13. Alice
Chapter 13
Alice
6 Months Later
I wake up to something cool and damp nuzzling the side of my neck.
At first, my groggy brain thinks, Oh, it’s Gordy. He’s being all sweet and nuzzly.
Then the nuzzling slithers up my ear.
“Okay, that’s not Gordy,” I mutter, swatting halfheartedly at what I now recognize as one of his more curious snakes. It chirps indignantly— chirps, like a grumpy bird that got up too early—and retreats back into the messy knot of serpents currently sprawled across the pillow next to me.
I blink up at the ceiling. “It’s too early for a snake cuddle pile.”
“Tell that to them,” Gordy grumbles from beneath the covers. His voice is rough with sleep, low and delicious and way too sexy for this hour. “They decided you’re part of the den now.”
“Oh, I’m flattered. Truly.” I sit up slowly, the sheet pooling at my waist. “But one of them just licked my eyelid.”
Gordy groans and flops an arm across his face. “That’s Shelly. She’s affectionate.”
“She’s territorial ,” I mutter, nudging a tail off my collarbone. “She tried to pin me to the mattress.”
“Honestly? Same.”
I turn to glare at him, but he peeks at me with a sly little smile, and just like that, I melt all over again.
Gods, he’s a mess. Snakes sluggishly untangling themselves, stubble shadowing his jaw—and somehow, he looks like a mythological painting come to life. The kind I would’ve sketched in my dorm room and pretended wasn’t based on my fantasy of the perfect monster boyfriend. The kind that would get banned in school libraries for being too emotionally explicit .
“You’re staring,” he murmurs.
“You’re smug.”
“I had great morning sex,” he says, stretching like a satisfied jungle cat. “Amazingsex. With a woman who talks to my snakes like they’re her coworkers.”
“They are, in a way,” I mutter, inspecting my shoulder. “Do you think I’ll bruise? Sheila was wrapped around me like a feather boa in a wind tunnel.”
“I’m sorry about that.” He leans over and presses a kiss to the spot in question. “They’re still learning to share.”
I hum. “I’m honored to be the first woman deemed snake-worthy.”
He grins. “They call you ‘The Soft One.’”
“I will fight them.”
“No, no, it’s a compliment,” he says, laughing as a small green serpent bobs its head in agreement. “ Apparently, you smell like oil paints and chaos.”
I sniff myself. “I mean, that tracks.”
Gordy leans in and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You okay? That was intense earlier.”
Intense. That’s one way of putting it. Gordy and I are incendiary between the sheets. And up against the wall. Oh, and over the back of the sofa.
I nod, sobering slightly. “Yeah. I’m more than okay. Safe. And sore. But in, like, a deeply satisfying way.”
“You turned on the shower and levitated my bookshelf again. I’m surprised the ceiling’s still intact.”
“I was multitasking.”
“You nearly orgasmed the furniture into a new dimension.”
“Don’t act like you’re not proud.”
He gives me a look that makes my toes curl. “I’ve never been more proud in my life.”
We’ve had six months of learning to touch without turning into a myth gone wrong. Six months of spell craft, snake diplomacy, and figuring out where I end and my magic begins with the help of Verity, Gideon, and our wonderfully magical neighbors.
My stomach gurgles as I flop back onto the bed with a happy groan, my hair splayed around me like a chaotic halo. “I’m so ready for my morning-after breakfast in a half-haunted, snake-infested bookshop apartment.”
“Well,” Gordy says, standing and tugging on sweatpants that cling in deeply unfair ways, “don’t startle the espresso machine. It’s sentient before 9 a.m.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Only in three states.”
I wrap the sheet around me and shuffle after him, ignoring the sassy snake currently slithering around my shoulder like a clingy cat. The apartment smells like sex, old books, and the scintillating scent of bakery magic wafting through the open window from Conjure and Crumb down the street. It’s oddly comforting. Like a place that doesn’t simply tolerate my chaos but welcomes it .
