Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kit

Normally, I would be much better at spinning the appearance of the Tower and the Devil—two major arcana cards that when placed one after the other almost never forbode a period of ease—but I'll admit my head is not in the game. Especially after Julia passes by looking like a fever dream I never want to wake up from.

"You're saying this is serious," Sean's grandmother, Patrice, says. She's a tiny woman with immaculately set silver hair and a small gold cross dangling at her neck, which she clutches like it will protect her from the cards. "You look worried."

I blink, focusing on the cards again. I did say that, and I can feel the way my face has gotten stuck in a furrow of features that probably looks like someone trying to shit out a brick. These cards could very well be the harbinger of immense struggle, but I should not have said that out loud.

Think fast, Kit.

"The Devil and the Tower are not always a bad or difficult combination, but they almost always signal a time of change on the horizon."

"I'm eighty-three," Patrice replies. "At my age, the only change I have to look forward to is death."

My eyes flicker wide. This combination can indicate a sudden or jarring change that forces us to confront our deepest, darkest fears. I resist the urge to ask if there is anyone in her life that she would be shocked to lose, but I happen to know she's happily married to Sean's grandfather so my guess is that would get an enthusiastic yes. I decide to spin my interpretation in a different direction.

"This combination isn't all negative," I begin. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. "It encourages us to confront our fears in order to live a fuller life."

"I'm not afraid of dying," she says, her voice tinged with resignation.

"That's very evolved of you."

"Horseshit," she spits. It genuinely shocks me and a laugh I'm trying to stifle barks out instead.

Millie, who is passing behind Patrice, stops short—champagne flute in hand—to eye me over her future grandmother-in-law's head.

"This looks like some big calamity," Patrice says, pointing to the burning building of doom. Millie's brows quirk in curiosity; I bite back a grin. "And this is the greatest trickster there ever was." She points to the Devil.

"In Christianity, sure, the Devil is a symbol for carnal sins, but in tarot he represents the need for shadow work—"

"Black magic?" Patrice's voice is gritty with surprise. Millie cackles, walking up and placing her champagne-free hand on Patrice's shoulder.

"Hey, Granny Hayden," Millie says with the voice of a benevolent angel. "I think Bob is looking for you by the photo booth." Bob, her beloved husband. I will the Universe to cut them some slack. Patrice gives the cards, then me, another once-over before huffing away.

Millie and I lock eyes, hers full of mirth, pupils dilated from the champagne haze. She scrunches her nose, smirking. "She's an old-school hell-and-brimstone type, but she's a firecracker."

"A truly bright light," I reply. I start to pick up the cards and reintegrate them into the deck, shuffling swiftly. I've been at it for a couple hours, which is almost the allotted time we agreed to for this event. My brain is in countdown mode.

"I'm so happy," Millie says wistfully, drawing my attention up to her face. "Thank you for coming all the way out here." She looks around, eyes misty.

I shuffle the cards.

"Break the deck," I say. She does, into three stacks, and then she points to the middle. More confident than she was last night in her choice.

"My instinct, too." She beams with pride. I flip it over.

Ten of Cups, upright. Oh thank God. I breathe a sigh, and when I look back at Millie, I can tell that—even before I explain the card—its meaning is seeping into her bones. She embodies the energy of this Ten.

"Long-lasting love. A home, a family, a life together." I list off words that come to mind when I look at the card. Words I know are associated, but feel more intrinsically linked to Millie and her near future.

"This is the dream, right?" Millie says, touching the children on the card. "I don't know how I got so lucky this early in my life." She looks up to me.

"It's not a dream. This is your life, and it's beautiful and complex, but it's not luck. It's fate." She beams at my use of the word.

"Fate," she repeats, her face aglow. It's not just the candlelight making her shimmer. It's coming from within.

It's been a long time since I've said the word fate with conviction, not just because the word itself holds so much weight to those who want to believe in it, but because I myself had lost the certainty that it was something worth believing in. Fate felt like a passive ideal. Like an excuse to be disappointed. Like a reason to hold on to past ways of thinking just because at some point they had felt soul-aligned or brought success.

But this weekend has made me hope that fate could be working with me.

Sean swoops up and clutches Millie around the middle, peppering her cheek and neck with kisses. She giggles, letting him practically carry her off in his arms. They spin around in a dizzying display of affection—one that would definitely have once made my heart clench with jealousy.

Millie's Happily Ever After looks exactly the way I always expected my own would, but now that I'm in this thing with Julia—coming out slowly, coming more into my true desires—I'm beginning to see how there are a lot of ways to live that fairy tale in real life and how important it is to make those expressions of this romantic ideal just as relevant as the more conventional ones.

I search the crowd of family and friends for Julia. The countdown clock fires through me, an alarm signaling it's time to go. When I find Julia standing off to the side of the space surveying her success, my stomach fills with butterflies.

Julia Kelley gives me butterflies.

Kissing her turns my body to putty and my insides to molten lava. Touching her is addictive, a craving I don't ever want to get rid of.

I am about to pack up my cards when someone says, "Closing shop?"

Coco, holding a wineglass, looking camera ready as ever. I should ask her for an on-camera reading. I need something more tangible to show for this weekend—something that gets my videos in front of the kind of clientele I can demand a higher wage from.

"I'm pretty spent." I should, but I don't.

"Plus, you know, you have other plans." She winks at me. Her default expression, as Julia said. But this time it feels laced with specific meaning. And I'm pleased to discover that I don't mind at all.

"Important plans," I say, a giddy smile spreading across my cheeks. I break away to wind through the crowd.

And right into Piper.

"Shit," I say under my breath.

"Careful there, you almost groped me," she says, standing too close for comfort. I take a generous step back. "I would hate if it got out that you get fresh with your clients."

Heat prickles the skin on the nape of my neck, making the tiny hairs stand on end.

"What would all your exes think?" she continues. "Especially David, the freshest body."

"How do you—"

Her eyes drift over my head and she raises her hand to wave. "Just steer clear. You're not my type."

She presses past me and I get the distinct feeling that she was trying to threaten me. I shake it off—as much as I can. I didn't do anything inappropriate. I don't have anything to be worried about.

It's an empty threat from a bitchy bully.

As I make my way through the crowd looking for Julia, I notice Zoe talking to one of the kitchen staff, pointing authoritatively toward the head table. It makes me hopeful that maybe Julia has already given her marching orders so we can get the hell out of here.

My brain is a haze; my heart taps a beat against my ribs. This is going to happen.

When I find Julia in the crowd, nothing else matters. Her eyes trek down the length of my body, heat gathers between my legs, and I almost buckle with want. I rush to reach her—not even thinking. I tuck my hand around her waist and kiss her, working my tongue gently into her mouth. It doesn't bother me that anyone could look over here and see us. That then they would know I don't just think she's the coolest girl alive. I think she's the hottest. I don't just want to be best friends.

I want her, body and soul.

I pull back. "What do you say we get out of here?"

Her smile is sorcery. Her "yes" is a taunt against my lips.