Chapter Two
Two
The impulse to stalk her ex on social media was usually fleeting.
But it was a slow day at the hotel, and as her lunch break crept closer, Emmy kept looking at her phone.
It was past eleven, so checkout time was good and done.
She gave in to temptation and tapped on the app, typed her ex’s name into the search bar.
Her face immediately went hot from shame she wished she didn’t feel; he didn’t deserve that emotion from her.
Maybe “humiliation” was a better descriptor.
There he was, toasting the camera with one hand while holding his phone out with the other.
Leaning into the selfie with him was the woman he’d started seeing a suspiciously short time after Emmy had broken up with him.
The woman he felt comfortable taking home to meet his family.
So white she looked like she could get a sunburn from a sunny-side-up egg.
The photo was captioned only with #loveofmylife.
Before she could think about it, she was looking up directions from her apartment to Meet Cute.
It wasn’t such a long drive. And she shouldn’t lie to May about something that would be easy enough to accomplish without subterfuge.
May had said she needed closure, and it was starting to feel like her sister was right.
She tapped the button to save the route and decided she’d go in the morning, if only to make sure Lucy the “psychic” was as harmless as May had made her out to be.
*
The trip into the Cities went by easily as Emmy spent the time listening to a true crime podcast that Sarah had gotten her addicted to—not everything could be a sugary story with a happy, righteous ending.
She found the little shop after a bit of searching.
She’d expected a garish facade with pictures of crystal balls and/or genitalia.
Instead, she walked right by the place before checking her phone and noting her mistake.
The storefront was simple. Understated, even.
Through the window she could see a bookshelf lined with romance novels—if the passionately entwined cover models were any indication—and a few precisely arranged displays of sex toys.
Before too many people could see her peering into the window of a sex shop, she pushed her way inside and let the door close behind her.
She smelled jasmine and, beneath that, a hint of an earthy smell that reminded her of reading an old, well-loved book.
There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the store, which would have felt unsettling in any other kind of retail establishment, but in this case, she didn’t mind being alone and unobserved.
It was easy to tell where the psychic readings took place.
There was a wooden table in the corner with ladderback chairs on either side.
The table runner had an astrological motif, and there were candles on a little wall-mounted shelf behind the whole setup.
Since the candles were lit, Emmy assumed they were most likely responsible for the jasmine smell.
“Oof, what did he do?”
Emmy jumped and turned to see a woman approaching her from around one of the bookshelves.
Though May had never described the psychic, Emmy knew she was looking at Lucy.
She was gorgeous. Olive skin, full lips, long lashes.
Her hair was dyed bright red and cut close to her scalp.
Other than a colorful dress and a few bangles on her wrist, she didn’t look like the clichéd image Emmy had formed in her mind.
The woman looked at her expectantly, and it was at that point that Emmy remembered she’d asked a question.
“What did who do?”
“The ex. I’m sensing a guy. He must have done something pretty shitty to make you come here when you never would have set foot in here otherwise.”
Emmy felt goosebumps break out on her arms and cursed her nerves for daring to be spooked by the comment. She steeled her resolve—psychics did not exist—and narrowed her eyes.
“Did May call you?”
“May? Oh! You must be Emmy! She told me so much about you.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet she did.”
Lucy laughed. “Not that much, chickadee. But it’s okay to be skeptical. How is May?”
Emmy didn’t want to answer. Worse, she wanted to lie.
She wanted to tell this woman that May was fed up with waiting for the mystery man she’d been promised and was currently sitting at home eating her way through the frozen dairy section of Trader Joe’s.
But the thought of saying anything like that weighed too heavily on her conscience, so she had no choice but to tell the truth.
“She’s getting married this coming Saturday.”
“Yes!” Lucy actually did a fist pump, making her bracelets jingle cheerfully. “I was hoping it would happen for her. She was such a sweetheart. I hope she comes back to tell me about him.”
“I’m sure she will.”
“So, what brings you here?”
Another chance to lie was mentally waved away. Emmy figured she might as well test the woman’s so-called powers.
