Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“She’s a mortician and lives in a funeral home,” I point out. “Couldn’t it just be about her job?”
Shelby blinks at the cards. “I guess.”
My lips quirk. “I call her ‘little lady death’ sometimes.”
“Charming,” Rooster mutters. Shelby brushes his arm with the back of her hand.
“So, the card isn’t magic,” Shelby explains. “This is more to help you think about your life. What makes you feel truly alive and what makes you feel dead inside?”
Margot. Not being with Margot.
“Or, what’s ending?” Shelby adds.
“His carefree fuckboy days,” Rooster says.
“Logan,” Shelby warns. “Stop pushing negative energy into my reading.”
“No, he’s right,” I admit. “I never saw myself wanting to be with one person long-term.”
“So that image that you have of yourself as the carefree, flirty playboy might be what’s dying and he’s being replaced by a mature man who’s ready to be a suitable partner.”
“With explosive chemistry,” I add.
“Yes.” Shelby closes her eyes for a second, like she’s asking the moon goddess for some extra patience. “This final one, the Two of Cups, signifies mutual love and balance. High levels of intimacy and big feelings. Extreme sexual compatibility and physical attraction. It’s one of the best relationship cards.” She happily taps the card. “This is where you’re headed.”
I stare at the cards and a flicker of hope flares in my chest. “Are you sure you’re not bullshitting me?” I wave my hand over the cards. “This sounds…almost too perfect.” Except for that Hermit card. I didn’t tell Shelby any of those details about Margot.
“Well, it’s not exact,” Shelby says. “It’s all up for interpretation. You can study the cards and reflect on your question and how the images apply to it.”
“Can I take a picture of it?”
“Sure! I do that when I have a good reading.”
I stand and hold my phone over the table, getting all five cards in the frame and snap a picture.
“Thanks.”
I sit back down and stare at the cards. Death. Change. Passion. It’s all there. I want to believe in the cards and how Shelby interpreted them.
But the old me doesn’t want to let go, yet.
Something whispers it’s too good to be true.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Margot
Is he fucking kidding? Had a good time? A letter grade hastily scribbled in the corner?
I’m numb from the day, and coming home to the pathetic Post-it Note on my kitchen counter is like finding a spider floating in my coffee cup. I crumple it in my fist and throw it in the trash.
My happy oasis, my bright cheery apartment, feels tainted with memories of Jigsaw now. I don’t bother to change out of my black pantsuit and emerald blouse. I grab my purse and head downstairs.
Outside, the cool evening air slides over my skin, refreshing me, encouraging me to go somewhere. Do something besides sit home and think about Jigsaw.
I drive around aimlessly for a while. Well, maybe not that aimless. I’m heading toward Johnsonville.
Faint lights glow from a side road. That’s Remy’s place, right? Maybe I’ll stop there. Lynette was nice. And I’d love to get my hands on more of those dark chocolate chip cookies she gave me the last time.
The parking lot’s more crowded this time. A few classic cars like mine, an SUV, and two motorcycles. My heart stops. I’d never looked at Jigsaw’s close enough to know if one of these belongs to him.
The green flames on one catch my eye as I pass it. Pretty. Still looks like a death rocket, though.
“Hey, Margot, what’re you doing here?” Remy grins at me from behind the bar and sets down whatever he was working on back there.
The tavern’s kinda dark but clean and sort of vintage looking. The booth in the back Jigsaw and I had sat in is occupied with three larger guys in flannels or hoodies. No black leather vests with back patches.
I quicken my steps and sit on the stool in front of Remy.
“Hi. I was passing by, and I thought I’d stop in for something to eat.”
He flashes a devastatingly handsome smile. “Welcome.”
“Jigsaw said the buffalo chicken sandwich is good here.” Mentioning his name sends a shooting stab of pain through my chest.
His smile fades and he lifts his eyebrows. “He did, huh? Here I thought he only liked stopping by to glower and threaten to stab me.”
My jaw drops. “He does what?”
“I think it’s because he likes me so much. Violence is his love language.” The corners of his mouth curl. “You can tell him I said that, too.”
“Sure.” I’ll make that my priority. “Are you working by yourself?”
“No.” He sets a glass of ice water in front of me. “Lynette’s here. Buffalo chicken, right?”
I nod quickly. “And extra blue cheese.”
“You got it.”
He slips out from behind the counter and strides down the short corridor. Such broad shoulders and good posture. Jigsaw says Remy’s some kind of MMA fighter. He must be quite lethal. Too young for me, though.