Page 16 of Hiss and Tell
Another excruciating pause.
“This is harder than I expected,” Sebastian admits quietly. His snakes seem to agree, curling in tight to his head like they’re trying to hide.
“Maybe we should—” But my next words vanish as a commotion erupts from the kitchen. Smoke billows through the swinging doors, followed by cursing in at least three languages.
“Fire!” someone yells, and suddenly the calm dinner service dissolves into chaos.
The ceiling sprinklers activate with dramatic flair, dousing half the restaurant in water. A woman at the next table shrieks as her expensive hairdo deflates, while a waiter stands frozen, holding a now-soggy cheesecake overhead like a melting sacrifice.
Except… not everywhere is chaotic. In our corner, a strange sense of peace descends. The panic that should be rising stays oddly distant. Looking at Sebastian, I realize his snakes have all gone still, focused intently on the room.
But even in crisis mode, their personalities show—Evangeline has positioned herself like a graceful sentinel, Nelson maintains a steady, protective posture, while the scholarly one seems to be calculating exit routes with mathematical precision. His eyes are closed in concentration.
What strikes me most is how utterly non-human they become in this moment. Their heads turn in perfect unison, tracking movements with predatory precision that sends a shiver through me.
Sebastian’s pupils have shifted to vertical slits, and when he speaks, there’s an otherworldly resonance to his voice that bypasses conscious thought and speaks directly to something primal in every person’s hindbrain. This isn’t just a man with snake hair—this is something ancient and powerful wearing the shape of someone gentle.
“Everyone remain calm,” Sebastian says, voice carrying without shouting. “The exits are clear, and the fire is contained to the kitchen. Please proceed outside in an orderly fashion.”
And amazingly… people do. The screaming stops. The rush for the doors slows to a steady stream. Even the smoke seems less threatening somehow.
“How are you doing that?” I whisper.
His eyes open, meeting mine with surprising intensity, though I notice they’re slightly unfocused. “Doing what?” His voice is rough, guttural.
“Creating this… bubble of calm. It’s like being in the eye of a storm.”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “Would you believe it’s just my naturally soothing personality?”
The absurdity of the situation—minor flood, smoke-filled restaurant, ruined date—hits me all at once. A laugh bubbles up, and once it starts, I can’t seem to stop.
Sebastian’s smile grows, his snakes perking up with interest. “I have that effect on people, you know. They either run screaming or laugh hysterically.”
“Stop!” But I’m still giggling. “We should probably evacuate.”
“Probably.” He stands, offering one massive hand. “I hear the Thai place down the street has excellent Pad See Ew. And significantly less smoke.”
“Are you asking me on a second fake date before our first one’s even properly failed?”
His snakes do a little dance that can only be described as happy. “Why? Would that be weird?”
“Extremely.” Taking his hand, I let him help me up. “But I’m starving, and you still owe me an explanation about that calm bubble thing.”
“Deal.” His thumb brushes my knuckles before letting go. “Though I should warn you—my chopstick skills are legendary. And by legendary, I mean legendarily awful.”
As we step into the cool evening air, sirens wailing in the distance, Sebastian’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me gently through the evacuating crowd. The simple contact shouldn’t feel so electric, but heat radiates in shock waves from the spot where his palm rests against me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, bending slightly to meet my eyes. His concern seems to encompass more than just the restaurant fire—like he’s asking about everything: single motherhood, juggling multiple jobs, the constant tightrope walk of my life.
“I’m better than okay,” I admit, surprising myself with the truth of it. Despite the surrounding chaos, I feel strangely centered in his presence. “Though I am starving.”
His chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. “That makes two of us.”
As we walk toward the Thai restaurant, our arms occasionally brush, each contact sending little sparks along my skin. We fall into conversation about our favorite books from childhood,discovering a shared love of stories where ordinary characters find unexpected courage.
“That’s what I try to create at storytime,” he explains, his passion evident. “A space where children can see themselves as the heroes of their own stories.”
“Even the quiet ones? The ones who hide in the back row?”
