Chapter Twenty-Four

Julia

As my fingers brush the edge of the card, energy shoots into my heart, my pulse quickening.

The Lovers.

Two people stand naked facing each other. Behind them is a tree with intricate woven vines covered in crimson, orange, and fuchsia blossoms. The dark background of the card contrasts with the metallic strip that creates a border around the edge.

I don't know what to say. This card is intense. Bright and full of love, but it also makes me feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. It makes me feel like fighting. It makes me want to reach out and hold on for dear life.

"The Lovers card is the more intense version of the Two of Cups," she finally says, and she actually sounds like she's struggling to breathe.

"From our reading with Madame Moira."

She nods, holding eye contact. "Showing up in a reading between us is significant just because of all the stuff ." She pauses, letting the full weight of that normally unimportant word settle between us. "But our history with the cards makes this feel like more of a sign."

I gave up on believing in signs before I ever really tried.

This weekend with Kit Larson has me questioning that steadfast lack of faith.

"What does it mean?" My throat is tight; my voice is breathy.

"Conscious connection, meaningful relationships. Some tarot readers describe it as the soulmate card—when it represents a relationship, it's usually not casual." She looks it over thoughtfully, as if this is the first time she's ever really seen the card, like she needs to take in all the details again just in case she's missed something. "There's a lot to say here about vulnerability and raw honesty, opening your heart to someone else to let them see your truest self."

"Family." The word comes in a burst, surprising me. She searches my face. "I always thought that was the closest you could get to real security. Finding someone who you trust like family."

I've looked for that in every romantic relationship I've ever embarked on.

I've never found it.

Her eyes drop back to the card. "At its heart, the card is about choice, so actually, you're right on." She smiles, soft. "The choice of who you love. What you want. How you connect and how much you trust."

Trust. The scariest word in the English language.

"It's also a sexy card," she says, her voice sly.

Heat pulses between my legs, an ache hot and fast.

"Like, go forth and fuck?" I ask; the word fuck is loaded. Ready to bang.

"I think the exact wording from one of my guidebooks is sexual gratification beyond basic lust and longing; deeper, soul touching, tantric ." Each word drips with desire.

Mine and hers—I feel the need open up between us.

"Lust and longing," I say, watching her face. She goes still. "Is a good place to start." I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, running my hand over her cheek, to her chin. She melts into my touch; I can smell the faint hint of cherry in her lip gloss. "I'd like to kiss you now."

"Go ahead," she breathes.

I crush my lips against hers. Every reservation and all my lingering questions evaporate.

I pull her in so that our breasts press together as my tongue slips inside. Her mouth is the most delicious dessert, sweet and soft and warm, lusciously tinged with fruity rosé. I want to touch her everywhere, I want to make her scream my name, and when her hands clutch my hips, and the cards fall to the ground between us, I know she wants the same thing.

I tilt her head back so I can pepper kisses over her neck, breathing out the question, "Is this okay?" I need her to say yes. I need to know she wants this—wants me.

"Fuck yes," she gasps. One hand running up my waist to cup my breast over the shirt. "Can I please"—she tightens the grip her other hand has on my ass—"unbutton your shirt?"

I chuckle against her neck, flicking my tongue on the tender skin behind her earlobe.

"Go right ahead," I affirm.

She makes fast work of the buttons. "So tiny, so many," she grunts as she unhooks them one by one. I feel them spring open, revealing my uninteresting, basic black bra. It's got a little padding because Mother Nature did not endow me with much up top, helped even more by the racerback design.

She pushes back to get a look.

Her lips are swollen from kissing, her eyes delirious.

All pupils, all want.

She scoots closer, lifting her leg to fit around me and tug me in. Her eyes eat up the sight, and with her finger she traces the line of my collarbone, touching my heart pendant, down to the spot where the clasp holds the bra in place. Her eyes trek back up to mine, a question reflected in her dark pupils. I nod, fighting the urge to touch myself as heat pools between my legs. The ache to release that growing pressure is overwhelming, but in the best way.

She flicks the edge of the clasp with her fingernail and the bra pops open. It slides away from the little mounds of my breasts, revealing my nipples. She touches them with her eyes first. Her mouth drops open, hungry and eager. After a few seconds, she gently, almost cautiously, cups my breast in her palm, grazing the nipple with her thumb. It tightens beneath her touch, and she leans forward to kiss me.

Her thumb works over the ridge as my hands wind up beneath her shirt until they meet the resistance of her underwire. I trek beneath, lifting the bra up and touching her nipples. They're already alert, but she lets out a moan into my mouth, a yes, more please , and I am so ready to comply. Anxious to give her exactly what she wants.

My fingers slow their pace as they brush across the mound of her nipple, feeling the soft curve of her breast, heavy in the palm of my hand. She's full busted, something I've always been attracted to, and something she used to hate about herself because it got her all kinds of gross attention from guys—men, teachers, literally anyone with a Y chromosome.

