Page 23 of Hiss and Tell (Harmony Glen #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

A spen

The morning after Sebastian’s funding victory, I wake up with a knot in my stomach that has nothing to do with the leftover pizza.

Yesterday’s celebration was perfect—Sebastian’s joy, Milo’s excitement, the easy intimacy of sharing such an important moment together.

But it also crystallized something I’ve been avoiding.

We’re becoming a real family. Which means it’s time for complete honesty.

“Mama, you’re organizing the junk drawer again,” Milo observes from the kitchen table where he’s coloring. “You only do that when you’re worried about something.”

Smart kid. “Just tidying up, Bug.”

“Is it about Mr. Sebastian? Because he likes you even when you’re messy. I can tell by the way his snakes sway with delight.”

From the mouths of babes. But this isn’t about messiness. This is about something that could change everything between us.

My phone buzzes with a text from Dr. Marshall’s office: Prescription ready for pickup. Refill reminder: This medication is most effective when taken consistently.

Great timing. The written reminder of what I need to tell Sebastian.

“Milo, want to go to the pharmacy with me? We can stop for ice cream after.”

“Yes! Can we get the kind with dinosaur-shaped sprinkles?”

“If they have them.”

As I’m rehearsing our talk in my mind, my phone rings.

“Ms. Walker? This is Cathy from Radcliffe & Associates. I know your meeting was postponed due to an emergency a while ago, but we’ve been doing some corporate reshuffling.

Mr. Radcliffe wanted to know if you could come in sometime this week, at your convenience?

He’s reviewed your proposal and is very impressed, but he has a few questions. ”

My heart leaps. After everything that happened at the library, I thought that opportunity was lost forever. “Of course. What time works?”

“Would 4PM today be possible?”

I glance at Milo, happily coloring at the table. “Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

After I hang up, excitement and terror war in my stomach. This could be the break I’ve been working toward for months—the contract that would let me quit one of my jobs and build Aspenly Yours into something real.

The pharmacy trip takes longer than expected. The new pharmacist has questions about my prescription, requiring a consultation that makes my cheeks burn despite knowing it’s routine medical care. Milo entertains himself with the blood pressure cuff while I handle the paperwork.

“All set, Ms. Walker,” the pharmacist says quietly, sliding the white bag across the counter. “Same instructions as before. Any questions?”

“No, thank you.” I tuck the bag deep into my purse, hyperaware of Milo’s presence even though he’s completely absorbed in making the cuff inflate and deflate.

“Mama, you’re gripping the steering wheel really tight,” Milo observes from the backseat.

“Just thinking, Bug.”

“About Mr. Sebastian?”

“About being honest with people we care about.”

“Mr. Sebastian likes honesty,” Milo says with four-year-old certainty. “He never pretends things are different than they are.”

If only it were that simple.

“Ice cream time!” Milo cheers, changing the subject with deafening enthusiasm.

“Ice cream time,” I agree, forcing a smile. Because some conversations require chocolate chip cookie dough for courage.

I drop Milo at my neighbor’s and go to my appointment.

I hate to let myself be too optimistic. Goodness knows, I’ve had several interviews I thought went well, yet didn’t get the job.

However, I have a really good feeling about this one.

Mr. Radcliffe seemed all smiles, and pumped my hand for an extra few seconds at the end of our meeting.

That evening, Sebastian arrives with a bottle of wine and an easy smile that makes my heart skip. He’s wearing the burgundy sweater his neighbors chose, and his snakes sport their tiny bow ties in various shades of blue.

“Something smells amazing,” he says, kissing my cheek with a natural warmth that sends shivers through me.

“Lasagna. My mom’s recipe.” I’d needed the comfort of familiar cooking, something that requires following specific steps and precise timing. Organization soothes my anxiety. “Milo helped with the cheese layer.”

“I made it extra cheesy!” Milo calls from the living room where he’s building an elaborate dinosaur city. “Mr. Sebastian, come see what I built!”

Dinner flows with easy conversation, Milo regaling us with detailed explanations of his latest architectural projects.

Sebastian listens with genuine interest, asking thoughtful questions that make Milo glow with pride.

This is what family feels like. This warmth, this belonging, this sense of rightness.

But the prescription bag sits in my purse like a ticking bomb, counting down to a conversation that could end all of this.

