Page 9 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
Eslin swats my shoulder—playful, but it actuallyhurts.
“Oh! My boyfriend is so silly!” she chirps. “We’d like a reading!”
The blow is softened with her calling me her boyfriend.I can get into character for this.
“You’re in the right place!” the woman beams. “Only, I no longer doreadingson the account I gave my life to Christ last week. So, I’ll just be giving you propheticinsights.” She says.
“Oh really?” Eslin says, raising a brow.
“Yes. My life coach says I will be more marketable that way.”
“How insightful. Our psychic has a life coach to help her see things.”
“I’m Shavonne,” the prophetic seer continues, “But you can call me Linda!”
I lean down, close to Eslin’s ear. “This is already shaping up to beveryenlightening.”
She giggles—and hell, I’d pay a million dollars just to hear that sound again and again.
“Have a seat!” Shavonne—Linda—instructs, waving toward the saggy sofa.
We sit. I’m already regretting this.
Linda lumbers over to a battered cash box. “Alright. It’s five hundred for your prophetic insights tonight.”
“Five hundred?” I damn near yell. “So you’re robbing people out of this van too, huh?”
Before I can so much as stand, Eslin slides her hand into mine, tugging gently. I glance over—and there it is. That face. Eyes wide, lashes fluttering, pure damn trouble wrapped in silk and curves.
I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “You should win an award for that level of trickery.”
She just grins, victorious.
Linda continues. “Now...I can’t guarantee results. And by staying, you agree this is legally binding. You can’t sue me.”
My brow shoots up. “Charming.”
She points to an ancient-looking camera propped in the corner. “And you consent to being recorded.”
Christ. This just keeps getting better.
The reading…insight begins. Linda starts tossing out vague statements:Someone from your past is trying to reach you. You’ve recently experienced a big life change. Someone new is entering your orbit.
It’s generic, but somehow we’re both laughing. Because, honestly, it could apply toanyonein Vegas tonight.
Then everything shifts.
One second we’re chuckling under our breath at the vague, fortune-cookie nonsense she’s been spouting. The next—dead silence.
Linda’s head tilts, her eyes narrowing, gaze locking on me like she’s just tuned into a different frequency. Like she’s hearing something no one else in this van can.
I feel Eslin still beside me, sense the air thicken between us.
Linda blinks slowly, then leans forward, voice low, still gravel rough. “You think you ’bout done? Waiting?”
The words slam into me like a gut punch.
Jesus.