I gently fondle her before snaking my hand out from under the bra and traveling around to the clasp in the back. She twists out of the straps, pulling back to let the bra fall to the floor, and I grip the small of her waist to tug her into me. My exposed breasts brush the thin layer of fabric between us. Her lips twitch into a smile beneath mine.

We're moving fast, though, maybe too fast. I want this, and so does she—I can tell—but I also want to savor this moment. I want to know her better.

I don't want to skip over important parts just because we have a history together.

Ten years have passed. So much has changed.

"Is it okay if we slow down a little?" I ask, pulling back to look her in the eyes. She presses her forehead to mine as her breathing downshifts. Her eyes are dilated with desire I know is about me. She runs her hand up into my hair, and twines a loose strand around her pointer finger.

"Tell me something about Kit Larson now." I speak it soft, but it's an order.

"A truth?" she questions, as that finger uncurls from my hair to lightly trek over my breasts. Her eyes stay on mine.

"Yeah, a truth." I grin at her reference to our favorite game from our youth.

She considers the question as her fingers consider the lines of my waist.

"I have no apartment, no furniture, just a few boxes of things that are all my own," she says, her mouth still tantalizingly close to mine.

"Why is that?" I ask, impressed I can focus as her finger taunts the waistband of my jeans on her journey over my torso. I'm not entirely surprised by her answer.

It's very manic pixie dream girl of her.

"I always thought I liked it that way—the impermanence of my existence. It gave me freedom to not get too tied down." She pauses, brushing my hair away from my neck and touching the mini red heart on my necklace. "I could pick up and leave when I was ready. And I was always ready sooner than I thought."

"Have you ever lived alone?" I ask, leaning, pressing a light kiss to the line of her neck. Two can play this game. Tiny touches tantalize. Women's skin is full of nerve endings, in all sorts of places you wouldn't expect, wouldn't know, if you aren't a woman yourself.

"Not alone," she says, leaning up to let me pepper kisses all the way to her ear. A gasp escapes her lips and her eyes roll closed. I smile against her neck.

"Do you want your own place?" I brush my nose over hers and lean back again. She fondles my hand, spreading the fingers wide and fitting hers between them before she answers.

"I think I'd like to own a couch. Pick out a bed frame and research mattresses." Her eyes open now, and have a sheen. "Maybe get a potted plant or two."

It's clear to me this means more to her than filling an apartment with furniture. This is a signal. A flare up in the air that she is ready to leave the manic pixie dream girl behind.

"Something to work on when you get back," I say, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I have some great recommendations for where to start. If you'd like some help."

She presses her lips to mine in a soft kiss. "I bet you have whole binders of research."

I tug her against me, running my hands up beneath her shirt. "I even used my label maker." I flick her nipple with the pad of my thumb. "Color-coded the folders." Our mouths meld into each other's and we get lost.

Tongues and hands and hair.

We spin around on top of the quilt, roughing it up with our movement. My head rests against a pillow and she fits her body next to mine, wrapping one of her languid, shapely legs over my hip and curling it to draw me closer.

I stare into her eyes as she lays her head on the opposite pillow.

"Now you," she says, pecking me fast as punctuation. "Truth."

"I'm starting my own business," I say. "Still weddings. All me, though."

"So that other account I saw on Insta is you?" She chuckles. "It wasn't set up with much, so I thought it might be a fake."

It occurs to me that others who have searched for my Instagram might have also seen this account. Maybe Zoe or my boss.

"I haven't told anyone at work yet," I say, pushing the anxiety about that possibility down with my reply.

"Not even Zoe?"

"Why would I tell Zoe?" I'm surprised by the suggestion.

"She just seems dedicated—and, like, to you. I feel like she'd want to know."

" Feel feel, like Mystic Maven feel?" I ask, biting my lip as a laugh rumbles up my throat. She shoves at my shoulder and I drag her on top of me.

"You can't build an empire alone," she grunts, straightening as she works my arms over my head and pins them to the pillows. "Might be worth gauging her interest in joining forces. Venus in Libra vibes."

I wrangle free of her grip, twisting her around to the bottom again. Chest to chest, my thigh tucked in between hers, I kiss her full-on, working my tongue into her mouth slowly and feeling around.

Her hand trails open-palmed over my ass until she clenches the bottom of the cheek, getting a fistful before she nudges the curve of my thigh. I feel her warmth and return her nudge with my own. She giggles against my lips.

"This is fun," she says.

And it really is.

?I never want this game of truth to end, but after another half hour of rolling around in her sheets, making out and telling secrets, the angle of the sun as it hits her face signals just how much time has passed since I first arrived.

"What time is it?" I ask. She can see the clock in the kitchen better than I can from where she's lying.

"Almost five," she says.

"Ugh, that's an hour till the rehearsal," I say, sitting upright and tugging my bra closed. We didn't rush to sex, staying mostly in the feeling and kissing stage of foreplay, and the fact that we are taking our time encourages me to believe we don't expect to run out of it.

