Page 33 of Hiss and Tell
The next hour becomes a blur of activity. Aspen organizes the recovered data into clear, compelling charts. Jenny quietly came in with a plate of sandwiches and two coffees. We ate whileAspen worked and asked me questions about how I wanted to present the material.
“The numbers tell a good story,” Aspen says, reviewing the final presentation. “But Mrs. Randall isn’t really interested in statistics, is she?”
“She wants to cut programming because she thinks it attracts the ‘wrong kind’ of families,” I admit.
“Families like mine.” She can’t keep the hurt out of her voice.
“Families who need this place most. Single parents, struggling families, kids who don’t have safe spaces anywhere else.”
Aspen looks up from the screen, something fierce in her expression. “Then we show them what those families look like. Real people, real stories.”
“What do you mean?”
“Video testimonials. Parents and kids explaining what the library programs mean to them.” She’s already opening editing software. “We film them now, and then edit them into the presentation.”
“But it’s 1:30. There’s no time—”
“There’s always time for what matters.” She pulls out her phone. “I’m texting Tyler’s parents, Miss Lee, and some of the other regular families. Anyone who might be able to get here in the next half hour.”
As if summoned by her determination, people start arriving. Dave brings Tyler and explains how library programs helped his son overcome social anxiety. Miss Lee comes with two of her students who are library regulars, talking about how Sebastian’s storytimes prepare children for school success.
Mrs. Moskowitz arrives, having left the store in the care of the assistant manager. “That young man helped my grandson learn to read,” she tells Aspen’s camera. “When the schools couldn’t reach him, Mr. Sebastian found a way.”
Each testimonial is short but powerful. Real families talking about real impact. Children demonstrating confidence gained, parents describing support received, and community members explaining why this place matters.
By 2:30, we have a presentation that tells the complete story—not just numbers, but the human reality behind those statistics.
“This is incredible,” I tell Aspen as I pack up the materials. Aspen is still desperately trying to locate a few more lost files. “You turned a disaster into something stronger than I ever could have created alone.”
“I’m happy to help you,” she says, and the words carry weight beyond our fake dating arrangement.
The library is quiet now except for the hum of computers and the distant sound of Aspen searching for recovered files. I should be focused on the presentation, but instead I’m hyperaware of every small sound she makes—the soft click of her keyboard, the way she hums under her breath when concentrating.
“Found another one,” she announces as though she just slew a dragon with her bare hands. When I lean over her shoulder to look at the screen, the movement brings me close enough to catch her scent—something warm and clean with an edge of the vanilla lip balm she always wears.
“That’s the summer reading program data,” I say, unable to hide my excitement. “I thought we’d lost all of it.”
She turns to respond, and suddenly we’re face to face, mere inches apart. Her eyes widen slightly, and I can feel her breath against my skin. Evangeline dips down to gently brush against Aspen’s cheek in what looks like an accident, but feels deliberate.
“Sebastian…” Aspen’s voice is barely a whisper.
The space between us seems charged with possibility. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. I start to lean closer, my hand moving to cup her face—
The main library door slams open with a bang, followed by Mrs. Moskowitz calling, “Sebastian, dear! I brought you some of those cookies you like!”
We spring apart so quickly that Aspen’s chair rolls backward into the desk. My snakes immediately arrange themselves into their most formal, innocent configuration as Mrs. Moskowitz bustles into the children’s section.
“Oh!” She stops short, taking in our flushed faces and obvious guilt. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“Just making last-minute corrections to the presentation,” I manage, while Aspen suddenly becomes very interested in her laptop screen.
But Mrs. Moskowitz’s knowing smile suggests she’s not fooled for a second.
Chapter Twenty
Aspen
The city hall conference room buzzes with nervous energy at 3 PM. Council members shuffle through papers, clearly unprepared for the sudden schedule change. Mrs. Randall sits in the front row with two other library board members, clipboards ready and expressions predatory.
