Page 10 of Reptile Dysfunction (Harmony Glen #11)

Chapter Nine

S loane

The Harmony Glen Farmers Market bustles with Saturday morning energy—vendors hawking produce and crafts beneath striped canopies, bluegrass music drifting from the fountain stage. I weave through the crowd, balancing a cup of Marcie Vale’s lavender lemonade and scanning for one very tall Gorgon.

“Looking for someone?” a deep voice rumbles behind me.

I turn to find Thad, towering over the crowd, his presence impossible to miss.

“Just the town’s most intimidating swim instructor.” I smile, noting how his faded black T-shirt hugs his chest. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“When the mayor’s daughter invites you to the market, declining feels… ill-advised.” His tone is dry, but his snakes sway with visible pleasure as we fall into step.

“Smart man. Ming’s honey cakes sell out early. She’s over that way,” I nod toward a nearby stall. “We may need intimidation tactics.”

“I don’t intimidate people for pastries.”

“Not even really good ones?”

He nearly smiles. “You’re right. Depends on the pastry.”

As we move through the crowd, I notice how people react—kids wave, vendors greet him warmly, but some still flinch or give him a wide berth.

“The Sanderson twins adore you,” I say, watching them air-swim, giggling when his snakes mimic their strokes. “Mrs. Petrov, on the other hand, almost dropped her tomatoes.”

“People remember,” he says with a shrug that doesn’t quite hide the stiffness in his shoulders. “Five years isn’t long when you’ve been raised to fear monsters.”

“Or when those monsters teach your kids to swim.” I bump his arm lightly. “Give it time.”

At Cara Ming’s stall, she grins. “Thaddeus Fangborn! Haven’t seen you in ages. Too fancy for market pastries now that you’re training Harmony Glen’s elite?”

“Just busy,” he says, but his snakes perk up at the smell of honey cake. Sterling actually stretches toward the tray, earning a laugh from Cara.

“Still got good taste, that one. Two honey cakes?” She’s already boxing them before we answer.

“And a sourdough,” Thad adds. “Sebastian swears it’s better than the bakery in town.”

“Smart brother. And don’t even try to pay—this one’s for saving the Mitchell boy.”

Thad blinks, clearly caught off guard. “That’s not—”

“It is,” Cara cuts in firmly. “His mother has been singing your praises all week. Bread’s easier than speeches. Now scoot—some of us have customers.”

As we walk away, I raise an eyebrow. “Mitchell boy?”

“Nate. Jumped in too soon. Nothing major.”

“His mom clearly disagrees.”

“Just doing my job.” But his snakes bask in the praise, some trying to act dignified, others shamelessly pleased.

I loop my arm through his. The gesture sends a subtle thrill through me, and I catch several of his snakes leaning toward me, Sterling managing a soft brush of my hair.

“I like that,” I murmur. “When they reach for me like they can’t help it.”

“They’re not the only ones,” he says quietly, and the smile I give him is the kind that flips my stomach. To underscore his point, he slides his arm around my waist, and excitement thrills through me at the feeling of possession in his action.

We find a picnic table near the music stage. The honey cakes are absurdly good—golden, buttery, and just the right amount of sweet.

“So,” I say, licking honey from my thumb, “about that second Pilates class.”

His snakes go still. “What about it?”

“You crushed mat class. But I also teach reformer. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 4:30. Plenty of time to swap out of your swimsuit and into something stretchy.”

“Reformer?” He tries for bored, but Sterling watches me like he’s taking notes.

“Machine. Springs. Sliding carriage. Way harder than mat work. Requires actual precision, not just brute strength.”

“I have plenty of precision.”

“On a mat, maybe. But the reformer doesn’t forgive poor form.” I smirk. “Unless you’re worried it might actually challenge those impressive swimmer muscles?”

“I’m not worried about a machine.”

“Methinks the Gorgon doth protest too much.”