Gordy moves around the kitchen like he’s done this a thousand times. But there’s a new rhythm now. A new awareness. He hums under his breath as he makes coffee, tossing me a granola bar and a wink.
I catch it. The bar, not the wink. That one hits me square in the ovaries.
“You know this is the real deal, right?” I say softly, unwrapping the bar.
He pauses. Turns. And walks toward me until our bodies are a breath apart.
“I’m only built for the real deal,” he says, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “For epic love stories and slow burns and entire sonnets about the curve of your smile.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for my smile.”
“It’s worth it.”
I tuck my face against his chest, the beat of his heart grounding me. Around us, the apartment creaks, the snakes hiss sleepily, and something sparks in the espresso machine that definitely wasn’t steam.
And somehow… it all feels like home.
Later, as we sip our coffee—mine black, his sweetened within an inch of its life—I glance down at the snake coiled around my wrist and raise a brow.
“Okay, who’s this one? He’s been tail-hugging me for fifteen minutes.”
Gordy peers over his mug. “That’s Steve. He’s shy. If he likes you, it’s serious.”
I blink. “Wait. You have a snake named Steve ?”
He shrugs. “He insisted. Besides, you named Sheila. And the, uh, other one.”
I arch a brow. “You mean,Sir Licksss-a-lot ? ”
Gordy tries not to laugh and fails spectacularly. “He says it’s a knightly title , thank you very much.”
“Pretty bold for a guy who hides under your waistband when I reach for a second round.” I sigh, sipping my coffee with a dramatic flair. “ Fine. Tell Steve if he wants to be part of this relationship, he better start pulling his weight.”
Gordy chokes on his drink.
Steve flicks his tongue proudly.
And me?
I just smile.
Because this? This is the kind of weird, wonderful magic I never dared to dream of.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The book on my lap winks.
Not a metaphorical wink. An actual, slow, saucy eyelid-lowered wink , 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 first editions 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 that changes 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.”
He nods solemnly. “She’s the artsy one.”
“Perfect. I’ll let her pick the glitter palette.”
Sheila is now curled around my wrist like a beaded bracelet with opinions, flicking her tongue at the sketchpad like she’s offering creative direction. I glance at her, then at Gordy, who’s still crouched beside me, way too close for my heart to behave.
“You know,” I say, casually nudging his knee with mine, “if your snakes are this into me, you’re kind of contractually obligated to follow their lead.”
Gordy tilts his head, lips quirking. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, breath catching as another of his snakes brushes my shoulder. “Snake law. Super binding.”
He hums, leaning in. “And what exactly do the snakes want?”
“To kiss me, obviously.”
His smile softens into something a little dangerous. “I don’t know if that’s them talking... or you. ”
“Can’t it be both?”
I don’t wait for his answer. We lean forward, closing the distance like gravity’s doing the work for us.
When our lips meet, everything around us fades. The softly glowing book cover, Sheila tightening around my wrist, even the low hum of magic in the air—all of it dissolves into the electric warmth of his mouth on mine.
It’s gentle at first. Sweet. Thoughtful.
Then it deepens—his hand rising to cradle the back of my neck, pulling me closer as if he’s memorizing the shape of me. My fingers twist in his shirt, and his snakes stir like they’re holding their breath. One of them coils lightly around my braid, and somehow, it feels like an embrace.
We break apart slowly, barely an inch between us, our foreheads brushing.
“That felt...” I start, then lose the words.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Exactly.”
A beat of silence, heavy and perfect .
Then, from the counter, the book lets out a dramatic sigh and whispers, “Finally.”
I blink. Gordy groans.
“You enchanted the book again, didn’t you?”
I press my lips together to stop from laughing. “Might’ve... added a reactive commentary charm.”
His eyes sparkle with amusement. “I take it back. You’re terrifying.”
I smile, smug and dazed. “And still somehow snake-approved.”
He kisses me again, quick this time, like he can’t not.
And just like that, the chaos, the charm, the snakes, and the sass all settle into something that feels like magic.
Like home.