7. Chapter 7
Loralee
Rocco walks away from my booth with the rose quartz in his pocket.
He told me the stone changes nothing. Then he accepted it, placed it close to his body, and carried it into the crowd.
I manage not to point out the contradiction.
That may be the strongest evidence of personal growth I have demonstrated all week.
He disappears between a pottery display and a vendor selling hand-carved bowls.
His attention diverts constantly as he walks, moving from the crowd to the booth entrances, then toward the restricted lane behind them.
Twice, his hand brushes the pocket containing the stone. The contact appears unconscious.
I smile and return to my notebook. I have fifteen minutes before my next appointment and several observations I want to record while they are still clear.
The morning produced nothing unusually strong, but the festival’s energy has changed since yesterday.
Anticipation has become movement. Thousands of emotions overlap along the paths.
Excitement, impatience, affection, hunger, and curiosity.
There’s a particular strain experienced by parents attempting to prevent small children from touching everything within reach.
Beneath it is something less distinct — restlessness.
I felt it before Rocco told me about the man photographing locks and cash-handling procedures. Knowing the possible cause should make the impression easier to dismiss. Instead, the unease remains like a faint vibration beneath the surface of everything else.
A woman stops at the front of my booth and examines the Autumn Premonition candles. She lifts one of the dark red vessels, removes the lid, and inhales.
“Apple,” she says.
“Apple, cinnamon bark, and woodsmoke.”
“My husband will say it smells like something is burning.”
“Some people lack seasonal imagination.”
She laughs and buys two. The transaction is ordinary. The candles fit neatly into a padded bag, and nothing in the woman’s energy suggests more than a pleasant afternoon.
Still, when I close the cash box, the metal latch feels unusually cold beneath my fingers. I pull my hand away.
“Loralee?”
I look up. Two women stand at the booth entrance. I recognize one immediately, although we have never met. Delaney’s face appeared throughout the autumn wedding campaign and across more social-media posts than I could count. She is even more striking in person.
Beside her stands a redheaded woman carrying two cups of cider and a beautiful face filled with curiosity.
“I’m Chloe Stone,” she says. “This is Delaney.”
“I know.”
Delaney’s eyebrows rise.
“From the campaign,” I explain. “Not from a vision.”
“That is mildly disappointing,” Chloe says.
Delaney accepts one of the cider cups from her. “Give her time. We’ve only been here ten seconds.”
They enter the booth together. Chloe looks first at the lanterns and fabric, then toward the private treatment area behind the screens. Her attention takes in every detail with the focused appreciation of someone accustomed to creating beautiful spaces.
“This is gorgeous,” she says. “I heard about the new booth near the wellness garden, but no one mentioned all this.”
“I arrived after another vendor canceled.”
“Then their unfortunate timing became our good fortune.”
I like her immediately. Delaney lifts an Autumn Premonition candle and smells it.
“Mason would approve of this one.”
“Apple, cinnamon bark, and woodsmoke,” I tell her.
“He would call that breakfast, work, and everything he owns.”
Chloe laughs. “Jack would ask whether the woodsmoke was a warning.”
“Rocco did,” I say.
Both women look at me.
“Rocco with Blackridge?” Chloe asks.
“Yes.”
“He inspected the venue,” she says. “Jack liked him.”
“Rocco is very thorough.”
I gesture toward the cards before the conversation can wander further. “Which of you booked the reading?”
“Me.” Chloe sits and takes another look around the booth. “Delaney booked the massage.”
“She insisted,” Delaney says. “I mentioned that my neck was tight after working at a computer all week.”
“You also said Mason’s solution involved removing your clothes.”
“That was not a complaint.”
Chloe looks at me. “Now you understand why we came together.”
I laugh as I sit across from her. “Have you had a tarot reading before?”
“Once in college. The woman told me I would meet a mysterious dark-haired stranger.”
“Did you?”
“I met several. None of them were Jack.”
“That sounds like a useful elimination process.”
Delaney slips into a chair near the display and lifts her cider. “I told her not to ask whether Jack is her destiny. If he isn’t, she has no intention of returning him.”
“Correct,” Chloe says. “I’m also not asking how many children we’ll have, when I’ll die, or whether Jack is secretly plotting anything.”
“Does he secretly plot often?”
“Frequently. Usually construction.”
