Page 23 of The Sun and the Moon
I know she’s a psychic, but is she also a witch?
I grapple for the right move, suddenly in my head about her putting a spell on me. I extend a slightly shaking hand toward her. “I must be.” She swipes at my hand.
“We’re about to be family,” she says, placing both hands on my shoulders and tugging me in for a hug–air-kiss combo. And I just fuckinggo with it.
She’s definitely a witch.
Her smell is an earthy combination of something sharp and herbal mixed with a sweetness that reminds me of buds in spring, carried by a dense, thick scent that reminds me of the way smoke billows in the air.
“And I feel like I already know you,” she continues, pushing me back but not releasing my shoulders. “What with how much Rick has talked you up.” I am desperate to pull away but immobile. She twines her finger through a long strand of my blond hair and then places her hand back on my shoulder. “Youngest female pilot in your company. You must really love what you do.”
There’s nothing wrong with what she says. But still, it hits myadrenals like a warning. Because when I lie in bed at night, unable to sleep from my inner clock being fucked by the changes in time zone, I wonder if I actually love what I do or if I just do what I do well because I never gave myself another option.
“It’s a dream job,” I say, my voice too pinched. Her brow does the tiniest twitch, there and gone. She knows I’m lying.Witch. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to that crystal shop near my apartment to get something for protection.
No, I will not feel silly about it.
“I see you two have already met,” Dad interjects, moving toward Cadence with his hand extended. This does the job of breaking Moira’s grip on my shoulders since Dad has to practically push through us to get to Cadence. “But I haven’t yet had the pleasure.” His eyes shine, friendly like always, just like his tone of voice, but there’s also an edge of mistrust in them. Not as wide-open as usual. “Rick Sinclair.”
Cadence lets the ice around her thaw enough to shake Dad’s hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she says to him. Her eyes trip to mine. “And you.”
That was the other thing we agreed on at coffee. Beyond the scheme to break them up for the sake of my father, Cadence asked me to keep the circumstances of our original meeting a secret from Moira. I agreed—it works better for our plan if they think we haven’t met before anyway. They won’t expect us to be working together, two strangers.
But the soulmate thing doesn’t matter to me. No matter how hot I may think Cadence is.
Soulmates are for fairy tales. I prefer the drama of reality TV.
“Same here,” I reply to her, letting my eyes linger for just asecond on hers before tearing them away to our parents. “Shall we? I think we’re about to be in danger of unforgivable lateness under LA restaurant law.”
Dad takes Moira’s hand, and she lets him lead her through the door.
Chapter Eleven
Cadence
They seated us on the balcony at a table for four. The neon-green light of the movie theater sign glows against the dark sky. They’ve lit a candle and turned up the heater, and in the dance for seats, Sydney and I ended up next to each other, across from my mother and Rick, like two teenagers at a family dinner.
My phone buzzes with a text.
I tug it out of my back pocket to make sure it’s not from one of my coworkers. I originally slotted myself off for three days, not intending to stay through the engagement weekend in Solvang. I had hoped I could come here, blow up whatever plan my mother was working on with this guy, and bolt home. But now that Sydney is a factor—strictly as a partner in this scheme—I don’t think I can run back to the mountains to avoid the debris of this relationship explosion. I’ll have to finesse the situation a lot more now, which will require a longer time frame than initially expected.
It’s not Devin texting back to confirm he’s covering my rotation on the trails for the next few days. It’s not Nika, who I brieflychecked in with before booking my flight and who had the decency not to press me on the reason for my sudden departure, though she likely assumes it had something to do with the letter I received. A part of me wanted to tell her more—take the opportunity to connect.
A very small part.
The text is from Sydney.
I put my phone under the table ledge, opening my menu to serve as a buffer so I can check it without prying eyes.
You catch more flies with honey
I want to cut her a glare, but I’m acutely aware of my mother’s attention. I glance up to see she’s perusing the menu, chattering with Rick about appetizers, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t also perceiving my every move.
I settle on sending the annoyed-face emoji instead.
She’ll know something is up if I get friendly
