Page 15 of Hiss and Tell
“Sorry,” he murmurs, but I’m caught by how the candlelight reflects in his amber eyes. This close, I notice a faint scar near his temple, probably from learning to manage his unusual hair. The urge to trace it with my fingertips takes me by surprise.
“How did you get that scar?” I ask before thinking.
His hand rises self-consciously to his temple. “Ah, that. Learning curve, quite literally. Male Gorgons are rare enough that there’s no handbook for managing the snakes during adolescence.”
“That must have been difficult,” I say, imagining a teenage Sebastian suddenly developing living hair.
“It was… isolating.” He straightens the napkin on his lap. “My brother Thaddeus was younger than me, so he hadn’t gone through it yet and was no help. But the library saved me. Books don’t judge. They just offer worlds to escape into.”
“Is that why you became a children’s librarian? To help other kids feel less alone?”
His expression softens. “Perhaps. There’s something powerful about showing a child they belong somewhere, that their differences are strengths, not weaknesses.” His snakes bob in agreement.
The way he talks about his work with children with pride and joy in his voice makes warmth pool in my belly. I forget everything except how his hands move when he’s excited, how his snakes mirror his enthusiasm, and how his whole being radiates a warmth that has nothing to do with good circulation.
“What about you?” he asks. “Did you always want to be a virtual assistant entrepreneur?”
I laugh. “Hardly. I wanted to be a forest ranger, actually. Loved the idea of wide open spaces, protecting something important.” My smile turns wistful. “Life had other plans.”
“Do you regret it? The path not taken?”
The question feels weightier than small talk should. “Sometimes. But then…” My eyes drift to the window, thinking of Milo. “Some detours lead to destinations worth every difficult step.”
“I think that’s beautiful,” he says, voice carrying such sincerity that warmth floods my chest. “Finding purpose in unexpected places.”
His understanding makes me brave enough to ask, “Do you ever wish things were different? That you weren’t…” I gesture vaguely toward his snakes.
“That I wasn’t a Gorgon?” His smile turns thoughtful. “Less now than before. It took me years to realize that the problem wasn’t my nature, but how I’d been taught to hide it.”
The depth of his self-awareness impresses me. Sebastian isn’t just gentle and kind—he’s genuinely thoughtful in ways that make my usual wariness around men feel unnecessary.
We both shift to get more comfortable, which causes our water glasses to rattle. A drop splashes onto my hand, and without thinking, Sebastian tries to catch it with his napkin. His fingersdwarf mine, but their touch is impossibly gentle. The moment stretches, neither of us quite willing to pull away.
“Your hands are so warm,” I blurt out, then want to sink through the floor. But his smile transforms his face, and his snakes do that happy little dance that I’m starting to find hopelessly endearing.
Evangeline practically melts toward me with obvious approval, while Nelson maintains a more dignified posture, though I catch him swaying slightly. The scholarly one—who I’m mentally calling Archie, short for Archibald—tilts his head as if analyzing this new development with academic interest.
“Gorgon thing,” he explains, reluctantly releasing my hand. “Good circulation.”
The waiter’s discreet cough breaks the moment. We both start rattling off orders, talking over each other, then laughing at our mutual awkwardness. The tension eases as something warmer takes its place.
“So,” I say, desperate for normal conversation after the waiter retreats, “do your snakes have favorite foods?”
“Evangeline loves pasta,” he admits, and the snake in question perks up hopefully while practically batting her eyelashes. If snakes could do such things. “But she’s supposed to be professional tonight.”
Nelson, clearly the responsible one, gives her a reproachful look while Archie seems torn between propriety and curiosity aboutthe other patrons. My attention is torn from Sebastian’s snakes’ personalities to his lush lips as I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.
Yikes. I need to get a grip. This is a fake date, after all.
“Is this what professional looks like?” I gesture at our water-spotted table and his crooked tie.
His low chuckle does strange things to my insides. “I’m better at bedtime stories than fine dining.”
“So,” we both say simultaneously, then stop.
“You go—”
“No, please—”