I take out the cards. “Then what would you like to explore?”
Chloe’s humor softens. “The wedding venue we’ve created.”
Her fingers rest around the cider cup. A simple ring catches the lantern light.
“It has grown faster than we expected,” she continues. “The autumn campaign brought inquiries from all over the state. We’ve already booked more weddings for next year than I thought we would, and Jack is talking about adding two additional guest cabins.”
“That sounds positive.”
“It is. I think.” She glances toward Delaney. “I wanted this, but sometimes I look at everything happening and wonder whether we’re building a place we love or creating something that will eventually own us.”
That is a real question. Not a request for prediction, but permission to examine what success may cost. I place the deck between us.
“Shuffle until you feel finished.”
Chloe takes the cards. “What if I never feel finished?”
“Then Delaney and I will stop you before my next appointment.”
“I’m comfortable with that responsibility,” Delaney says.
Chloe shuffles three times, cuts the deck, and returns it to me. I draw the first card.
The Four of Wands.
Celebration. Home. Community. A foundation strong enough to hold joy.
The second is the Eight of Pentacles. Skill, steady effort, and work performed with care.
The third card is the Queen of Pentacles.
I study the spread.
“Well?” Chloe asks.
“The property is not separate from the life you’re building. That may be why it frightens you.”
Her gaze drops to the cards.
“The Four of Wands represents celebration, but also a stable home and the people gathered within it. The Eight of Pentacles is purposeful work. Not endless labor for its own sake, but devotion to something created well.”
“And the queen?” Delaney asks.
I touch the edge of the final card. “She creates abundance, comfort, and security. She nurtures a home without disappearing inside its needs.”
Chloe becomes very still. I understand what the question beneath her question has been.
“You’re afraid the venue will require everything from you,” I say. “That loving the work means you won’t recognize when it begins consuming the rest of your life.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
“Jack says we can stop taking bookings whenever we want.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes.” She pauses. “I’m less certain I’ll believe myself when the time comes.”
I look at the three cards again. The spread answers the question Chloe asked, but another remains beneath it.
“Draw one more,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“The first cards describe what you’re building. I want to know what will protect it.”
Chloe draws from the center of the deck and turns the card over.
Temperance.
Two vessels. Water passing between them. Neither emptied.
“Balance,” Delaney says.
“More than balance,” I tell her. “Integration. Knowing how much can move from one part of your life into another without draining either one.”
Chloe looks over the image. “That sounds easier on a card.”
“Most worthwhile things do.”
I place Temperance beside the Queen of Pentacles. “You shouldn’t wait until the venue becomes too demanding to decide what it may ask of you. Choose the limits while you still feel abundant.”
“What kind of limits?”
“How many weddings you accept. Which months remain quiet. Which areas of the property belong only to you and Jack. Days when the venue becomes your home again and no one else is permitted to need anything from it.”
“Jack wants us to cap the number of bookings,” she says. “And he refuses to include our cabin in any of the guest packages.”
“Then it sounds as though Jack already understands Temperance.”
Chloe smiles. “He is going to enjoy hearing you say that.”
“You aren’t being told to make your dream smaller,” I say. “You’re being reminded to leave enough room inside it for the two people who created it. Abundance without boundaries eventually becomes another kind of scarcity.”
Chloe’s fingers settle over the Four of Wands. “Can the property remain both?”
“Both what?”
“Our business and our home.”
I look from the card representing their foundation to Temperance and the two vessels that remain full by giving and receiving in equal measure.
“Yes,” I say. “But only if you protect the parts that money isn’t allowed to purchase.”
Delaney makes a quiet sound of agreement.
I return the cards to the deck. “Your reading is complete.”
Chloe stands, then leans across the table and hugs me before I expect it. Her energy is warm and rooted, threaded with the certainty of a woman who fought hard for the life she now occupies.
“Thank you,” she says.
“You’re welcome.”
She walks toward the front display while I prepare for Delaney’s appointment. I replace the table covering, sanitize my hands, and close the privacy screens around the massage area.
Delaney follows me inside.
“I should warn you,” she says. “If this works too well, Mason may become jealous.”
“Of me?”
“Of anyone capable of putting a hand on me without becoming distracted.”
“I’m a licensed professional.”
“So is he in several things. None of them help.”
Her affection for him exists beneath every teasing word.