Page 18 of Hiss and Tell
The protectiveness in her voice warms something deep in my chest. “Partly. But mostly that’s because he’s a bright kid who loves books. The sanctuary effect just helps him relax enough to enjoy them.”
“Unlike his mother, who gets banned for dropping F-bombs.”
“About that…” But she waves it off.
“Ancient history. Well, six-day-old history. Besides, I believe you promised me a demonstration of your legendary chopstick skills?”
The food arrives, steaming and fragrant. True to my warning, my first attempt at noodles ends with more on the table than in my mouth. Aspen doesn’t even try to hide her grin.
“Here.” She reaches across the table, adjusting my grip on the chopsticks. “Like this.”
Her fingers are so smooth against mine, and for a moment, all my snakes go completely still. The simple contact sends awareness bolting through me. Heat spreads up my arm and settles low in my stomach as her thumb unconsciously strokes across my knuckle. The innocuous touch feels anything but innocent—it’s the most intimate contact I’ve had in years, and my body responds with embarrassing enthusiasm.
When she adjusts her grip, her palm pressing more firmly against mine, I have to concentrate on not letting my breathing change. Every nerve ending where we touch seems to come alive, and I’m acutely aware of the pulse point at her wrist, the softness of her skin, the way her fingers fit perfectly against mine.
Then Evangeline, the traitor, tries to nuzzle her in approval, expressing the affection I’m trying so hard to contain.
Aspen’s touch is impossibly warm, almost fevered, and I can feel my individual scales as they slide against her skin—my snakes acting as tiny sensors feeding information directly to my brain. The scent of her pulse point hits me like a physical blow, and I have to fight the urge to lean closer, to taste the salt of her skin.
My snakes’ reaction is immediate and embarrassing—they rise higher, their tongues flicking out to sample her scent, theirscales brightening in what can only be described as arousal. The predatory part of my nature that I keep carefully leashed recognizes her as desirable, and it takes all my willpower not to let that show.
“Sorry!” I pull back, but Aspen just laughs.
“It’s okay. They’re actually kind of cute when they’re not trying to hide.” She demonstrates the chopstick hold again. “Try now.”
The noodles still slip, but fewer escape. We fall into an easy rhythm of eating and talking. She tells me about her plans to expand her virtual assistant business, Aspenly Yours, into a full-time venture. I share stories about the library’s more colorful patrons.
“Wait,” she says between bites. “Mrs. Randall actually tried to ban TheVery Hungry Caterpillarbecause it promotes overeating?”
“And…” I shift my voice in a terrible imitation to conclude, “corrupts youth with its glorification of junk food.”
Her laughter fills our corner of the restaurant, and I realize with a start that I’m not worried about taking up too much space anymore. My snakes are relaxed, my shoulders have dropped from around my ears, and the sanctuary effect hums contentedly without any conscious effort on my part.
It feels… nice. Surprisingly, wonderfully nice.
“Sebastian?” Aspen’s voice brings me back to the moment. “You’re smiling.”
“I am?”
“Mmhmm. It’s a good look on you.”
And somehow, in a tiny Thai restaurant on a fake date that started with a fire, I find myself believing her.
Chapter Twelve
Aspen
Sebastian gave me a taste of his Pad See Ew, which was every bit as excellent as promised, and his chopstick skills were every bit as disastrous. By the time we finish dinner, my stomach hurts not from food, but from laughing.
“Let me walk you home,” Sebastian offers as we step outside the restaurant. “It’s gotten late.”
The night air is unusually balmy for late March in upstate New York. Streetlights cast warm pools on the sidewalk as we walk in companionable silence, full and content from dinner.
“Can I ask you something?” I venture after a while. “Something I’ve been wondering?”
His snakes perk up with interest. “Of course.”
“Your sanctuary effect—can you turn it off? Or is it always… working?”
