Page 40 of It's In His Hiss

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The book on my lap winks.

Not a metaphorical wink. An actual, slow, saucy eyelid-loweredwink, like it knows something I don’t.

“Too much charm,” I mutter, scrubbing the corner of the illustration with a smudge-remover charm. “Dial it back, Casanova.”

Gordy looks up from the register, where he’s attempting to rearrange a display of firsteditions and being lowkey harassed by one of his snakes. The little one—Steve, I think—is tangled around a paperback like it personally offended him.

“You talking to yourself again?” he asks, mouth twitching with that lazy smile I love.

“Talking to the book,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him. “It got flirty.”

Gordy raises an eyebrow. “Should I be jealous?”

I flick a spark of magic at him, just enough to make the air between us shimmer faintly. “Yes, obviously. The book has great hair and tells me I’m talented.”

He sets down the stack of books and saunters over, snakes lazily coiling and shifting on his head. One of them lifts its head and tilts it at me like it’s assessing my work.

“Let me see,” he murmurs, crouching beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. “Whoa. Is that one of the Court of Shadows books?”

I nod, proud. “Client wanted a little extra drama on the cover. I gave the heroine a mood ring thatchanges colors depending on who walks past the display.”

He squints at it. “Is it supposed to glow red right now?”

“Only if someone emotionally repressed is in the vicinity.” I give him a pointed glance.

He snorts. “I am not emotionally repressed.”

“You are a literal gorgon who wears a knit cap and shades indoors to avoid eye contact.”

“And yet,” he murmurs, voice dropping, “you still think I’m hot.”

Touché.

I turn back to the book before I say something embarrassing, but he’s already watching me with that look—the one that softens every hard edge in my body.

“Seriously,” he says. “This stuff you’re doing? It’s amazing. You’re amazing. And business is booming. You’ve built a solid income out of magical chaos and glitter.”

“Some of it is subtle,” I protest. “That new signage I did for the romance section? Barely sparkles at all.”

He grins. “True. It only whispers ‘go for it, you fool’ every time two customers make prolonged eye contact in that aisle.”

I blink innocently. “It’s motivational.”

Gordy’s hand brushes mine where it rests on my sketchpad. His fingers are calloused, warm, a little ink-smudged.

“You’re incredible, Al,” he says softly. “I hope you know that.”

My throat tightens in that way it does when someone says something kind and I don’t know how to hold it.

“I’m just doing what I love,” I say, voice small.

“Exactly,” he says. “And you’re making magic while you do it.”

Stella lets out a sleepy hiss. Sheila tugs gently at my hoodie string, trying to steal my attention.

I smile. “I think Sheila wants to help me charm the next book.”

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