracking down his cheeks, and he rubs his sleeve across his nose.

“Sweetheart, Mr. Sebastian is very busy, and the breakfast is tomorrow morning—”

“But he likes spending time with me! And he knows about dinosaurs! And he always keeps his promises!”

The hope in Milo’s voice breaks me. Before I can second-guess myself, I’m reaching for my phone.

Derek just canceled the father-son breakfast for tomorrow. I know this is huge to ask, but is there any chance you could…

I delete the text. Start again. Delete it again. How do you ask someone to fill in for your child’s absent father? How do you admit that your four-year-old trusts a man you’ve known for weeks more than he trusts his own dad?

Finally, I just type: Emergency. Can I call you?

His response comes immediately: Of course. Everything okay?

“Milo, go get ready for bed. I need to make a phone call.”

“Are you calling Mr. Sebastian?” Hope flickers on his tear-stained face.

“I’m going to ask him something. But Bug, I need you to understand—this is a very big favor. If he can’t do it, we’ll figure something else out.”

Milo nods solemnly and heads toward his room, clutching Super Steggy.

Sebastian answers on the first ring. “Aspen? What’s wrong?”

Just hearing his voice makes some of my panic ease. “Derek canceled. The father-son breakfast is tomorrow morning, and Derek just… something came up.”

Silence on the other end, then a soft exhale. “How’s Milo?”

“Heartbroken. Again.” My voice cracks. “Sebastian, I know this is asking way too much, but he suggested… he asked if maybe you could…”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t even finished asking—”

“The answer is yes. Whatever you need, the answer is yes.”

Relief floods through me so powerfully I have to ease onto my bed. “It’s at 8 AM at his preschool. All the dads bring their kids, and they do presentations about their interests, and Milo has this whole dinosaur timeline—”

“Aspen.” His voice is gentle but firm. “I’ll be there. We’ll get to Little Dragons on time. Milo won’t face this alone.”

“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to. I’m happy to be there for Milo… and you.”

After we hang up, I find Milo sitting on his bed in pajamas, still holding Super Steggy.

“Mr. Sebastian said yes, didn’t he?” he asks quietly.

“How did you know?”

“Because you’re not crying anymore.” He pauses. “And because Mr. Sebastian always says yes when people need help.”

As I tuck him in, Milo looks up at me with eyes still puffy from tears but bright with renewed hope.

“Mama? Maybe Mr. Sebastian’s a better pick for the breakfast than Daddy.”

The words should worry me—this attachment Milo’s forming, the way Sebastian is becoming central to our lives. Instead, all I feel is gratitude that my son finally has someone reliable to count on.