After Milo’s in bed, Sebastian and I settle on the couch with our wine. His sanctuary effect flows around us, making everything feel possible and safe.

“You look nervous,” he observes, his snakes swaying gently. “Everything okay?”

“I need to tell you something.” I don’t know how I manage to force the words out in such a calm, steady manner. “Something important. Something that usually makes people run.”

His expression grows serious, the sanctuary effect deepening. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You say that now.” Looking down at my hands, I force myself to continue. “Remember how I pulled away when we kissed? It’s because there’s something I need to tell you.”

“I… I knew something was bothering you, wondered what it was that you wouldn’t share.”

“Well, I’m ready to talk about it now. I think.” Taking a shaky breath, I meet his eyes. “I have herpes, Sebastian. HSV-2. I’ve had it for years… a present from Derek. Medication helps reduce flare-ups, but… I understand if you want to leave. Most people do.”

The silence stretches until I can’t bear it and have to drop my gaze in embarrassment. When I finally look up, his expression isn’t what I expected. No disgust, no pulling away. Just quiet acceptance and something that looks almost like… relief?

“Aspen.” Just my name, but it carries volumes. “Is that what you were so afraid to tell me? Is that what’s been sitting between us, keeping us apart?”

“Isn’t it enough?” The words burst out, sharp with shock, almost an accusation. “It’s a sexually transmitted disease. It’s incurable. It’s—”

“Manageable,” he says firmly. “Common. And absolutely no reason for me to leave.”

“But the complications—”

“We’ll figure them out. Together.” His hand finds mine across the couch cushions. “Whatever precautions we need to take, whatever research we need to do, whatever conversations we need to have with doctors—we’ll handle it all. As a team.”

Something breaks open in my chest—not the barrier I’ve built around my heart, but the fear that’s been holding it together.

“Why aren’t you running? Everyone I’ve dated since my divorce runs.”

Sebastian’s snakes writhe with barely contained fury at the mention of my ex. “Derek’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve either of you.” His thumb brushes my knuckles. “And I’m not everyone.”

“No,” I whisper. “You’re not.”

“Can I tell you something?” At my nod, he continues, “That day you swore in the library? When everyone else was scandalized? I thought, ‘Finally. Someone real. Someone who feels things deeply enough to break the rules.’”

“That’s a very diplomatic way of saying I have no filter.”

“You have heart .” His other hand cups my cheek, and I lean into the touch. “You love fiercely. You fight for what matters. Why would I run from that?”

The tears I’ve been holding back burst free. “Because people always do. Because I’m a mess. Because I have a kid and three jobs and a health condition and—”

His kiss stops the spiral of words. Unlike our first kiss, this one is gentle. Careful. A promise rather than a passion. His snakes brush softly against my hair, and his sanctuary effect makes everything feel possible.

When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine. “I’m falling in love with you,” he says quietly. “All of you. The mess and the kid and everything in between.”

“Sebastian…”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just… let me show you what being cared for feels like. Let me help carry some of the weight.”

“I’m not very good at that.” But my hands have found their way to his shoulders, solid and real. “The letting people help part.”

“Good thing I’m patient.” His smile turns playful. “And that I have excellent helpers.” His snakes demonstrate by creating a heart shape above us.

A laugh escapes, and some of the tension melts. “I think I’m falling in love with you, too. All of you. The size and the snakes and the way you make everything feel possible.”

“Even spreadsheets?”

“Especially spreadsheets.” A laugh bubbles up as I think about how his snakes kept rearranging my color-coded client folders into their own mysterious system last week. “Though your helpers seem to think my organizational methods need improvement.”

Looking at him—this gentle giant who brings magic into children’s lives, who shows up when it matters, who sees my broken pieces as something precious rather than problematic—I make a decision.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll let you help. I’ll trust this. I’ll believe that sometimes running away isn’t the only option.”

His smile could light up the whole town. “Good.”

As his snakes resume their gentle swaying, as his sanctuary effect wraps around us like a warm blanket, as his massive presence makes my tiny apartment feel like home, I realize something profound.

Sometimes the biggest barriers we face aren’t the ones other people put up.

Sometimes they’re the ones we build ourselves.

And sometimes it takes a Gorgon librarian with kind eyes and magical storytelling abilities to show us how to break them down.