Page 4 of It's In His Hiss

And then there’s the nest of snakes on his head.

They hiss and flail in a chorus of outrage as he crashes backward in a tangle of limbs, like I personally offended their whole ecosystem.

So much for first impressions.

Ten seconds in town, and I’ve tackled the reclusive gorgon and pissed off his hair.

Chapter 3

Gordy

I hear the first rumble of thunder, then the deluge of rain. It draws me to the shop door, something about the heaviness of the downpour troubling me.

Before I have a chance to open it, the door flies open and thuds heavily against my chest. I stagger back a step, meaning to steady myself against the counter, but I miss and fall backward, sending my shades flying.

A woman with waterlogged brown hair and an apologetic grin stands before me, her maxi dress clinging to her like the petals of a drenched marigold.

“Sorry! Oh, my gosh, I’m so clumsy,” she blurts, cheeks flushing a bright and lively red. “I didn’t mean to crash-land in your… um, very nice bookshop.”

“Crash-land is right.” I chuckle, trying to ignore how my heart hammers against my ribcage as I stand. Maybe it’s the shock of sudden contact or the fact that her smile, crooked as it is, shines brighter than the fluorescent lights overhead. She’s like a walking, talking beacon of disarray, and I can’t help but feel that something big just walked into my life.

My stakes start to hiss angrily, and I shake my head to calm them down. She’s busy swiping at her face as water drips down her face and doesn’t notice.

“Are you okay?” I ask, plucking my glasses from the floor and scanning her for injuries. But all I see is the chaos of her vibrant dress and the raindrops falling from her hem to seep into the wood floor beneath us.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit… wet.” She laughs, a sound that’s somehow both awkward and melodious. The sight of her trying to wring out the hem ofher dress should be comical, but she has a grace about her, even now.

A little water won’t hurt anything.” I glance down at the puddle expanding around her feet, then back up to her eyes, quickly averting my gaze to a nearby shelf. Can’t risk looking too long. Her presence is unsettling in the best possible way.

“Sorry, I’m just…” She trails off as she steps back, only to bump into a shelf. Books wobble precariously, threatening to topple.

“Careful,” I warn, my voice low as I reach out to steady the shelf.

Her eyes are wide, and something about the way she looks at me, like she sees me,reallysees me, makes my chest tighten.

“Did I break anything?” She glances around in panic, her hands flailing like she’s trying to catch invisible falling objects.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” I reply, but my heart is pounding for a different reason.

I’ve never been good with people, let alone women. And here’s this whirlwind of femininity,causing a commotion that somehow feels right in my quiet world. But I can’t look her in the eye, not fully. Not when one accidental gaze could turn her moments of chaos into an eternity of stone.

“That storm came out of nowhere, didn’t it?” she rambles, her voice a warm rush against the otherwise silent backdrop of my shop. “I mean, one second it was cloudy, and then,bam, it was like Poseidon himself was having a temper tantrum.”

“Poseidon, huh? Apt comparison.” My response comes out more amused than intended. It’s hard not to be charmed by her, even as she unwittingly wreaks havoc on my carefully arranged displays.

“Right? Anyway, I was looking for someplace dry and…Whoops!” She stumbles again, this time sending a small stack of paperbacks sliding to the floor. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay. Really.” I crouch to gather the books, keeping my head turned slightly away from her. I have the urge to comfort her, to tell her it’s all fine, but I need to keep my distance. Especially since my snakes seem to be trying to pry themselves from my scalp. What is up with them?

One particularly dramatic serpentthrows itself over my forehead like a fainting Victorian lady, letting out a long, exaggeratedhissss.

Another coils slightly as if preparing to strike.

“Whoa, easy there. I come in peace,” she says, holding her hands up, palms facing outward. “Here, let me help,” she insists, kneeling beside me.

Our hands brush as we reach for the same book. An electric jolt shoots up my arm, and I jerk back as if stung.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Static.”

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