Page 9 of Reptile Dysfunction (Harmony Glen #11)

Chapter Eight

T had

“Mr. Fangborn! Look what I can do!”

Tommy launches himself into an enthusiastic but uncoordinated cannonball, splashing half the pool deck and several of my snakes. Sterling, the show-off, immediately shakes himself like a wet dog, sending droplets everywhere.

“That’s… something.” I wipe water from my face, then freeze. Sloane leans against the doorframe, hiding a smile behind her ever-present notebook. “What happened to ‘proper footwear on the pool deck’?”

“I’m wearing sneakers.” She points to what appear to be brand-new white shoes. “Business expense. Purely for journalistic research.”

“Naturally.” But my snakes are already reaching toward her, eager little turncoats that they are. Sterling postures like he’s about to be photographed for the Time Snake of the Year.

“Besides,” she continues, moving closer, “how else am I supposed to observe the fearsome ex-enforcer in his natural habitat?”

“Natural habitat?” My snakes rise slightly in offense. “This is a public pool, not a nature preserve.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You’re definitely the apex predator here.” There’s laughter in her voice, but my heart skips anyway. She means it as a joke. I wish it was that simple.

Before I can respond, Dorothy shuffles in with her overstuffed swim bag, already chatting with Mabel about their latest book club selection. My senses pick up subtle changes in air pressure and the slight imbalance in Dorothy’s gait as she navigates the wet tiles.

“Dorothy.” Moving before I finish saying her name, I’m at her side in three long strides, catching her elbow just as her foot hits a slick patch and slides out from under her. “Let me take that bag.”

“Oh!” She clutches her chest dramatically, but I can hear her heart rate already steadying. “My hero!”

“Just good timing.” But my snakes are still alert, scanning for other potential hazards.

“It was not just good timing,” Sloane says from her spot near the wall. “Your snakes showed alarm before she even started to slip.”

Tommy, ever helpful, pipes up from the shallow end. “They do that all the time! Like when Jenny almost jumped in the deep end last week, or when I tried to sneak past the safety rope!”

“Enhanced perception,” I explain, trying to downplay it. “Nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” Dorothy pats my arm. “Dear, your snakes just saved me from breaking a hip. I’d say that’s quite special indeed.”

“Just doing my job.” But my snakes posture under the praise, especially Sterling, who’s showing off by demonstrating his most elegant alert pose.

“Enhanced perception, huh?” Sloane’s making notes, but her smile suggests she’s enjoying this far too much. “And I suppose the way your snakes all move in eerie sync when you sense danger is just coincidence?”

“They react to stimuli.”

“They react to everything.” She reaches up, and Sterling stretches to meet her hand. “Especially certain journalists.”

The warmth in her voice makes my heartbeat stumble…

and then race. Since the kiss, everything’s shifted—like someone rewrote my instincts overnight.

It’s dangerous. Reckless. My snakes haven’t stopped their pleased swaying since she arrived, making it impossible to maintain any pretense of professional distance.

“Mr. Fangborn!” Tommy’s voice cuts through the tension, thank the gods. “Can your snakes do that cool pattern thing again? The one they do when Ms. Whitaker’s here?”

Hot embarrassment blasts through me as several snakes attempt to recreate their “happy dance,” as the Silver Swimmers call it. Benedict Arnolds, every last one of them.

“I think,” Sloane says diplomatically, “Mr. Fangborn’s snakes have their own ideas about showing off.”

“Like when they get all swoopy and nice when you’re around?” Jenny pipes up innocently. “Dorothy says that’s because they liiiiike you.”

If it’s possible for snakes to blush, mine are definitely doing it now. Sterling actually tries to hide behind the others, his previous showboating forgotten in embarrassment.

“The Silver Swimmers talk too much,” I mutter, but Sloane just laughs.

“I think it’s sweet.” Her fingers brush Sterling’s scales gently. “They’re honest about what they want. Unlike some people I know.”

My throat goes tight as the unspoken meaning hangs between us, heavy with promise and possibility. Leaning toward her en masse, my snakes’ usual intimidating presence is completely forgotten in favor of shameless affection.

“Speaking of honesty,” she continues, voice lower, “I was thinking about getting coffee after your class. Unless you’re still trying to maintain that careful distance thing?”

“Pretty sure that ship sailed around kiss number two.” The whispered words come out gruff, though it’s hard to sound intimidating when Sterling is literally making heart shapes again. Sloane just smiles.

“Good.” She steps closer, close enough that my snakes can catch her scent. “Because I have more questions about your abilities. Like the truth compulsion one of my sources mentioned…”

“Dangerous territory, Whitaker.”

“So you’re not denying it? Anyway, I like dangerous.” Her eyes meet mine with challenge. “Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Before I can respond, Tommy provides another timely interruption by attempting an unauthorized dive into the deep end.

“Duty calls,” I say, already moving to intercept him.

“Always the protector.” Her voice follows me across the pool deck. “Even when you’re trying not to be.”

She’s right. And I hate how much I like that she sees it—sees me. Even more irritating is how my snakes keep trying to stay oriented toward her as I fish Tommy out of the deep end, lecture him about pool safety, and attempt to maintain some semblance of authority.

When our eyes meet across the pool, there’s a silent conversation happening—her pride in me, my gratitude for her seeing what others don’t. It’s terrifying how easily she reads me now, how a single glance from her soothes the enforcer instincts that once kept me perpetually on edge.

“Your snakes are doing the swoopy thing again,” Jenny informs me helpfully.

“They’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Tommy adds. “Is it because Ms. Whitaker is pretty?”

“Back to your laps,” I growl. “Both of you.”

When I glance back at Sloane, she’s trying not to laugh. “The children are very observant.”

“They’re menaces. All of them.”

“I don’t know.” She tucks her notebook away, preparing to leave. “I think they just recognize what the rest of us see—that the scary enforcer isn’t actually scary at all.”

“I can be scary.” But even as I say it, my snakes are leaning toward her like smitten teenagers.

“Keep telling yourself that, Gorgon.” She heads for the door, then pauses.

“So, Saturday morning. Farmers’ market. You can show me how intimidating you are while buying organic kale.”

“I don’t buy kale. Organic or otherwise.”

“Even better. I’ll watch the scary enforcer navigate artisanal soap vendors and craft beer booths.”

Her grin is pure mischief. “Consider it research for my article.”

“Research into what, exactly?”

“Whether the most feared Gorgon in Harmony Glen can handle aggressive hippies pushing free samples.” She checks her phone. “Nine AM. Don’t be late, and try not to terrify any elderly ladies selling jam.”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“The best ones usually are.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you, Sloane?”

“Not a chance.” Her smile makes warmth bloom in my chest. She turns to leave, and the look she gives me over her shoulder is pure challenge… and something sexier.

As I try to maintain some semblance of authority, my snakes keep swaying in that telling pattern, and I can’t quite wipe the smile off my face.

Maybe the kids are right. Maybe the Silver Swimmers see what I’ve been pretending not to. Maybe everyone can see what I’ve been trying to hide behind enforcer intimidation and guarded distance.

I like her. My snakes absolutely adore her. And judging by the way she looks at us—all of us, scales and powers and complicated history included—maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Even if it means my snakes will give everything away.

I can survive that.

What I’m not sure I can survive is another day pretending she hasn’t unraveled me.

So maybe after class, over coffee, I’ll stop hiding. Not with a game.

Just the truth. Plain and terrifying.

Because sometimes, risking everything is the only way forward.

And she’s starting to feel like everything.