Page 25 of Hiss and Tell
My snakes have already begun their excited dance at being in her space, tasting the air with barely perceptible flicks of their tongues. Her scent is everywhere—on the furniture, in the air, mixed with the warm domesticity of home-cooked meals and childhood joy.
The creature beneath my human facade responds with a satisfaction so deep it’s almost possessive. This place, these people—my instincts recognize them as mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to claim in ways that have nothing to do with fake dating arrangements.
The scent of their domestic life—crayons and juice boxes, Milo’s favorite dinosaur shampoo, the faint residue of Aspen’s perfume—activates something deeper than human attraction.
My enhanced senses catalog every detail: the way afternoon light filters through their windows, the careful organization that speaks of a mother doing her best with limited resources, thetiny handprints on the refrigerator that mark this as home. My snakes taste the air with subtle flicks, reading the emotional temperature of the space, and finding only warmth, safety, and love.
This is what sanctuary feels like—not the isolated peace of my childhood treehouse, but the chaotic, beautiful mess of a life fully lived.
“Come in!” Milo grabs my hand with his free one, trying to tug me into their cozy apartment. Toys create an obstacle course across the floor, and a laptop surrounded by papers claims one end of their small kitchen table. The whole space feels lived-in, warm.
“Sorry about the mess,” Aspen starts, but I wave it off.
As I step inside, I can’t help but notice how the apartment reflects Aspen herself—vibrant and full of life, organized chaos with purpose hidden beneath. Dinosaur books line a small shelf, meticulously arranged by size rather than by author. A hand-painted mug on the counter reads “World’s Okayest Mom,” making me smile. A bulletin board above her workspace overflows with Milo’s artwork, each piece carefully dated in Aspen’s neat handwriting.
“I like your home,” I tell her honestly. “It feels… real.”
Something in her expression softens at the simple compliment. “It’s not much, but—”
“But it’s ours!” Milo finishes proudly. “And we have the best view of the street for parades!”
“An essential quality in any residence,” I agree solemnly, making him giggle.
Aspen gestures toward the kitchen table. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? A machete to hack through the paperwork jungle?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” My snakes survey the space with interest, and I notice Evangeline focusing on a half-hidden photo tucked beneath a magnet on the refrigerator—a younger Aspen, carefree and laughing. Something about that glimpse of her before life complicated things makes my chest tighten.
“Actually,” I say, settling my book bag carefully on a clear section of counter, “I wanted to talk to you about Milo’s library situation. I have good news.”
Both Aspen and Milo lean forward with interest.
“The board met this morning. I explained our… relationship status… and they’ve agreed to reduce the ban significantly. Milo can return to storytime next Saturday, provided there’s appropriate supervision.”
“Really?” Aspen’s relief is palpable. “Just like that?”
“Well, there was some discussion about ‘family of staff’ provisions in the library bylaws. Since we’re dating…” I letthe implication hang, surprised by how easily the worddatingcomes out.
Milo’s whole face lights up. “Next Saturday?” His excitement is infectious. “And I can show you my new dinosaur book!”
“Absolutely,” I confirm, touched by his enthusiasm.
“How many sleeps until next Saturday?”
I do a quick head calculation. “Twelve sleeps.” His face begins to fall at the unfathomable number to a four-year-old. I quickly add, “And I brought something special to help with the wait.” I reach into my bag and pull out the carefully selected stack of dinosaur books. “Library outreach. Completely within the rules.”
I explain gently, “Since we can’t have you at the library quite yet, these should help until then. And I have a special dinosaur story planned for when you return.”
“Could you read one now?” Milo looks up with hopeful eyes. “Please? Just one?”
I glance at Aspen, not wanting to overstep. “That would be up to your mom.”
“After dinner.” As if she’s only now realizing she hasn’t invited me, she hits me with a wide smile that warms something in my chest and asks, “You’ll stay, right?”
“Please, Mr. Sebastian,” Milo pleads, as though I needed a second invitation.
“Absolutely.”
“We’re having pancakes for dinner tonight!” Milo confirms. “With chocolate chips! And you can help me practice my presentation for Daddy!”