“My ex posted a selfie with the white girl he’s ready to take home to Mommy and Daddy.”
“Ugh. That dick.”
“Well, you don’t have to be psychic to figure that out.”
Lucy’s laugh poured out again, a deep, rich sound that struck Emmy as confident and somehow sexual. She wondered if Lucy practiced it in the mirror every day.
“Are you going to test me, then?”
“What do you mean?” Emmy asked, trying not to let it show that she’d literally just been thinking about doing that.
“You don’t think I’m psychic. I think I am. Don’t you want to see which one of us is right?”
Damn it, she was really good at this. But Emmy wouldn’t be taken in by some cold reading and fancy guesswork.
“Yeah, alright. You going to give me a sexy Tarot reading?”
“If that’s what you want. Have a seat.”
“How much?”
Lucy cast an amused glance her way. “Free of charge, just like it is for all my first-time customers. You’re welcome to browse the retail section when we’re done, but that’s your choice.” She swept over to the table and pulled out a chair. Raised an eyebrow in silent challenge.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Emmy sat down across from her.
Lucy had the deck of cards on the table already.
She laid a hand over them—displaying a manicure with deep blue nails dotted with specks of yellow and pink—and met Emmy’s gaze.
Her expression was surprisingly sober, showing none of the jocular attitude from a moment ago.
“I’m going to have you take this stack of cards and mix them up.
Use your non-dominant hand, and try to keep your mind relaxed.
Sometimes we start with a question, but in this case, I think I want to do a basic three-card draw.
Past, present, and future. Let’s see where you were, where you’re at, and where you’re going. Sound good?”
Emmy swallowed and nodded. It was hard to react with derision when the woman who sat opposite from her was acting so serious.
There was also something in her eyes, something like sympathy, and it made Emmy uncomfortable.
What did Lucy the Sex Psychic know of her?
What right did she have to pity her? Still, Emmy wouldn’t back away from this.
When Lucy told her to, she knocked the stack of cards over, began mixing them with her right hand.
There was something hypnotic about watching them twist and turn, spinning, diving under one another, slipping across the table.
“Stop when it feels right,” Lucy murmured. “Then draw the first card that catches your eye and turn it over.”
Emmy stopped a moment later, went with the obvious and turned over the card that was on top of the mass. The woman on the card was upside down, but unmistakably a bride. Her hand-drawn dress had just the right amount
of froth on the skirt, a tight bodice, a sweetheart neckline. She held an eclectic bouquet of flowers. Roses and daisies and daffodils, a few sprigs dotted with what might have been bluebells. There was no veil, and her hair cascaded down her back in a sweep of waves that flowed like a waterfall.
“The Bride,” Lucy said quietly. “Reversed.” Without warning, she reached out and took Emmy’s hand, held firm but not tight.
Her eyes were on the table, not the card, her gaze a little unfocused like she was trying to remember something she’d forgotten.
“It was a bad breakup. Harder on you than him. It was a game for him, a diversion. Every time you tried to get him to commit, he dodged and evaded, but in a way that turned it around on you. It was never a relationship, not in any way that counted. When it ended, you came to see that, and it broke your heart that you had allowed it to be real for you.”
Emmy wanted to slap away the hand that held hers.
She wanted to leave right then and there.
Had May really told this woman so much? Why?
Had Lucy pushed for information on the off-chance Emmy would come in to see her?
Was she preparing all along for this exact moment?
The reminder of everything that had gone wrong with Andrew—or, The Asshole—was an arrow that hit its mark with painful precision.
She’d had no time to build up a defense.
But she didn’t want to let Lucy win. She forced herself to sit and breathe through it.
“What did he do?” Lucy asked, meeting Emmy’s eyes again. “There’s something there. Something big, but I can’t get at anything specific.”
“Didn’t May already tell you?” Emmy snapped.
Lucy shook her head slowly, sadly. “Ask her. When we’re done here, before you tell her anything else, ask her how much we talked about you when she was here.”
“Believe me, I will.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No. This is just a game. I don’t run from games.”
“Okay then,” Lucy said, setting The Bride aside. “The next card is your present. Pick one.”