Instead, I find myself staring at a strikingly beautiful woman who looks to be in her early forties. Thick, gorgeous salt-and-pepper hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders and down her back. She’s wearing a chic emerald-green velvet duster over a fitted black jumpsuit.
“Welcome, ladies,” she says, her voice a smooth, melodic purr. “I am Madame Solis. Welcome.”
As she steps aside, waving us in, I exchange a skeptical look with Sasha, who just shrugs as she marches over the threshold.
The inside is actually quite cozy, smelling faintly of dried lavender, sweet orange, and cinnamon. Bookshelves crammed with worn books line the walls, and a massive collection of hanging Pothos plants frame both front bay windows.
Madame Solis glides gracefully toward the center of the dimly lit room, guiding us toward a large, heavily carved, round wooden table. “Please sit and be at peace.”
Easy for you to say, babes.
We each take a seat in one of the mismatched velvet chairs, where I end up next to Sasha. Wedged between Sasha and Noia, who’s practically vibrating out of her skin with excitement, Reyna looks like she’s ready to bolt for the door at any second.
A younger woman with a dark, messy topknot and thick knit blue cardigan emerges from a beaded doorway, carrying a polished silver tray holding four delicate, mismatched teacups, steam curling into the air. Without a word, she sets a cup in front of each of us, gives a polite nod, and silently disappears back to where she came from.
“Drink,” Madame Solis instructs, taking a seat across from us. Her dark eyes sweep over our faces, lingering on Reyna’s for a fraction of a second longer than the rest of us. “This herbal blend is specifically designed to open your hearts to the past, and prepare your souls for the future.”
I stare down at the dark amber liquid. “What is it? Some sort of hallucinogenic? ” I quip dryly.
Sasha snorts, lifting her cup to sniff it cautiously. “Hmm. Smells like chamomile and honey.”
“Can you two behave for once?” Noia scolds, lifting her teacup with both hands. She takes a sip, her eyes widening in pleasant surprise. “Oh, wow. This is delicious.”
Casting a nervous glance at Madame Solis, Reyna takes a tiny, hesitant sip. “If this makes me confess my sins, I’ll never forgive you, Noia.”
Heat seeps into my palms as I wrap my fingers around the warm porcelain cup. My heart is already open to my past—Rowan made sure of that when he completely obliterated mywalls and claimed every inch of me every night for the past week. And my future? It looks all kinds of bright.
It’s been a little over a month since filming wrapped in Lakeside, and Rowan is currently in L.A. shooting the final scenes for The Treehouse. Not only that, he bought a house on the outskirts of town and rebuilt a replica of said treehouse in our new backyard, surprising me with it just last week.
I still have the loft, but now I mainly use it as a studio and for storage.
If you’d told me a few months ago that my childhood bestie slash frenemie would show up out of the blue and steal my heart again, I would’ve laughed in your stupid face.
But now? Life is better than good.
Even Carter found a new girl to focus on.
Taking a deep breath, I bring the cup to my lips and take a long swallow.
As far as I know, Noia and Sasha—both recently taken off the market by two sexy, amazing men, Ryder and Jax—have both come to terms with their pasts and are excited about their futures. That still leaves a giant, terrifying question mark in regard to Reyna and my brother, Logan.
As Madame Solis sets her teacup down with a soft clink, the air in the room shifts, heavy with the scent of burning sage. Dark, knowing eyes lock onto Noia, who’s practically bouncing in her red velvet chair.
“We shall begin with you,” the psychic purrs, reaching out to gently grasp Noia’s hands.
Noia lets out a little squeak, making Sasha snort and Reyna shake her head with a grin.
“Your past is written on skin in ink by a sexy man who changed a flat tire in the pouring rain,” she murmurs, thumbs tracing the delicate lines of Noia’s palms. “Dreaming of spicyromances, living a thousand lives through your own stories while waiting for your own… book boyfriend.”
“Nailed it,” Sasha whispers.
I softly clear my throat in warning, kicking her gently under the table.
“But your present…,” the psychic continues with a small, knowing smile playing on her lips, “…is full of everlasting love. You have finally found your anchor in a man made of art and shadows.”
Of course she’s referring to Ryder Blackwood. Noia’s smile morphs into something gooey and soft.
“As for your future...” Madame Solis tilts her head. “I see a new chapter. Your family tree is about to sprout another branch. New life blooms within your aura. A tiny, unexpected joy is coming—much sooner than originally planned.”
