Page 20 of Hiss and Tell
“I…” I begin, then don’t know how to sum up our evening.
“That was nice,” he finishes. “Even with the fire evacuation.”
“Especially with the fire evacuation,” I correct with a smile. “Nothing like a little danger to make dinner memorable.”
His answering laugh makes my stomach flip. One of his snakes—definitely Evangeline—stretches toward me, almost touching my hair before retreating. Sebastian makes a sound partway between a moan and a purr. It rumbles through his chest in a way that makes me want to press my ear there and feel the vibration.
Standing this close, I can see subtle flecks of gold in his amber eyes, can count the individual scales that catch the porch light. When he shifts slightly closer—maybe unconsciously—the heat radiating from his massive frame wraps around me like a living thing. I find myself leaning into that warmth, my body betraying my attempts at maintaining professional distance.
His gaze drops briefly to my lips, so quickly I might have imagined it. But the hunger I glimpsed there was unmistakable—raw and wanting and carefully controlled. My lips part involuntarily under that heated look, and his sharp intake of breath tells me he noticed. The air between us thickens with possibility, with the weight of things neither of us can say. Whenhe takes a half-step closer, I tilt my face up instinctively, my body moving toward his like he’s magnetic north.
“I should…” he gestures vaguely behind him.
“Right. Yes. It’s late.”
But neither of us moves. “Goodnight, Aspen,” he finally says, his voice deeper than usual.
“Goodnight, Sebastian.”
He steps back, creating space between us, but his eyes never leave mine. When he finally turns, I watch him walk away, his massive frame gradually disappearing into the darkness. Only when he’s completely gone, do I realize I’ve been motionless as a statue as I followed him with my gaze.
Upstairs, inside my apartment, I lean against the closed door, heart racing for reasons I refuse to examine too closely. This is fake dating, I remind myself firmly. A mutual arrangement for mutual benefit.
So why does my skin still tingle where he touched me? Why does the memory of his arms around me feel more real than anything has in years?
Shaking off the thoughts, I thank Clair, get the excited rundown of the macaroni and paper plate projects they made, and artfully dodge her polite questions. I don’t want to talk about tonight’s fake date, don’t want to let the fantastic feeling fade when reality hits.
I check on Milo, sleeping peacefully with Super Steggy clutched tight. This—my son, his happiness—is what matters. Not the way Sebastian’s smile transforms his face, or how safe I felt in his arms, or the look in his eyes when we said goodnight.
Those thoughts are dangerous. Complicated. Better left unexplored.
Even if they follow me into my dreams.
Chapter Thirteen
Sebastian
The three faces staring at me across my kitchen counter somehow manage to look both thrilled and disappointed at the same time. Saturday morning had started peacefully until my announcement about dating Aspen was supposed to get them off my back. Instead, they’re looking at me like they’re starving and I’m their favorite food.
“And you didn’t tell us immediately?” Iris clutches her chest dramatically. “After all we’ve done?”
“It’s only been a few days.” Guilt hits my chest like a thunderbolt at my white lie—our walk in the park was almost a week ago. My snakes curl defensively as Mabel circles around the counter, her eyes sparkling with dangerous enthusiasm.
“A few days!” Dorothy shakes her head sadly. “That’s hours and hours we could have been helping.”
“I don’t need—”
“Of course you need help, dear.” Iris pats my arm consolingly. “You’re a man. And a librarian. Both are hopeless at romance.”
“Hey!”
“Don’t argue, Sebastian.” Mabel’s already pulling out her phone. “Now, I’ve been saving some wonderful recipes for just such an occasion. Nothing says romance like a home-cooked meal.”
My stomach drops. “You want me tocookfor her?”
“No, no.” Relief floods through me until she continues, “We want you to host a proper dinner party. Just the five of us.”
“The five…?”