“I’ll tell the Silver Swimmers you’re afraid of equipment.”

“Sloane, that’s fighting dirty.”

“Those ladies fight dirtier. They’ve been asking when you’re going to graduate from beginner mat work.”

Suspicion flickers across his face. “Is that what this is about? The Meddling Mavens’ matchmaking?”

“This is about watching Mr. Big Bad Gorgon attempt a long stretch on the reformer.”

I enjoy the confusion on his face. “It’s an advanced move. Very… demanding. Unless you’re worried you can’t handle it?”

Sterling actually bobs indignantly.

“Oh, how cute. Your snakes are offended on your behalf,” I laugh, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on his cheek that Sterling tries to intercept.

“Shameless,” Thad mutters, though his eyes are locked on me, intense and filled with something warm and real.

“I can handle anything your class throws at me,” he says, voice low and confident.

“Monday at 4:30,” I say, offering my hand. “Fair warning: I don’t go easy on anyone. Not even intimidating instructors with excellent hair.”

He takes it—his hand warm and big around mine—and I swear I feel fireworks from the contact.

“Monday at 4:30,” he agrees. Sterling bobs gleefully.

“But when I outperform everyone, I get full acknowledgment,” he adds.

“Have you even seen someone work on a reformer?”

“I wrestled a selkie once. I can handle Pilates.”

“Oh, Gorgon. You’re going to be so sore .”

“Doubtful.”

“Wanna make it interesting?”

His eyes gleam. “What kind of interesting?”

“If you finish class without quitting or complaining, I’ll join your advanced swim class. As a participant.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’re the guest star at the Silver Swimmers’ Revelation Day performance.”

Horror. Pure horror crosses his face. “That’s evil.”

“Scared already?”

“Fine.” He extends his hand.

As our palms meet again, his snakes sway in an almost hypnotic pattern—drawing me closer, breath catching as our bodies nearly touch.

Just then, Mabel swoops in, beaming. “Perfect! Time for the circle dance. You’ve avoided this tradition long enough, Thaddeus Fangborn. Besides, we need more tall people.”

“I don’t dance,” Thad protests, though his snakes sway happily to the music.

“Nonsense. Sloane needs a partner.”

Before we can resist, we’re swept into the outer ring. Thad looks panicked, which makes me laugh.

“Relax. Just basic steps. Even big, scary enforcers can manage.”

“I’d rather face werewolves,” he mutters, but clasps my hand as the dance begins.

The steps are simple—move in rhythm, duck under arms, switch partners—but watching Thad navigate it, mindful of his snakes and trying not to crush anyone, is downright delightful.

“Having fun?” I ask when we reconnect.

“Absolutely not.” But his snakes are bouncing, and there’s a smile lurking behind his scowl.

When the music ends, we’re both breathless and laughing.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I tease as we sit again.

“My reputation’s ruined.”

“Your reputation could use softening. The scary instructor who dances and does Pilates? That’s a whole new era.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he says quietly enough that I glance over, surprised.

There’s something vulnerable in his expression—something raw and real beneath the enforcer act.

“Monday at 4:30,” I say gently. “Stretchy clothes required.”

“I’ll be there.” Sterling bobs, practically luminous with excitement.

“Ready to face more market dangers?” I stand, gathering our empty wrappers. “I hear Olga’s soap stall is particularly treacherous. She’s been known to trap unsuspecting shoppers in thirty-minute conversations about essential oil blends.”

“Lead the way, Whitaker.” His snakes arrange themselves into what I’m starting to recognize as their “casual but alert” formation. “I’ll protect you from overzealous soapmakers.”

“My hero,” I deadpan, but my heart gives a traitorous little flutter when he falls into step beside me, casual and close. One of his snakes—of course it’s Sterling—brushes my shoulder again, a silent, silky little promise.

I pretend not to notice.

Monday is two days away.

And I already know I’ll be counting every minute.