She might not run away this time .

I stand, buttoning my shirt. "I have to get cleaned up before tonight." I have a duty to my clients, and unfortunately that means not languishing any longer in her bed. My eyes drop to her, still curled up and cozy, but tugging her tank top down. I can faintly see her nipples through her shirt, and it makes me ache between my legs.

I pop another kiss on her lips and walk over to the table where I left my walkie-talkie when I arrived. I pick it up, clicking it once.

It beeps, a double blip blip sound, and goes quiet.

My heart rate shoots up.

I click it again. Blip blip.

"Fuck," I exhale.

Kit's up, twisting her hair into a bun as she approaches.

"Fuck, fuck," I exclaim again. Clicking the button on the walkie-talkie. Blip blip. Blip blip. "It's dead. Zoe has no idea where I am—and it's not Homebase, which is where I said I'd be."

Kit's eyes go wide. "Okay, don't freak out. I'm sure it's fine."

"I gotta go," I say. Definitely freaking out. I shove on my tennis shoes and yank open the door.

I can't believe I did this.

I can't believe I was away for almost two hours, out of contact, the day of the rehearsal dinner.

I can't believe I let myself get so lost in the moment.

Her hands grip my waist, holding me in place. She spins me around.

And then as soon as our eyes meet, I can believe it all.

"Look." She points in the direction of the rehearsal dinner tent, which is barely visible from this vantage. "No fires. No floods. You are allowed to let go a little. Others can pick up the slack when you do."

I'm panicking, but it doesn't stop me from planting another kiss on her lips.

"See you tonight."

I run from the Airstream trailer in the direction of Homebase. Winding through the paths and still stupidly clicking my walkie-talkie as if it's going to magically have charge from just my sheer will.

That's when I see Zoe, standing outside Homebase with one of Healer Arynne's entourage. I rush up just in time to hear the tail end of their conversation.

"Just try to keep her phone away from her," Zoe says. "Whatever you have to do."

"Is everything okay?" I ask, breathless, probably looking mildly deranged. Zoe's massive eyes grow wider, and the shorts-clad man saunters away with little more than a side glance in my direction.

"No," she says, her face still alarmed. "But it will be."

I internally scream fuuuucccckkkk and externally straighten my posture under the weight of Zoe's glare.

"I walkied you and got no response. You weren't at Homebase when I came here," she explains, her voice more neutral than her confused expression. I try to tamp down my wild flyaways, not that I expect it to help at all. "Where were you—"

"What happened?" I ask, my mind racing with scenarios. And, yes, I'm avoiding her question with one of my own. She doesn't miss it, and I can tell by the look on her face that she is not planning on letting it slide forever.

"Someone on TikTok claimed one of Healer Arynne's crystals gave them a rash—"

"I can't comprehend substantiating such a claim," I interject.

"It doesn't matter to someone like her," Zoe says, no less annoyed. "The video had enough views that it sent Healer Arynne into a frenzied spiral fearing she was about to get canceled and for some reason that meant she should barricade herself in her room making response videos to the comments." She walks back inside Homebase.

My skin is clammy and my brain spins out at the word barricade .

"The rehearsal is in one hour." I follow her inside. I now sound like the panicked one.

"And until five minutes ago, I wasn't sure it would happen," Zoe replies. She reaches out a hand for my walkie. When I hand it over, she shoves it into the dock to charge with a little too much force. "I kept trying to get you on the walkie, but couldn't, and at the same time I was trying to convince her entourage to let me inside her room and trying to get the hotel manager to come open the door with the master key—which he didn't want to do, by the way."

"But he did?" I ask. She shakes her head.

"Bruno, the burly dude who just left, had a flash of awareness that if Arynne fucked herself over, he could be out of a job, so he let me in."

"Amazing luck," I say.

"I calmed her down and—for now—she's agreed to abstain from replying and checking socials, but I've got Bruno on phone watch." She crosses her fingers.

This could have been a massive disaster, and I would have been nowhere near the scene because I was off feeling up my former best friend.

I can't believe I was this irresponsible. It's not like me, buttoned-up, Julia-control-is-my-middle-name-Kelley. But at the same time, I don't regret losing myself in the moment with Kit.

I just wish I had lost myself in the moment at a better moment.

Thank God Zoe was here.

"You handled this with grace," I say, halfway thinking out loud. "A real pro."

"Duh," she says, but she's blushing hard enough that I can see the pink in her tan cheeks.

"My hat is totally off to you." I feign tipping a hat and she curtsies, her eyes sparking with pride.

"All part of the job."

"Not usually, but you didn't let that stop you from acting like it was."

"Because it could be." She gives me a big, confident smile, and I don't shoot the gesture down. "See you at the rehearsal," she says, walking to the front door of Homebase. But then she pauses, turning to add, "Boss."

I can't fight the grin that forms on my lips. And I don't correct her.

Maybe Mystic Maven is right about Zoe.