Her eyes lit up like I had just made her whole week. “Ooooh, baby, come on back. I love them kinds.”
Maison tried to play it cool, but I heard the small chuckle escape his lips. He looked way too excited to be invited on this particular journey.
We stepped into a small, candlelit room behind a curtain, filled with incense and velvet and vibes. The energy in the air felt like secrets were waiting to be spilled.
She waved her hand and said, “Sit down, sugar. Let’s see what Spirit wants to say about your… sacred dealings.”
Maison leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, clearly enjoying it too much.
The woman closed her eyes, hovered her hands over some cards, and said in a low tone, “Hmmm. You’ve been… unsatisfied. Spirit shows drought. And not the kind you fix with lotion and a podcast.”
I blinked. “That’s… accurate.”
“You crave touch. Real touch. Not rushed, not routine. The kind that makes you forget how long it’s been. You want someone who can listen to your body with their hands, not just their ears.”
I side-eyed Maison, whose smirk was now trying to disappear into his jaw.
The woman kept going, unfazed. “You want intensity. Someone who can slow down time with a kiss, who can press into you like they’re trying to rewrite your memories. You don’t want to just be seen. You want to be studied.”
Maison’s brow lifted. He uncrossed his arms.
“And you,” she said, pointing directly at me, “you’ve been playing it safe. Patient. Healing. Good for you, baby. But let’s not pretend. Spirit says your favorite position is eye contact.”
I gasped. “Excuse me?!”
She smiled like she had just read my diary.
“You want connection. A little chaos. Not just someone who can lay you down, but someone who can throw you off balance. The kind who pulls your soul out your mouth with a kiss. And baby, Spirit says you love it a little nasty.”
Maison looked like he was physically restraining laughter at that point, but also adjusting his stance like the room had gotten hotter.
“I—uh—wasn’t expecting all that,” I muttered.
“Mm,” she said. “Most don’t. But Spirit tells the truth. You want to be handled. Not just touched, but handled. With care and control, all at once. And when the moment’s right, you want that kiss slow, deep, a little filthy… like the kind that makes you question your whole healing journey.”
I was sweating.
“Mmm… Spirit says you don’t just miss affection, baby. You miss surrendering. You miss the kind of energy that makes you stop thinking about control for once.”
My throat went dry.
She smiled like she heard the thought I didn’t say. “You spend all day being in charge, holding it together, pretending you’re fine. But deep down, you crave somebody who can make you let go. Someone steady enough for you to fall into and know you won’t hit the ground.”
I felt Maison glance my way.
“Spirit says you like direction,” she continued, tapping a card with her nail. “Not force. Not fear. Just somebody who knows what they’re doing, who looks at you and already understands what you need without you explaining it.”
Her tone got softer, almost tender. “You want to be seen, guided, adored, and devoured all at once. To be handled like you’re precious, but not fragile. That’s what your energy calls for.”
Maison cleared his throat. Once. Twice. He looked like he was regretting every decision that led him here.
The woman opened her eyes and grinned. “Mmmhmm. Spirit says you want connection that feels like conversation. You wantsomebody to match your rhythm and remind you what your own body sounds like.”
“Lord have mercy,” I said.
“Oh, she merciful,” the woman said, smiling at me. “She just also got jokes. Spirit says your patience’s been tested long enough. The next time somebody makes you feel that spark, don’t think. Just feel.”
Then the woman turned her gaze to him and said, “And you… you might wanna stop pretending you’re just here for moral support.”
